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Oh, no. She definitely didn’t need him reading her thoughts. “In that case, I’m glad that we’re in the dark and you can’t see my face.”
“I don’t need light to see you. I’ve observed you very closely indeed, my lovely shy bird. From the moment I first saw you.”
She tugged her hand free. “That can’t be true.”
“Of course it’s true.”
She heard the smile in his voice. If she’d thought that musical baritone appealing before, now she was close to melting into a pool of honey.
“Prove it.”
She didn’t know why she pushed this. Did she really want to prove that he lied about seeing her? Something inside her blossomed at the idea that amongst the glittering throng at her uncle’s Christmas party, this experienced man had singled her out.
“Yesterday, you wore a green dress. Today you’re wearing a blue one. Whenever I’ve seen you, you’ve had a simple gold locket around your neck.”
Shock jammed her response in her throat. Still he sounded like he smiled. She wished he wouldn’t. She also wished she wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t try to recapture her hand.
“Shall I continue?” he asked gently.
“I feel…I feel a little overwhelmed.” She reached up to fiddle with the locket she’d inherited from her grandmother. “Perhaps it’s a rake’s habit to note the details when he meets a woman.”
Erskine laughed softly. “You’re a suspicious chit.”
He sounded as though he genuinely appreciated her. Her brief enchantment faded. Surely he mocked her. Or used dalliance to fill the dull minutes while they were stuck here. She wriggled away, feeling depressed at being Lord Erskine’s stopgap.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured.
Every hair on her skin lifted in awareness. She heard the unspoken promise in his words. “You’re dangerous.”
“I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”
“So far.”
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
That sounded ominous. Her stomach lurched with forbidden excitement. She moved further away, out of temptation’s reach. Unfortunately in this glorified cupboard, that wasn’t very far at all.
How mortifying that twenty years of respectability crumbled by the second. As yet, Lord Erskine hadn’t gone beyond holding her hand and admitting that he’d noticed her. Imagine how cooperative she’d be if he tried a little harder to seduce her.
She swallowed to moisten a dry throat. “This has gone far enough.”
“As you wish.”
Curse him. He sounded like he didn’t care.
Oh, she was a fool. Of course he didn’t care. All his talk about the charms of quiet, brown-haired women was just that—talk. He must laugh himself silly to think that she swallowed this drivel about his interest. As if a man like Lord Erskine would spare a glance for plain-spoken, plain-featured Philippa Sanders. She only had his attention now because there wasn’t another candidate, and he must be bored, locked in this cupboard. He was probably wishing that Amelia had decided to retrieve her own letter.
The thought stung. As she meant it to. “Perhaps we shouldn’t talk anymore.”
She retreated further, bumping the base of a leather chest that filled the corner. How she’d love to stride away with pride intact. But of course, her pride wouldn’t be wounded if she wasn’t trapped with a sweet-tongued Don Juan.
Even so, she could get up. The room was small, but not so small that she had to huddle at Erskine’s side. The thought had just crossed her mind when his hand brushed her cheek.
Every muscle went absolutely still. Even her heart stopped beating.
The tingling contact lasted a mere second. Then it was over.
She should shift. Protest. Make it clear that she had no intentions of providing this rake with an amusing interval before his return to the fleshpots.
