As soon as his housekeeper, Mrs. Dudley, had taken Miss Potter upstairs to the guestroom, Bryce went to the side table and re-filled his glass. He was in the middle of taking a sip when Radcliff returned, making his presence known with a knock on the door. Bryce turned toward him. “Yes?”

“My lord, I apologize if I am about to overstep, but in light of the current situation regarding Miss Potter, I would like to offer a bit of advice in order to…ahem…minimize the impact of her visit.” Having previously served in his father’s employ, Radcliff had known Bryce his entire life. He’d stood by him when no one else had and took no issue with speaking his mind whenever doing so served his master’s best interests.

“You worry I might make certain advances?”

Radcliff’s eyes went wide. “Oh no, my lord. I would never suppose such a thing. You are far too gentlemanly to even think of imposing yourself on a young woman.”

His butler was right, but that hadn’t stopped Bryce from thinking of making advances since Miss Potter’s arrival. To say so would not be helpful, however, so he asked instead, “Then what is your concern?”

“If I may be blunt, what you do or do not do will hardly matter once word of her spending the night here without a chaperone gets out. Your reputation—”

“I’m damn well aware of my reputation,” Bryce growled.

“Then perhaps you will consider sleeping here in the library?”

“Let us re-visit the part you mentioned about overstepping.”

“For your own peace of mind and hers,” Radcliff went on as if Bryce hadn’t spoken, “it might be best if you pass the night on separate floors of the house. If anyone should inquire about what went on here later, I shall happily testify that everything was proper.”

“Nobody will believe you.” Bryce knew what people thought of him. To suppose they would not imagine the worst was naïve.

“Nevertheless.”

Bryce nodded. “Very well. I shall do what you suggest.” If only to end this discussion.

Radcliff nodded and took his leave, allowing Bryce to return his attention to his brandy. Crossing the floor, he reclaimed his seat from earlier, leaned back, and glanced at the armchair Miss Potter had vacated a short while ago. With a grimace, he sipped his drink, savoring the rich flavor while a log snapped and sparks crackled in the fireplace.

She was beautiful and she was here, as if sent by the devil himself in order to tempt him. But he would resist… He curled his hand around the armrest. He would prove to the world he wasn’t the monster he’d been accused of being.

And yet, even as he made this vow with conviction, an unbidden image of her undressing began to invade his thoughts. She would bathe before dinner. A tub filled with hot water had been requested. Which meant she would unbutton her unflattering gown to reveal a pair of stays…a chemise… Bryce’s mouth went dry. He took another sip of his drink and surrendered to the fantasy of Miss Potter removing these last items of clothing. What harm was there in doing so? It wasn’t real, no more than a dream–a sinful wish–a secret hope… Another log snapped in the fire. His breath caught, and his heart rate kick up as arousal assailed him once more.

He had to stop this. It wasn’t helping. And yet he could not rid his mind of her sinking into hot water with a sigh of pleasure, of taking the soap and running it over her bare skin, of washing her breasts, her belly, the juncture between her thighs…

The glass in his hand shattered. Bryce muttered a curse. The remains of his brandy stained his trousers while shards of glass littered the carpet. He would have to call a maid to clean it up, though doing so would have to wait until he’d gotten himself under some semblance of control. So he simply retrieved his handkerchief and pressed it to the tiny cut his wicked imaginings of Miss Potter had caused. It was only one night. Surely he would be able to get himself through it without expiring from lust. And then tomorrow, after seeing her safely returned to Amberly Hall, he would set his mind to procuring a mistress. A necessary matter which seemed to be long overdue.

But when he sat down to dinner an hour later with Miss Potter directly to his right, the prospect of bedding another woman went straight out the window. He wanted this one, and he wanted her with a feral resolve that made his entire body ache with need. “How was your bath?” he quietly asked. Apparently, he would submit himself to torture.

“Oh.” She’d just taken a bite of the ham they were having. She chewed it, chased it down with a sip of wine, and gave him a smile that tightened all of his muscles. “It was lovely. Exactly what I needed after a long day of traveling.”

“And your bedchamber?” He ought to turn his mind to other subjects before he did something rash, like haul her into his lap and kiss her breathless. “Is it to your liking?”

“Indeed, it is so incredibly comfortable and luxurious.” A dreamy look overcame her features, and Bryce became transfixed. “The plush carpet is heavenly beneath my feet and the bed…” She actually sighed. “I cannot wait to lie back against its inviting mattress.”

Bryce stared. Did she have any idea how alluring she was being right now? Of how erotic she sounded? Of course she didn’t. She was an innocent young woman hoping to get herself married to an eligible young bachelor. The last thing she’d want to do was encourage a stranger to take certain liberties with her. “I’m glad you like it,” he managed to say, before returning his attention to his food in the hope of finding some distraction.

“I suppose you enjoy reading,” she said, after a couple of minutes.

Bryce blinked and met her inquisitive gaze. The blueness made him stop for a second in order to gather his thoughts. “I don’t hate it,” he finally managed.

She grinned, lifting the unhappy atmosphere filling his home for so long. “Considering the impressive size of your library, I should hope not.”

Allowing a slight smile of his own, Bryce held her sparking gaze. “Books have always felt like a sound investment.”

“So you’re a collector?”

He dipped his head. “I suppose you could say that.”

She nodded as if she understood, and perhaps she did. “Have you read them all?”

“No. But I have read the most interesting ones.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her. She gave a succinct nod and took another bite of her food before asking, “Do you collect other things besides books?”

“Coins and…” He snorted, wondering what she would think of this next revelation. “Flowers.” She stared at him for a second, and it occurred to him he was holding his breath in anticipation of what she might say.

“How intriguing.” She sounded pensive. “May I see them after we finish our meal?”

The interest with which she asked the question could not be denied. “Of course.” It would mean more time in her company, and however unwise that might be, he could not stop himself from giving in to temptation.

So he led her away from the dining room once they’d finished desert and guided her toward his most private sanctuary. He produced a key from his pocket, opened the door, and waited for her to enter, then followed her into the room where nature was turned into lasting pieces of art.

* * *

Standing close to Ravenworth, Eve was acutely aware of his masculine presence. The scent of him alone–of sandalwood and pine–was enough to make her insides shiver. And although she hadn’t considered him handsome in the classical sense to begin with, the intensity with which he studied her, the focus with which he addressed each subject of conversation, and the manner in which he carried himself were so attractive, she could not help but be drawn to him in a way she’d never been drawn to any man before.

It was wrong, of course. She was well aware. He was an earl, and she was practically nobody. And then there was the impropriety of the whole situation, of her being in his home without a chaperone and about to spend the night there. She ought to be dreading every moment of it. Instead, she was thrilled with the prospect of having him near and of…trying to understand her curious reaction toward him.

It felt strange–as if her body could not decide if it wished to be hot or cold. Her stomach had started to twist itself into various knots each time he glanced her way, and she could feel the occasional tremor darting across her skin whenever he was close enough to touch.

It was most unsettling really, but it was also something so curious it demanded further exploration, if only to understand it. So she steeled herself and moved a bit nearer to where he was standing. It happened at the exact same moment he took a step toward her. The movement brought her almost shoulder to shoulder with him, and yes, there it was again, that strange lurch in the pit of her belly. A surge of heat rose up her spine, flushing her skin. She hastily added more distance by going toward the display case spanning the length of the wall. Heart pounding, she tried to focus on what it contained while she made every effort to slow her galloping pulse.

“Are those real?” she finally asked, when she realized what she was looking at.

“Yes. Some are from hothouse bouquets, others are wildflowers picked in various parts of the country. I paint them with gold leaf so they can last forever.” There was a slight pause, and then, from behind her left shoulder, “I also appreciate the beauty.”

Eve’s heart ricocheted wildly as Ravenworth’s breath brushed over the back of her neck. Her lungs struggled to draw breath, and there was something else, something that hadn’t been there before. Unsure of what it might be, Eve remained perfectly still while pretending to show great interest in all of the gilded flowers. But inside, she was in turmoil. Her body began responding more urgently to Ravenworth’s nearness. Which was silly, since she’d only met him a few hours earlier, not to mention incredibly embarrassing, when he would never be equally attracted to her.

Sobered by her reflection, she moved away to admire the rest of the room. He’d set up a table–a workspace with flowers carefully stored in transparent glass boxes, a few brass containers, what appeared to be a small oil-powered stove, and various tools. “You should turn these into jewelry,” she said, once the table was placed between them and there was less risk of her melting into a needy puddle of inexplicable desire.

Because that was what this was, wasn’t it? Her mother had warned Josephine about it years ago, about how it could divest both man and woman of their senses and prompt them to ignore the consequences. It was nature’s way of securing a continuation of the species, but it was wrong to allow outside the bounds of marriage. And since she would not marry him, she would have to ignore the effect he’d started having on her. She would stay one night. Surely she could get through it without losing her sanity. After all, she was here to see her friend, not to cavort with an earl.

“I have done so with a few of the pieces.” He went to a drawer and pulled out a flat box. Setting it on the table, he opened it to reveal a rose pendant attached to a gold chain. His eyes met hers. “What do you think?”

“It is lovely. Absolutely lovely.”

“In that case, it is yours.” He held the box toward her.

Eve stared at it before peering back up at him, her skin tightening across her body in response to the forcefulness of his gaze. She shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly.” Her heart thudded loudly and she forced herself to retreat all the way to the door. Once there, she swallowed hard while steadying herself against the doorframe. “Thank you for your hospitality this evening, but I find I am rather exhausted. If you’ll excuse me, I must…I must…”

Her breath caught, and words became impossible to speak while he simply stood there watching her with a hooded expression. “Good night,” she finally managed, upon which she fled. Because to remain there alone with him in that room, overcome by the masculinity he exuded, would be like playing with fire. And if there was one thing she hoped to avoid doing, it was getting burned.

* * *

Bryce watched her agitated departure with interest. She’d seemed especially flustered since entering this room and increasingly so, the closer he’d moved to where she’d stood. Sighing, he closed the jewelry box and returned it to the drawer. What the hell had he been thinking to offer her such a gift? The gesture had likely offended her in its impropriety. A man did not give jewelry to a woman unless she was his wife or his mistress. But when he’d seen her reaction to the piece–the appreciation shining in her eyes while she’d stood there admiring it–he’d felt as though it ought to be hanging around her neck instead of being hidden away from the world.

Leaving the room, he headed back to the library, removed his jacket, and kicked off his shoes. Radcliff had a point. He should not be sleeping on the same floor as Miss Potter. It would not be right, nor would it allow him a moment’s rest, knowing she was but a few doors away, tucked into the comfortable bed she’d mentioned at supper.

Groaning, he turned down the oil lamps so only a dim glow from the fire remained, then settled himself on the sofa and prepared to get some rest. But sleep was impossible to find when contemplating his houseguest produced a flare of heat in his loins. The clock chimed midnight, and Bryce blew out a breath. Throwing his arm over his eyes, he tried to find a distraction, something with which to cool his ardor.

Seventeen multiplied by eight, divided by four, and subtracted from five hundred and fifty nine…

A creak caught his attention. Pausing to listen, he heard it again. It sounded like it came from the hallway, so he held his breath and glanced at the door. Perhaps it was Radcliff making a final round to ensure no lights had been left burning, though it was rather late for that.

The door eased open, and a figure that definitely did not belong to his butler appeared. Mesmerized, Bryce watched Miss Potter enter the room. She was carrying an oil lamp, ,the glow from it bathing the nightgown she wore in golden light.

Christ!

He squinted through the darkness, aware she was unlikely to notice him, which allowed him to do what no gentleman would ever consider doing, and simply observe.

Carefully, she moved toward the bookcase, bringing her slightly closer. Setting her lamp on a nearby table, she turned up the light a little until…

Bryce clenched his hands and bit back a growl while he watched the opaque white cotton she wore turn translucent. Feeling his chest work against his attempt at keeping his ragged breathing as soft as possible, he watched her rise up onto her toes and pick a book from a higher shelf. The nightgown rose with her, sliding up over her legs. And then, as if that weren’t enough, she grabbed the book and turned around, allowing him a blatant view of her perfectly rounded breasts, outlined by the fabric.

Closing his eyes, Bryce began counting backward from one thousand.

He was going to die, plain and simple.

“What happened to him?” some would ask, and others would answer, “I hear he was consumed by lust.”

A limerick would probably mark his headstone. Something along the lines of:

This randy fellow would not be appeased,

His appetites grew but could not be pleased.

Sadly unsated,

He miscalculated,

The dangerous outcome of being teased.

A quick intake of breath–something much like a gasp–had him opening his eyes to find Miss Potter staring straight at him. He sat up, because pretending he wasn’t there was no longer an option.

“Miss Potter,” he said, doing his best to sound surprised. Which was bloody difficult when she was standing closer than before. Especially since the light from her lamp washed away her nightgown completely, leaving nothing but soft feminine curves.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, her eyes wide and stricken and…something else…

Aware.

He thanked the Lord he remained shrouded in darkness so she wouldn’t see his expression too well or the inappropriate effect she was having on him. Because since she was standing, he had to do so too, which meant a certain part of him would become embarrassingly visible if any more light spilled his way.

“What are you doing here?” he tried to ask by way of continuing to pretend he’d awoken to find her there.

“I, er, I could not sleep, so I decided to come down and find a book.”

“Very good.”

A moment of silence fell between them, and then she asked, “How about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to sleep,” he said. “Radcliff suggested it might be better if you and I did not occupy the same floor at night.”

“Oh.” She clutched the book she’d selected against her chest. “Then I should leave. This…” She waved her hand in an awkward way. “I’m so sorry to have intruded.”

“You needn’t worry. I do not plan on mentioning it to anyone, though I would advise you to wear a dressing gown when venturing beyond your bedchamber in the future. That nightgown you’re wearing…” He allowed his gaze to travel over the length of her body. “It reveals a lot more than you’d wish to know.”

A sharp breath was her only response before she turned on her heel and practically ran. He knew he’d behaved like a cad, but he also believed in honesty. If the woman thought there was nothing wrong with what she’d been wearing, he’d hopefully taught her otherwise. Because if a lesser man had seen her in such a state of dishabille, she would likely have been on her back in a second, with her scandalous nightgown hitched up around her waist.

As it was, Bryce had pushed back the urge to approach her and to seduce her, not because she would have resisted–he was starting to sense she might be more open to such an advance than even she was aware–but because he still liked to think of himself as an honorable man. Even if his thoughts did belong in the gutter.

* * *

Panting from the exertion of racing up a long flight of stairs and darting through a hallway, Eve leapt inside the sanctuary of her bedchamber, shutting the door behind her and locking it for good measure.

Good Lord!

Heart pounding, she crossed the floor to the mirror with hesitant steps, paused while she gathered her courage, and then raised the oil lamp so she would see what he had seen. A hot shiver raked her skin as she took in the image she presented. It hadn’t occurred to her that her nightgown might be see-through, but aided by the light from the lamp, it most certainly was. And the worst part was she was totally and completely, undeniably naked underneath, which meant he had seen… Dear God, Lord Ravenworth had seen… Swallowing, she set the lamp on her nightstand and turned down the light before climbing back into bed.

Her heart still beat a frantic rhythm. So she drew a calming breath and allowed herself to think back on the incident. He’d been in the dark, so she hadn’t noticed him until she’d prepared to leave. And although he’d been silhouetted against the shadows, she’d known he’d been without his jacket. That knowledge alone had been enough to make liquid heat pool in the deepest part of her belly.

But then he’d told her what he’d seen and she’d fled. The knowledge had stirred a fire within her, and in that moment, she had been terrified. Which now made her thump her fist against her mattress. The earl was no gentleman to say such things to a woman. He was a scoundrel, and she could not afford to lose the chance she had of securing her future on account of him.

Which meant it was just as well she would leave his home and go to Amberly Hall tomorrow. Her only hope was of Margaret not questioning her explanation about a coach delay on account of the weather. Because if she did, Eve feared she might stand to lose an important friendship. And she was not prepared to do so for a man she’d met that same afternoon.

But when she descended to breakfast the following morning intent on facing her host with resolve, her decision to quit his company was swiftly expelled the moment she entered the dining room and met his gaze.

He stood and moved to pull out her chair. “I fear you must stay here at least one more day,” he told her. “It snowed heavily last night. The horses will not be able to make their way through it, never mind a carriage.”

“But… No.” She shook her head. “I cannot stay here any longer.”

“As eager as you are to leave my company, I regret to tell you that you are solidly stuck.” He gestured for her to sit, and when she failed to do so, eyeing the empty chair with a wariness that must have showed, he expelled a breath and came toward her. Lowering his voice so the nearby footman wouldn’t hear, he whispered, “Please rest assured I will remain on my best behavior. What I told you last night was unforgiveable. I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies.”

“It doesn’t change what you saw or the fact I know you saw it,” she muttered. Try as she might, she could not stop her cheeks from flushing. But she held her head high and kept her spine straight in an effort to maintain some pride.

“No. But if it is any consolation, you may rest assured there was nothing wrong with what I did see. Quite the contrary.”

His mischievous smirk and the devilish gleam in his eyes were so unsettling, she balled her hand into a tight fist and punched his upper arm. “You are insufferable,” she declared. She marched across to her chair and sat before he had a chance to assist her.

“You hit me!”

He stared at her, but she didn’t care. She was much too annoyed to let his dismayed expression affect her. Instead, she busied herself by piling food onto her plate: bacon, eggs, toast, and kippers. Perhaps if she ate, her mood would improve.

“I tried to apologize.” He sat back down in his chair.

Grabbing the butter, she sliced off a glob and proceeded to spread it across her toast with tight little movements. “Yes. You did. And then you went and ruined it with the sort of comment for which you apologized seconds earlier.” Ugh! The man was really getting on her nerves today. Especially the part of him that sent little butterflies fluttering about in her belly.

“Should I insult you instead? Would it be better if I told you I found you displeasing or if I suggested you eat less cake?”

That did it!

She set down her knife and glared at him with as much disdain as she could give a man who’d offered her shelter, a nice warm bed, and some excellent food. “I am beginning to understand why there is no Lady Ravenworth,” she bit out between clenched teeth. “No woman in her right mind would want to subject herself to…” Her words trailed off as she watched his expression harden.

Without warning, he shoved back from the table and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a pressing matter to which I must attend,” he told her crisply. “Do make yourself at home, Miss Potter. My servants are at your disposal.” And on that note, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Eve with a sour taste in her mouth and a shameful feeling of guilt in her heart.