Page 41 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

“No, I agree with that approach.”

When they arrived at the Ancient Agora, she walked the perimeter, presumably searching for the best vantage point to begin her drawing. “This temple is believed to be older than the Parthenon, but there is speculation it was the same architect.”

“You’ve done your research,” Jonathan said.

“Mm-hmm.” She found a large flat-topped rock, and once she was seated, she extended a hand toward him, her attention solely on the hill. “Charcoals and sketchbook, please.”

Jonathan gave a small start and eagerly dug into her bag, but he only found the items she requested.

Suppressing a sigh, he sat next to her. She didn’t speak as the Parthenon took shape. It was like fog drifting away to reveal the temple column by column.

He studied her profile and the slight purse of her lips. “Am I bothering you?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Sorry.” He slid from the rock. “Should I stand over there?”

“Stay.” She patted the place beside her, and he resumed his seat. “It makes no difference where you sit. You are going to bother me. It’s effortless on your part.”

He recoiled. “Bother you how? What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.”

Neither could he. She had invaded his thoughts for hours, torturing him. Before he’d succumbed to exhaustion near dawn, everything became clear. Evangeline Darlington was the most bloody perfect woman he had ever encountered, and she couldn’t be further from his reach.

She slapped the charcoal against the paper, trapping it beneath her hand and turning toward him. He couldn’t catch his breath. Her eyes were the loveliest shade of blue. They were clear and kind, free of pretense. Whenever he looked into her eyes, he remembered what it was like to be optimistic about the future.

“I realize these things should not be discussed, sir, but if we are working together, I think it is best to leave no room for misunderstanding.”

He inclined his head, silently encouraging her to continue even though he suspected he was being scolded for touching her familiarly in the street. It had been instinctual, but he must remember his place.

“Did I imagine it?” she asked.

“Imagine what?”

Spots of color stained her cheeks, but she didn’t avert her gaze. “Did you almost kiss me last night?”

He inhaled sharply. Her boldness was heady and drove him to be as honest with her as he dared.

“Do you want a truthful answer, Miss Darlington?”

“I believe so.”

She traced her fingertips along the gentle curve of her collarbone in a nervous gesture that was sweetly inviting. He longed to drop a trail of kisses on the same path her hand traveled, to lick the hollow at the base of her throat and continue his exploration of her graceful neck before tenderly capturing her earlobe between his teeth. As if she could read his thoughts, she caressed her neck and toyed with her ear.

“I’ve never wanted to kiss any woman as badly,” he admitted.

Her eyes widened. He rushed on before he lost the nerve to be as honest as she. “The moonlight was falling softly across your hair and skin, and when I looked into your eyes, I forgot where we were. I forgot who I was. For a few glorious seconds, I believed I was in the presence of an angel.”

She stared at him with lips parted. He held his breath, awaiting her reaction to the truth. Had she felt it too? A magnetic force that drew them to each other?

“Good heavens, Sir Jonathan. What a load of rubbish.”

He flinched.

She lifted her charcoal to resume sketching and shook her head, chuckling. “I thought you were a man of good sense, but I see you fall prey to romantic nonsense as easily as others.”

“I-I beg your pardon.” The minx had him sputtering.