It was not bright or embellished, but there was something almost defiant in it.
His breath caught before he could stop it.
Damnation.
He did not want her. Not like this.
Not when she was Dash’s sister. Not when she carried secrets she couldn’t speak aloud.
His honor demanded he keep his hands, his thoughts, and every unruly impulse properly leashed.
And yet, there she was.
Meandering along Bond Street. Alone.
She glanced toward a shop window, and the movement caught the morning light along her cheek, the curve of her mouth, the small, determined notch in her chin.
His control, so carefully assembled only yesterday… It shifted. The warning movements of a few loose pebbles before an entire wall of rock sheared off into the sea.
Then a gentleman passing too closely forced her to alter her path.
That broke the spell.
Gideon crossed the street in long strides, reaching her in seconds.
“Bea—My lady.”
She turned, brows lifting.
Then she smiled. Not a pleasant and proper smile, but one that made the damn sun shine even brighter.
“My dear Lord Hawkins.” There was a teasing glint in her eyes.
For half a second, Gideon forgot the lecture forming in his head. But then his gaze moved past her shoulder, taking in the crowd.
“No Miss Montague with you today?” he asked, knowing better than to ask about her brother escorting her anywhere this Season.
“Not today, I’m afraid,” she said, though she didn’t appear bothered by this at all. “Lark does have her own duties to attend to on occasion.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Then we appear to suffer from the same deficiency.” He offered his arm. “Fortunately, the solution is obvious. You shall keep me respectable, and I shall return the favor.”
Her brows lifted. She stared at his arm, then at his face, her expression dancing somewhere between amusement and suspicion. “How very tidy of you.”
“I pride myself on efficiency.”
“Ha! You pride yourself on interfering.”
“Only when interference is warranted.”
“And is it?”
He let his gaze travel once more over the street—not lingering over her, though the effort cost him more than it ought.
Damn it.
He had not crossed the street to be charmed.
Beatrice laughed again, but she did at last place her hand lightly upon his sleeve.
