“I trust you,” she mumbled, trying to steady her breath.
Of course she trusted him. He wasn’t interested in her.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” To her astonishment, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “But you must know if word gets out about this, it will damage your reputation.”
She made a dismissive sound and turned to face him, dislodging his hold. But the heat of his touch still sizzled through her veins and whispered temptation. “I’m a widow of advanced years and unsullied reputation. Nobody is going to question our actions.”
“Devil take you, Sally.” He frowned as he tugged off his gloves and shoved them in his pocket. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” She’d forgotten that it was dangerous to look into his face. He was close enough for her to see all the varied shades of brown in his eyes. And the thick black lashes shadowing them.
For one lost moment, she swayed toward him, before sense asserted itself and she stepped away. Her knees felt horridly shaky.
“Talk about yourself as if you were too old for scandal. You’re a lovely, sparkling woman and, believe me, if society finds out I had you to myself, the male half of the ton will be green with envy.”
She started to laugh, but something in his expression quashed her amusement. “Sir Charles, I think you mean that,” she said in surprise.
A muscle flickered in his cheek, and those toffee eyes focused somber and intent upon her face. “I’ve never meant anything more.”
“You’re so kind,” she said wonderingly, suffering once again that powerful urge to lean into him.
He caught her hand. The shock of his bare skin on hers shuddered through her like a lightning strike. “No, damn it, I’m not being kind.”
She wanted to argue, but couldn’t summon the words. Having spent days avoiding the penetrating dark gaze, she stared up into his chiseled features and couldn’t look away even if an earthquake struck.
“What have I done to offend you?” His grip on her hand tightened, and his expression turned urgent. “Lately you’ve barely given me the time of day. Whatever it is, let me make it up to you. I hate it when you’re cold to me.”
Somewhere at the back of her mind, a voice screamed that he shouldn’t care, that she played no important role in his life. But that piercing gaze held her captive. And her awakening desire nailed her feet to the floor.
It was intoxicating to have this marvelous man staring down at her, as if nothing else in the world existed.
“You haven’t offended me. How could you?” She licked dry lips and watched his eyes flicker down to the betraying movement. With a desperate attempt to return to something like their usual interactions, she said, “I don’t think you should be holding my hand.”
He didn’t let her go. “I like it.”
“So do I,” she admitted, before she questioned the prudence of honesty.
“Sally—”
“And I don’t think you should call me Sally.”
“For God’s sake, call me Charles.”
Urgency roughened his deep baritone and made her shiver with longing. She’d been so wise to avoid his gaze. Now that she stared up at him, she couldn’t stop.
She’d never before realized how many shades of brown there were in the world. Honey. Russet. Deep, dark brown. Burnt caramel. Gazing into Sir Charles’s eyes, she felt like she drowned in hot treacle. What a splendid path to oblivion.
Her hand trembled in his, but she still couldn’t summon the will to withdraw, when this might b
e her only chance to touch him. Her heart beat high and frantic in her throat.
It was like being utterly terrified. Except somehow she wasn’t.
She made a halfhearted effort to pull away, but didn’t get anywhere. “We’re alone here.”
His lips flattened. “Believe me, I know.”
“We should…we should try and remember the proprieties.”