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Except that he didn’t.
He stopped beside her chair. A sideways glance proved he was facing her. A light touch on her shoulder: She flinched away, horribly aware of their audience.
“Are you well?” he said softly.
She had to look at him then. He had not shaven this morning either and was without his coat, with his cravat tied in a simple knot over the throat she had tasted the night before. She bit back her scold over his appearance, for she was wise enough now to understand that her scold was not about that at all; besides, she did not look much better, for she had slept poorly and risen late, and pulled on a loose old morning gown because her maid was busy with other chores. What with housekeeping matters and correspondence, she had no time to change before Sir Gordon was announced. But Sir Gordon was a family friend, and Mr. Das was easygoing, and Joshua was a fiend, so his opinion mattered nothing at all.
Yet his expression was gentle for a fiend, and she caught herself reliving the thrill of his mouth. Under the cover of the table, she squeezed her thighs shut, feeling the tenderness of the faint pink rash his unshaven cheeks had raised.
“Thank you,” she replied. “I am quite well.”
“Good.”
The heavy clock ticked—once, twice, three times—and then he was moving again, pacing up and down the room, claiming the attention with his sheer dynamism.
“Scandal and debauchery require a special kind of lawyer, it appears, Sir Gordon,” Joshua said. “My regular lawyers excel at commerce, but for expertise in adultery, one must turn to the upper class.”
Sir Gordon could not be shocked. He steepled his fingers, regarded Joshua steadily with his clear blue eyes, and said nothing. Mr. Das fiddled with his pen and hid a smile.
“My husband has difficulty expressing himself, Sir Gordon,” Cassandra said. “I assure you, we are grateful that you are leading his defense.”
“I’ll be grateful when he can make this case go away so I can get my life back to normal.”
Oh, how thoughtful of him to remind her of hisnormallife without her. He had made that clear last night, leaving her, yet again. He was very talented at leaving her.
He was very talented at kissing her too.
She squeezed her thighs together and wondered how she could want to be near him, yet hate him all the while. Of course, she would have to be near him to throttle him, so perhaps it did make sense.
“First, we must deal with the rather substantial evidence,” Sir Gordon said.
“Evidence!” Joshua stopped pacing. “What bloody evidence?”
“If you’ll be quiet, Joshua, Sir Gordon will have a chance to tell us.”
With a snort, Joshua paced over to the sideboard and poked inside the ceramic bowl that held his candied lemon. Sir Gordon opened his dossier and his mouth to speak when—
“What the blazes is this?” Joshua said. “This isn’t candied lemon.”
“Heavens!” Cassandra slapped her palms on the table. “How can you worry about candied lemon when your family’s future is at risk?”
“I have no use for family. What I need is candied lemon. Das?”
“We ran out. That’srahat lokum.”
“Which is?”
“The English call it ‘Turkish delight.’ Sounds less foreign that way.”
“Turkish delight.” Joshua picked up a small cube and studied it critically. “It’s pink,” he said, sounding appalled. He sniffed it warily. “It’s sweet,” he added, and his eyes found Cassandra’s.
A faint smile touched his lips. Last night’s heat glinted in his eyes and kindled an answering spark inside her. He popped the sweet into his mouth, licked his fingers, chewed slowly, swallowed, his eyes on hers the whole time.
“And it tastes like roses,” he said. “I like things that are pink, sweet, and taste like roses.”
Heat coiled in her cheeks and pooled in her belly. Heavens, even here, in a room with Sir Gordon Bell—her father’s friend, whom she had known all her life!—and Mr. Das, that insistent pulse started up between her legs.
And he knew, the fiend!
