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away to sneak a kiss behind some shrubbery. Such displays were quite unusual to witness. Violet’s parents hardly spent any time together. She had thought that was the standard for most married couples, but the duke and duchess were making her reconsider her view of marriage and all that it could be. Perhaps it could be something wonderful. Perhaps her eyes could shine and she could appear in a state of constant exhilaration like the Duchess of Banbury? She tried to envision a future like that with mild-mannered Mr. Weston.
    She tried to imagine him grabbing her around the waist and pulling her behind a tree. She tried and failed.
    The earl continued, his handsome expression perplexed, “Have you any idea how difficult it is to woo you when you won’t stand within five feet of me?”
    She fought back a smile. “Have you any idea how awkward it is for me to make certain I am never within five feet of you? You’re wasting your time. I cannot marry you.”
    “You can,” he countered.
    “Very well.” She lifted one shoulder. “I won’t.”
    He flattened one hand on the wall beside her head. She followed the long line of his arm. He’d discarded his jacket and she could make out the cut and definition of his bicep and shoulder against the fine lawn of his shirt. Gulping, she looked back at his face, only that was not much better. Her stomach flip-flopped at his intense expression. “I can change your mind. Let me court you. . . .”
    She looked rather helplessly around him, trying to decide how best to step past him without touching him. Because touching him would be a bad thing. She knew this deeply, innately. Experience had told her as much, as well. She had touched him in the stable, after all, when she had been splayed over him. No part of her hadn’t touched him then. That memory was still fresh enough to keep her tossing and turning at night.
    “No,” she uttered. The single word dropped like a stone between them.
    He angled his head, studying her as though she was some species he had never seen before, and she realized she might be the first female to ever refuse him.
    “I can be creative,” he murmured softly, his mouth hovering an inch from hers and sending her belly into wild flutters. “I can continue to corner you, stealing moments whenever I can.”
    Panic shot down her spine as his gaze flicked from her mouth to her eyes. She could not survive a week of that!
    “That’s courting? Hardly romantic, my lord,” she scoffed. “Sounds more like stalking . . . badgering. . . .”
    “Call me Will.”
    “No.” It wouldn’t be proper and it would confuse her into thinking they were more than they were.
    “I’ll call you Violet.”
    She shook her head. “Don’t do that.”
    He continued like he hadn’t heard her. “Violet,” he spoke her name as though he tasted it. The heat in her face intensified. He smiled then and she felt true danger beneath the seductive curve of his lips. “This Weston fellow? Did he kiss you?”
    She blinked. “What an impertinent question!”
    “I take that as a yes.”
    Heat scored her cheeks. Yes, he had kissed her. She supposed it could be called that. A quick press of his mouth to hers. She had thought it might last longer . . . that his dry and rather chapped lips might move over hers. True, she really didn’t know how it was done. It was her first and only kiss, but she had thought it might be . . . well, it might be . . . more .
    Immediately guilt flayed her for such a thought. John was a gentleman. Her thoughts were undeserving of him.
    “That’s all right.” The earl nodded once, his eyes at once intense and feral on her face. “It doesn’t matter. Because when we finally do kiss, you’ll forget all about him. I’ll kiss you properly. Or rather, improperly. I’ll show you how it should be between a man and a woman and then you’ll forget what’s-his-name. You’ll only think of me . . . and my mouth. . . .”
    Heat washed over