Page 5 of Scandal With A Viscount

He was aware of her through the rest of the evening in a way that had nothing to do with cards. The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear between hands. The way her fingers moved when she stacked her coins. The way she leaned forward during a close round and her neckline shifted, causing his gaze to drop before he could stop it. One second. Maybe less. When he dragged his eyes back to her face, she was watching him with a look that said she'd caught every bit of it.

Georgie won three hands total. Louis won two. Thea won everything else and declared herself the true champion of the evening. No one bothered to dispute that because Thea was terrifying when challenged.

The party began to thin. Maddie and John retired first—Maddie catching Louis's eye on the way out and mouthing behave with a pointed look that he ignored. Many of the other guests drifted off in pairs and groups until the drawing room held nothing but dying candles and the two of them.

Louis should leave. The sensible thing was to stand, wish her goodnight, and walk to his room while Maddie's voice still rang in his ears. She's not one of your widows.

He stood from his chair to do just that, and she rose as well. “Walk me to my chamber, Louis?”

Glancing over to Georgie’s mother, he saw that she was deep in lively conversation with a countess. He had no business walking through the darkened hallways with an unmarried miss. That was the kind of action that could just as soon see him wed or at the other end of her brother’s pistol. Especially if anyone knew where he’d allowed his thoughts to wander.

But she stood there waiting, and he was not strong enough to refuse.

“Of course I’ll escort you.” Apparently he'd lost all sense of self-preservation.

He offered his arm. She took it, and her fingers settled into the crook of his elbow. The warmth of her hand through the fabric of his coat was enough to make his pulse kick. They walked through the corridor, the house quiet around them. Most of the candles in the wall sconces had burned low, and the shadowed hallway stretched ahead.

He was aware of every bit of contact his body had with hers. Her fingers on his arm. How her shoulder brushed his with each step. The way she matched his pace without effort, her body close enough that he could feel the heat of her through the layers between them.

“Tomorrow should be interesting.” She gripped his arm tighter. “I’m currently beating you if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I just allowed you a bit of a head start. That’s all.”

“You allowed nothing. I took it.” She glanced up at him, and the low light caught the curve of her mouth. “We’ll see how gracious of a loser you are.”

“You are certainly a picture of grace in how you flaunt your winnings.”

She leaned closer to him when she laughed, and the sensation of having her body pressed against his side shot through him. He urged them down the hall, fighting to keep his breathing even.

They reached the door to her chamber. She stopped, and he went still beside her. Her room was at the end of the guest wing. His was only three doors down. He was aware of that distance the way he was aware of everything about her tonight. And that would only lead to trouble.

Georgie released his arm, and the absence of her touch was worse than the torture of knowing that nothing could come from it. She turned to face him. She was close. Close enough that he could see the pulse at the base of her throat, quick and steady, and the slight parting of her lips as she looked up at him.

“Thank you for the escort, Louis.” Her voice was low and warm, and there was something dangerous in her eyes.

“No thanks needed.” His voice came out rough.

She didn't move to open her door. He didn't step back. The space between them was a hand's width, maybe less, and every inch of it was charged with something that Louis could not afford and could not bring himself to break.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Just for a second. And his entire body went tight—his hands, his jaw, the breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

Louis was far too aware that he could lean down several inches and his lips would be on hers.

He should say goodnight. He should step back, give her a polite bow, and walk to his own door before he did something that couldn't be undone. Max's letter was sitting on his desk. Max's trust was on his shoulders. Georgie Whitmore was not a lady he could dally with.

“Goodnight, Georgie.” He made himself say it. Made his feet take one step back.

Something flickered across her face—disappointment, maybe, or the recognition that they’d found themselves in a precarious situation. She held his gaze for one more breath, and then her hand found the door handle behind her.

“Goodnight, Louis.” She opened the door and slipped inside. It closed with a soft click.

Louis stood in the hallway staring at the wood grain of her door for longer than any sane man should. Then he turned and walked the three doors to his own chamber, let himself in, and pressed his back against the closed door.

His heart was hammering. His hands were shaking. The taste of something he hadn't let himself have sat bitter on his tongue.

He'd done the right thing. He'd walked away. He'd kept his hands to himself and his mouth off hers and his promise to Max intact.

It was the hardest thing he'd done in years, and he doubted his ability to resist such temptation again.