He wanted to make things right between them, but the possibility of more bloomed. If they acted on this tension, what would happen? It would cause a cascade of problems. Not the least of which was her intention to find a husband, when he wasn’t the man for the job. Her father had already made that abundantly clear, even if Ethan were inclined toward matrimony. Not that he was disinclined, but his focus had to be on this new business venture—which wouldn’t be helped by an extended stay in London, wooing a woman.
And yet those warnings came from his rational mind, and that part of his brain wasn’t as compelling as the temptation pounding through every heartbeat thumping in his ears.
Lady Charlotte took one step toward him along the banister, until her gown pooled in soft folds around his feet, and he never wanted to untangle himself. The swell of her breasts pressed against his arm and chest, making him wish there weren’t so many layers between them. His voice came out rough when he said, “You’ll recognize lust when it happens. And it might change your mind about those plans.” The crest of his lips brushed against her skin. She quivered beneath his mouth, and he felt the movement vibrate through the minuscule space left between them. If he pursed his lips, it would be a kiss—a temptation from which he barely refrained. Instead, Ethan allowed himself the tiniest graze of her cheekbone with the tip of his nose.
Nuzzling. He’d just nuzzled her. Of all the ridiculous actions. And that was somehow the sexiest thing he’d done with a woman in years. She was unbelievably soft. The tip of her tongue wet her plump bottom lip, and it was all he could do to not take that as an invitation.
She moved first, turning her head until their noses touched. To kiss her—and God, how he wanted to do that—he’d only have to close that sliver of emptiness between them. Her warm breath, rich with wine, mingled with his, the scent making him feel as if he were tasting her already.
But without her permission, he’d not cross that threshold. Not when that list of reasons why this was a very bad idea awaited them on the other side of this moment. Not when she might soon remember that she didn’t even like him. “May I kiss you, lass?”
She held her breath and stared back without answering. When her breathing resumed, he sensed the measured cadence. Inhale for a count of three, exhale for a count of three. The deliberate control brought the balcony around them, with its dappled lantern light breaking the shadows, back into focus.
Perhaps she too was considering her own list of reasons why this was a bad idea, because she silently shook her head. Just once. Her full bottom lip grazed the corner of his mouth as she denied him.
Ethan nodded, unable to speak around the disappointment in his throat. She was right. Flirtation on dark balconies was a game best saved for widows and women who knew the score, not unmarried ladies with every reason to hate him. Even if they’d somehow stumbled into a moment when the emotions between them felt like the opposite of animosity.
A glance over her shoulder at the windows showed no gaping faces, so perhaps no one had witnessed their conversation. Beyond the doors separating them from the rest of the musicale, voices murmured over the lilting melody of stringed instruments.
Closing his eyes, he took a last draw of lemon-scented air and stepped away. “May I escort you back inside?”
For a woman who’d just rebuffed his advances, she didn’t seem angry or disgusted. However, the earlier signs of softening—even, dare he say it, arousal—were gone. Lady Charlotte seemed to have shaken off the oddly intense encounter and regained control of herself. With a polite smile lacking teeth or emotion, she said, “No thank you. I’ll make my own way.”
That was for the best. Grabbing the punch cup from where he’d set it down a million heartbeats before, he turned back to the lights and chatter of the intermission.
A glance back showed her to be the picture of composure. At least one of them was.
* * *
Darling said good night, leaving her alone. Going through the motions of her bedtime routine, Lottie couldn’t hide from one pertinent fact: she’d almost kissed him.
Out there, on that balcony. As she looked back on the evening, it was like watching strangers in a play. There’d been a strange intimacy in the shadowy space as they’d acknowledged having landed on the same side of the gossip rags. Uncomfortable allies, as it were.
He’d apologized again, and perhaps it was the repetition, but she was more inclined to believe this time that his remorse was genuine. She’d softened further, remembering how he’d spoken up for her and then managed to be a charming companion at dinner a few nights ago. What had begun as a pretend friendship for appearances against Lady Bartlesby had felt real by the end of the night.
In the two days since then, she’d caught sight of him coming and going from Lord Carlyle’s house. There’d been nods of acknowledgment, a small wave in greeting, and even a polite exchange about the weather.
In short, he was trying. And tonight, he’d reiterated that apology and his desire to make things right between them.
Acknowledging his role in her life as something other than an enemy complicated things. She didn’t know how to go about finding her feet if she didn’t hate him, so she’d defaulted back to what she knew. They’d gone from polite conversation to talking business. To his credit, he hadn’t seemed put out when she’d offered opinions and assistance. In fact, he’d thanked her.
There’d been none of the ego she often encountered when discussing business matters with
