Page 32 of How to Wed a Courtesan

She pulled her hand from his grip and pushed to her feet, fully prepared to ask him to leave. He rose alongside her and closed the distance between them, filling her space with his familiar scent, triggering memories that made her heart ache.

Tears blurred her vision unexpectedly. This was why she so often tried to put off seeing him. Her heart could not bear the closeness of him any more than she could stand the futility of their meetings.

‘Why will you not leave me alone?’ she asked, transferring her hurt into anger. ‘It’s been two years and I’ve repeatedly rebuffed your attentions.’

Those green eyes searched hers with gentle affection. She did not look away, yielding to the part of her that wished it was possible to peer down deep into his soul, to know the truth of his words, to glean more of his character. Time and circumstance had shaped them both, and she did not know him now any more than he knew her.

The skin around Evander’s eyes tightened in a way that suggested he was doing the same as she: trying desperately to see what was inside.

‘You love me.’

‘I don’t love you,’ she protested weakly.

‘You’re lying.’

He lifted a brow and eased even closer, near enough to kiss.

Her pulse tapped an erratic rhythm. How she wished she could close her eyes and wait for the softness of his mouth on hers once more. Could give in to the desire burning in her veins and the yawning, aching need in her empty chest.

‘Why would you think such a thing?’ Her voice was far too breathless, but she could no sooner control it than she could her rapid pulse.

‘I saw how your hands trembled when you poured the tea, how your cheeks reddened when I entered the room.’

He spoke low, but his mouth was near enough to her ear that she heard every word, felt every one of them with the brush of his warm breath against her neck.

‘Even now you are still flushed, as if you know how tempted I am to kiss you.’

She drew in a soft breath.

He was not wrong. And they both knew it.

Some day he might stop sending flowers. Or worse... He might send them to someone else.

He hovered near her for a long moment, her pulse frozen in a maelstrom of wanting him to kiss her and wishing he would leave.

At last, he straightened. ‘My mother has insisted on having a ball for my thirtieth birthday. I think she feels she must show her gratitude for my staying with her through her illness, though I’ve told her it’s entirely unnecessary.’

‘How wonderful,’ she replied, sensing immediately why he had mentioned his birthday ball.

‘I want you there.’

He lightly touched her face, a mere brush of his fingertips over her jaw. Her breath locked in her chest, unwilling to budge in or out.

Give him a chance.

Attending his birthday ball was no more prudent than hoping he would kiss her. Yet as she became lost once more in his handsome green eyes she could not bring herself to say no.

Blast Sarah for planting such foolish notions inside her head.

‘Send the details.’ Lottie stepped back, giving herself room to breathe. To think. ‘I may be there, but that is not a yes.’

‘Nor is it a no.’

He broke out a smile that took six years off his face and twisted at a tender place she wished would remain buried.

‘You’ll have what you need in the morning,’ he said. ‘Please truly consider it.’

As he left the drawing room to exit the townhouse she found herself warring with the idea of attending the ball. She was grateful she had not said yes. Yet also grateful she had not said no.