She snapped up her chin, to look in his face. Confusion made her breathing erratic and she tried to steady her breath and she met his warm brown eyes.
“I…” she pushed out the single word. “I…”
“You nearly fell.” He supplied.
“I…” Why couldn’t she get out a single other word?
The corners of his mouth turned down, his brow marked in equally deep frown lines. He went from handsome to harsh in an instant. “You ought to be more careful. Following behind me so close.”
She squeezed his arms tighter, which somehow made her bosom press into the hardness of his chest. “You ought to mind your own business.”
Who did he think he was telling her what to do? On her own front steps, no less. And how dare he try to convince Rathmore he didn’t love Ophelia. The events before the near fall came crashing back suddenly; she wasn’t awestruck by the feel of his large hands or his muscular body. Her breath still hitched but that was surely irritation.
“I was minding my own business.” He still held her and if anything, he pressed her abdomen closer to his.
“You were not. Quite honestly, you were minding my sister’s business. Of which you have no right.”
Surprise widened his eyes but then he grunted, leaning down closer to her face. “His Grace is always my business.”
She lifted up on her toes a bit only to realize that her body slid along his, causing her to shiver. “Now see here,” she started, nose nearly touching his.
He raised his brows, erasing the frown lines and widening his lids so the chocolate brown of his eyes danced in the sun. Cordelia had been right about one thing. He was quite handsome but in the most annoying way.