Page 48 of To Winter at Wildsyde

“If you are involved, I doubt it,” she muttered, but had to admit he was correct as several people had come out for a little respite and were walking the long gallery, chatting and making use of the seating provided.

“What have I done to deserve such censure?” he asked, lowering his voice and nodding a greeting to another couple as they passed in the opposite direction. “I have only once tried to kiss you, and I did not force the issue when you objected.”

Matilda frowned, disliking the turn the conversation had taken into dangerous waters. “You need not do anything, my lord. You talk, you insinuate, you imply and sometimes you just speak plain. You have made your intentions perfectly clear.”

“I am a straightforward fellow,” he replied mildly.

Matilda gave a bark of laughter.

“You disagree?”

Matilda stared up at him in disbelief, wishing he wasn’t so beautiful as looking at him made something in her chest ache. It was nigh on impossible to look at the face of an angel and remember the personality behind it was controlling, ice cold, and wicked to the bone. As he’d spoken his gaze had dropped with his voice, almost demurely, the silver gaze hidden for a moment by a sweep of long, pale gold lashes. His hair shone like silver gilt as it caught the light and it was an effort to keep the scathing tone in her voice.

“I don’t have the slightest doubt your mind is a labyrinth and as full as twists as your character.”

“My, my, Miss Hunt,” he said, clearly amused as he pushed open a door and led her through it. “I am out of favour this evening.”

“You were never in favour,” she retorted, exasperated.

Too late, she looked about them to discover the other guests around them were no longer visible. Wherever they were, it was not the long gallery. They were alone. She glanced around a room dressed in shadow and moonlight and then stared up at him with panic rising in her chest.

“Never?” He tilted his head a little as he looked at her, curiosity in his expression.

“No.”

Her voice was firm, and Matilda took several steps away from him, moving to stand by the window and feeling a surge of relief when he did not close the gap. He didn’t drop his gaze, though, his eyes glittering in the half-light, and Matilda’s heart picked up speed. She told herself it was terror, and perhaps that was part of it, but not all.

“We should go back,” she said, wishing that hadn’t sounded so very breathless. “I don’t wish to be found alone with you.”

He smiled. “I’m afraid that ship has sailed,” he said, and for once there was no mockery or cruelty in the words. There didn’t need to be, they were true.

“My position in society is balanced on a knife edge as you well know. It would take little to push me over.”

She watched him consider her words and move towards her. Time was suspended as he grew closer, and then, to her surprise, he held out his arm again. She let out a breath, uncertain if she was relieved or disappointed, but slid her hand over his coat sleeve once more. He turned, as if they would return at once the way they’d come, but then paused.

“Do you not tire of your balancing act?” he asked.

His voice was low, caressing, and Matilda glanced up at him, wishing at once that she had not. The severe black and white of his evening attire suited him, suited the sharp lines of high cheekbones and flawless bone structure and those unnerving silver eyes. She stared, wondering how he would fare if he had such a precarious balance to keep and almost laughed. There was nothing precarious or uncertain about this man. He was utterly certain of himself, of his worth, his place in society, and that damn near everyone else was beneath him. For a moment she despised him, and then she wondered what such a life must be like.

“Are you lonely?” The question was out of her mouth before she could consider it or keep it back. Perhaps it had been the moonlight softening his harsh features, or softening her wits and her heart, but she had the sudden, desperate desire to know, for she felt very certain of the answer.

There was no reaction from him, not so much as the flicker of an eyelid, and she wondered if that was telling.

“I do not lack for company.”

There was no inflection in his voice, nothing in the words that gave her what she sought.

“That was not what I asked,” she pressed, determined to have an honest response from him but his attention had been taken, his gaze focused upon her mouth.

“I want to kiss you.”

She heard the truth of it in the way he spoke, heard something hot and urgent in his voice.

Matilda stilled, aware of the abrupt shift in the quality of the air between them, the charged atmosphere that seemed to crackle. She had the sudden expectation of seeing sparks glitter between them if he dared lay a hand on her.

“You may not,” she said, though the words were unsteady and her voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw tightened, and he stared at her for a long, drawn out moment before letting out a harsh breath.