are. Though I can’t imagine why.”
“Can’t you? You certainly do your best to avoid talking about him, as well as your uncle.”
She looked away. “I just . . . I don’t know what to say about him. Joshua is obviously unhappy. But that doesn’t mean he killed Uncle Armie!” Wrapping her arms about herself, she gazed at him. “And I don’t like talking about Uncle Armie because I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”
That again. “You didn’t mind speaking ill of the dead when you were telling me of your uncle’s lording it over you and your brother.”
“Those were your words, not mine. It was an accident.” She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. “I brought you in here to tell you that you’re wrong about Joshua. He isn’t guilty of anything but being a grump.” Her breath grew ragged, hoarse. “So you can stop your flirting and your compliments and your . . . your cozying up to me and all of that. It’s not going to make me c-confirm your suspicions. Because they’re not true.”
“What the hell?” He stepped up close to her. “I didn’t ‘cozy’ up to you because of Sheridan’s suspicions. Good God, what kind of man do you think I am?”
When she thrust her face up to his, he saw the hurt glittering in her eyes, and it fairly slayed him.
“I think,” she choked out, “that you’re a man used to doing whatever he must to get what he wants, even if it means saying . . . lovely things to the ridiculous sister of . . . the man you suspect.” She bit her lower lip. “To your brother’s . . . ‘self-conscious, awkward cousin.’”
Holy hell, this was worse than he’d thought—she’d actually heard Sheridan’s guesses about why Grey would never marry a woman like her.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Those were Sheridan’s words, not mine. And I have never thought you awkward or ridiculous. You can’t really believe I pretended to desire you just to learn more about your brother.”
That impertinent chin of hers came up again. “You were the one who told your brother: ‘How the devil do you expect me to find out about Wolfe’s involvement with the deaths if I can’t speak to Beatrice alone?’” She glowered at him. “Your so-called desire was all part of your scheme to help my cousin learn the truth. Although I daresay he wouldn’t approve of the tactics you used in trying to find it out.”
“No,” Grey bit out, “he wouldn’t approve. And neither would I. I’d never use a woman in such a fashion. Which is why I tried to resist my worst impulses with you.” His gaze dropped to her trembling lips. “But I failed. Even now, I want only to kiss you until you see exactly what nonsense your assumption is.”
Jerking free of him, she strode across the clearing to stand next to the stone bench. When she turned her back to him, her shoulders shook. “That would hardly prove anything. You’ve already demonstrated you’re perfectly capable of feigning desire when it suits you.”
“Damn it, I was not fei—” He dragged one hand down his face. Stalking up to her, he slipped an arm about her waist from behind and lowered his voice. “I know you felt the same things I did when we were dancing.”
Her body trembled in his arms. “Yes, you’re a master at seduction, so good that you get caught up in the illusion. But if you had a choice, a man with . . . with your experience would not—”
“My experience is what has taught me how rare a woman you are.”
Damn, he couldn’t believe he was spouting these things. How his brothers would laugh! Yet the thought that she believed herself incapable of tempting a man beyond reason, that he could have wounded her so deeply . . .
He tightened his hold on her, aware she didn’t resist as he wrapped his other arm about her waist to pull her against him.
Her voice fell to a ragged murmur. “I’m a nobody to you.”
“Clearly not.” He untied her bonnet, then stripped it from her head and dropped it onto the bench so he could nuzzle her hair. “Do you think I tramp about the woods every day with nobodies? Or spend hours teaching them how to dance?”
“When it suits you,” she whispered.
“Initially, Sheridan wanted to be the one to help with your come-out lessons, so he asked me to spy on