He smiled. “No, truly. It would be so easy. I’d begin by studying you, when you aren’t aware of it. Stealing glances when you’re lost in thought, or when your head’s bent over a book. Admiring the way that dark, wild hair always manages to escapes its pins, tumbling down your neck.” With his free hand, he caught a damp strand of her hair in his fingertips and smoothed it behind her ear. Then he brushed a light touch over her cheek. “Noting the warm glow of your skin, where the sun has kissed it. And these lips. Damn. I think I’d have to develop quite a fascination with your lips.”
His thumb hovered over her mouth, teasing her with possibilities. She ached for his touch, until she was miserable with it. This . . . unwanted wanting.
“It wouldn’t take long. Soon everyone around us would take note of my interest,” he said. “They’d believe my attraction to you.”
“You’ve been mercilessly teasing me for months now. No one would forget that.”
“All part of the infatuation. Don’t you know? A man might engage in flirtation with disinterest, even disdain. But he never teases without affection.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should. Others would.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. His gaze swept her body from boots to unbound hair. “I could have them all believing I’m consumed by a savage, visceral passion for this enchantress with raven’s-wing hair and sultry lips. That I admire her fierce loyalty to her sisters, and her brave, resourceful spirit. That I’m driven wild by hints of a deep, hidden passion that escape her sometimes, when she ventures out of her shell. “ His strong hands moved to frame her face. His Bristol-diamond eyes held hers. “That I see in her a rare, wild beauty that’s been overlooked, somehow, by other men. And I want it. Desperately. All for myself. Oh, I could have them believing it all.”
The rich, deep flow of words had worked some kind of spell on her. She stood transfixed, unable to move or speak.
It’s not real, she reminded herself. None of these words mean a thing.
But his caress was real. Real, and warm, and tender. It could mean too much, if she let it. Caution told her to pull away.
Instead, she placed a light, trembling touch to his shoulder. Foolish hand. Foolish fingers.
“If I wished,” he murmured, drawing her close and tilting her face to his, “I could convince everyone that the true reason I’ve remained in Spindle Cove—months past what should have been my breaking point—has nothing to do with my cousin or my finances.” His voice went husky. “That it’s simply you, Minerva.” He caressed her cheek, so sweetly her heart ached. “That it’s always been you.”
His eyes were sincere, unguarded. No hint of irony in his voice. He almost seemed to have convinced himself.
Her heart pounded in her chest with violent force. That mad, hammering beat was all she could hear.
Until another sound intruded.
Laughter. A woman’s laughter. Trickling down from above, like a cascade of freezing water. A brisk, dousing shock.
Oh God.
“Bloody hell.” He looked up, to the sleeping loft.
Minerva followed his gaze. From behind the draped bed hangings, the unseen woman laughed again. Laughed at her.
Oh God. Oh God.
How could she have been so stupid? Naturally, he wasn’t alone. He’d all but told her as much. He’d taken forever to open the door, but he hadn’t been sleeping. He’d paused first to . . .
To put on trousers.
Oh God oh God oh God.
The whole time. Whoever she was up there, she’d been listening the whole time.
Minerva groped numbly for her cloak, jerking it on with shaking fingers. The fire’s smoky heat was suddenly cloying and thick. Suffocating. She had to leave this place. She was going to be ill.
“Wait,” he said, following her to the door. “It’s not how it looks.”
She cut him a freezing glare.
“Very well, it’s mostly how it looks. But I swear, I’d forgotten she was even here.”
She ceased struggling with the door latch. “And that’s supposed to make me think better of you?”
“No.” He sighed. “It’s supposed to make you think better of you. That’s all I meant. To make you feel better.”
Amazing, then, how with that one remark, he made a mortifying situation thirteen times worse.
“I see. Normally you reserve the insincere compliments for your lovers. But you thought to take on a charity case.” He started to reply, but she cut him off. She glanced up at the loft. “Who is she?”
“Does it matter?”
“Does it matter?” She wrenched the door open. “Good Lord. Are women so interchangeable and faceless to you? You just . . . lose track of them under the bed cushions, like pennies? I can’t believe I—”
A hot tear spilled down her cheek. She hated that tear. Hated that he’d seen it. A man like this wasn’t worth weeping over. It was just . . . for that moment by the fire, after years of being overlooked, she’d finally felt noticed. Appreciated.
Wanted.
And it had all been a lie. A ridiculous, laughable joke.
He pulled on his greatcoat. “Let me see you home, at least.”
“Stay back. Don’t come near me, or my sister.” She held him off with a hand as she backed through the door. “You are the most deceitful, horrid, shameless, contemptible man I have ever had the displeasure to know. How do you sleep at night?”
His reply came just as she banged the door closed.
“I don’t.”
Chapter Two