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"That's what you want to talk about?" Anastasia's surprise rapidly transformed to anger. "My beauty?"
"Um-hum." He caressed her cheek, her chin. "That, and everything else about you."
"Such as?"
"Such as—you said Anastasia's forte was business. What are your interests?"
Retreating from his touch, Anastasia rubbed the folds of her gown between her fingers, frantically trying to sort out what was happening here.
The problem was, she knew exactly what was happening. There was no mistaking this flagrant a seduction.
But Damen Lockewood—the principled Damen Lockewood—was not only trying to seduce an innocent woman, but trying to seduce Breanna. Breanna. After promising Anastasia he felt nothing for her cousin but friendship; after, just moments ago, proclaiming how captivated with Anastasia he was.
She didn't know whether to strike him or scream.
"Tell me," he coaxed, clasping his hands behind his back—as if he were exercising great restraint—"what is it you like to do?"
Slap you, she thought furiously. "My interests?" she repeated instead. "Reading. Drawing. Ah, and collecting porcelain figures. Nothing you'd find exciting."
"Never make assumptions." His tone was as intimate as a caress. "What type of porcelain figures?"
"All types—people, animals, flowers, objects. I began my collection when I was a child. It's grown to be quite extensive at this point."
"Really? You'll have to show it to me sometime."
When? she wanted to blurt out. When you carry me—rather, Breanna—off to your bed? "Don't tell me you're actually interested in examining little statues."
A quizzical lift of his brows. "You sound surprised."
"I am. I never imagined a man like you would enjoy such a thing. Then again, I never imagined a man like you would stoop to…" She snapped her mouth shut before she said something that would give her away.
"Would stoop to what?" Damen inquired. Undeterred by her obvious distress, he stepped closer—much closer—reaching out to capture her hands in his. "And a man like me—tell me, what type of man is that?"
"An honorable one. One who's absorbed in investments rather than…" Her breath caught as he brought her hands to his lips, and simultaneously eased her deeper into the shelter of the trees.
"Rather than…?" he prompted, tugging off one of her gloves and pressing his open mouth into her palm.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Damen tugged off the other glove, tossed them both aside. Then, he drew her closer, and planted his hands firmly on her waist.
"Lord Sheldrake, really." Anastasia twisted free, her fury as genuine as if she were truly being violated. How dare he? Given what was supposedly happening between him and Anastasia, how dare he make blatant advances toward Breanna? "I think you'd better take me back to the manor," she instructed sharply.
"I'd rather not."
"Fine. Then I'll take myself." She attempted to walk around him.
"No—you won't." His arm snaked out, caught her around the waist, and dragged her back to him. "Not when I've sat through an entire breakfast in order to get you alone."
That did it.
"Release me this instant." She slapped at his arms, stiffening as he lowered his head, brushed the curve of her shoulder with his lips. "Stop," she commanded, an inadvertent quiver rippling through her. "Let me go. Before I…"
"If I'm to be honest, I prefer your hair down," he murmured, kissing the pulse at her neck, working his way down the column of her throat. "But it does look more convincing this way. And I wouldn't want to upset your brilliant plan. So I'll restrain myself from pulling out all the pins." His thumb tilted up her chin, and he lowered his mouth to hers. "Instead, I'll concentrate on doing this." His lips brushed hers. "Kiss me."
Something in his husky mutterings struck her as significant, but she was too besieged by conflicting feelings to determine what that something was.
Her hands balled into fists, shoved against his chest, even as the warmth of his kiss surged through her. "I don't want…"
