When she was facing him, he ran a hand up her arm, over her long, white glove, over that warm, petal-soft part of her skin on her upper arm, then over that exquisite silver-trimmed silk cap sleeve. He skimmed her shoulder and touched her cheek. It was softer, sweeter than he could have ever imagined. Then, he slid his finger under her chin and tipped her face up to his.

Her eyes were a clear hazel. “Beautiful,” he whispered under his breath.

“Your Grace…” She shook her head slightly. “I… I hate you.”

That was the most unconvincing declaration of hate he’d ever heard.

“And yet you don’t, do you? Not anymore.” Keeping one finger under her chin, he touched his thumb to her plump lower lip. Pink as a rosebud.

“I…well, no, I don’t hate you,” she murmured. “But…you hate me, don’t you?” She sounded rather desperate, as if she were hoping he hated her. “You think I’m a shrew.”

“I might have thought that once. But now…” He had hundreds of thoughts about this amazing, confounding, stubborn, beautiful woman. But right now… “I think you’re a minx and a tease.”

A frown puckered her brow again. He smoothed it away with the fingertips of his free hand.

She narrowed her eyes. “I think you’re the tease.”

“How’s that?”

“That ‘secret’…those indecent, improper things you said to me last night…”

“You mean how I was imagining us together? About how I couldn’t stop thinking about you?” His voice was husky as he spoke. He brushed his thumb over her lip, and he could feel the tremor roll through her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“That wasn’t teasing. That was the truth.”

“Because you ate that horrid love-apple.”

“No. The tomato had nothing to do with it. I feel that way right now, and the tomato is no longer involved.”

She stared up at him. “Desb—” she began, but he pressed two fingers over her lips.

“No. That’s not who I am.”

That small furrow appeared on her forehead. “What then? Ridge?”

“Call me Theo.”

“Theo,” she murmured. “Is Theodore your given name?”

He huffed out a small laugh. “Theophilus.”

She arched one blond eyebrow, but her eyes twinkled. “Theophilus?”

“My father gave me that name.” He wanted to kiss the edge of that raised brow. Badly. “Pretentious ass.”

She laughed softly. “Well, I’m not one to mock others’ pretensions. My father named me after the king.”

Another pretentious ass. He wasn’t going to say that out loud, though. Not when her eyes danced and her breaths emerged in light gasps from her slightly parted lips.
The thought of her father, the textile king of England, made him remember the pure folly of getting close to her.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.
“Georgiana,” he murmured. He’d been dying to say her name again. It felt so good on his tongue. “May I call you Georgiana?”

He waited, watching a dozen emotions flicker over her face as she considered his request. Finally, she gave a slow nod.

He lifted her wrist and tugged at the fingers of her glove. When all five of them were loosened, he pulled the supple fabric slowly down over her arm. Sparks seemed to crackle between them as he slid the silk over her pale skin until her hand was exposed. Tossing the glove aside, he laced his fingers with her delicate, feminine ones, brought her hand up to his lips, and pressed a kiss to each of her knuckles.

His chest was tight, his body strung taut. He wanted her so goddamn much.

She closed her eyes in a long blink, then looked up at him. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

Theo could gaze into her changeable eyes forever.

“One kiss,” he murmured, pulling her infinitesimally closer. “Just one.”

He waited, feeling like he was hanging on the edge of a cliff, anticipating the permission to step over and fall into heaven.

“Just one,” she agreed.

And she was the one who leaned forward that final, scant inch, tilting her head slightly before touching her lips to his.