fortunate enough to hear them play the pianoforte. Quite remarkable, aside from the clanking of the shells.”
“The flute is ever so much better.” He gave Lady’s neck a tender scratch, and she nuzzled into his hand.
It was not the first time Hyacinth had been jealous of her own dog. She was beginning to suspect it would not be the last.
“You seem to have Lady charmed,” she observed, not without a hint of bitterness.
His dark gaze seared hers. “If only I could similarly charm her mistress.”
“You already did,” she admitted against her will, “and that is the problem.”
He moved nearer. Long, deliberate strides. Neither hurried nor hesitating, but measured. As if he had all the time to pursue her in the world. “I fail to see the problem.”
She told herself she would not retreat. Not even when he had reached her and he was but an outstretched arm away. Not even when his decadent scent teased her senses, threatening to overwhelm.
Why did he have to be so tempting?
“I do not want to be charmed,” she told him, forcing some firmness into her voice. “I want liberty. I am newly free after five years of misery and another six months spent paying homage to the memory of a man I despised.”
That much was true. She did not need to mention her inconvenient reaction to Tom. Or how he made her throw every shred of caution and lingering morality to the proverbial winds. In truth, the deep connection she felt with him frightened her. The risks she had taken with him disturbed her. Not because she had taken them, but because she had liked them.
“I do not recall seeking to chain you.” He studied her, still showering Lady with attention.
“I am beginning to believe you stole into my gardens expressly so you could abduct my dog, Lord Sidmouth.” She pursed her lips, examining him in return.
Oh, he was far too handsome. Every part of her yearned to throw herself into his arms. But she could not, would not, must not. Her inability to resist him had been the reason she had refused his calls in the wake of their folly at the Duke of Brandon’s ball. She did not dare trust herself in his presence, and she could not bear for a man to hold such power over her.
“I hardly stole into your gardens.” He was calm now, that warm, brown stare seeing more than she wanted him to, she had no doubt. “There is a connecting gate, hidden behind Lady Allesford’s prized rosebushes.”
“They are my rosebushes now,” she could not help reminding him, before recalling the rest of what he had said. “Is that how you managed to rescue Lady?”
Somehow, with all the champagne she had consumed that night, she had failed to wonder how Tom had been within her walled garden. He had simply been there, rescuing Lady, unfairly gorgeous in the moonlight, asking for a kiss.
A slight smile quirked his sensual lips. “Are you doubting my skill as a conjurer?”
“I am doubting my sanity for remaining here, chattering with you in the gardens, when I vowed I would keep my distance.” She bit her lip once more, stifling further, decidedly unwanted revelations.
“Why keep your distance, Hyacinth?” His stare bored into hers. “Do you not trust yourself?”
“After what happened at the ball?” Her cheeks went hotter still, curse them. “Of course not. Why would I? It is plain to see my common sense and reason both flee me whenever I am in your presence long enough. Therefore, the only answer is to cease finding myself in your presence.”
“And now I have ruined your determination by appearing in your gardens once more,” he finished for her.
Lady licked his chin again, her adoration evident.
Rotten little minx.
“I will see to Lady now, if you please,” she said, holding out her arms to take her pup from him.
But Tom was not in the mood to comply. “She seems quite pleased where she is.”
Hyacinth knew the feeling all too well. Tom’s arms were an excellent place to find one’s self. Too excellent.
“Nevertheless, it is time for her to have her nap. I insist.” She reached for Lady.
Tom relinquished the adoring pug with reluctance, but his gaze had never strayed from Hyacinth. She felt his stare as viscerally as a touch. A caress. The glide of his fingertips over her bare skin.
She had made love with him, and yet, it had been rushed. If she had to relive that moment, she would take more time. Linger over