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her body surging. Afterward, she’d been startled to witness his bored satisfaction and bland politeness. The lack of intimacy between two people who’d just engaged in a deeply sensual act had baffled her. It still did.
    She’d been undeniably mesmerized once his lover left him, unable to tear her eyes away as the sublime creature tidied himself, deftly recreating the illusion of gentlemanly civility he usually showed the world. It did no good where she was concerned. The image of Camryn preening lazily up against the tree flaunting his virility with a careless confidence, branded itself upon her mind.
    The memory had a hot impact on her as she leaned up against the open door and listened to the strains of music. Her cheeks warmed and the lowest part of her belly twitched with anticipation. She groaned. How in the world could she react to Camryn in this way? Smart, sensible Charlotte Livingston mooning over a man who appeared to have little respect for females and even less for the common man. She forced a deep breath and shook out her shoulders, determined to put him out of her mind.
    “Miss Livingston?”
    Startled, Charlotte peered around the open door to find the flesh-and-blood object of her musings standing outside her bedchamber. “Oh, Lord Camryn!” she said, the heat rising in her cheeks again.
    “I’m sorry to intrude.” He was dressed in dinner attire, his deep blue, superfine tailcoat, and underlying dark paisley waistcoat, hugged the clean, taut lines of his body. Pale grey breeches clung to the defined curves of his strong thighs like a besotted lover. The clothing’s formal, restrictive elegance somehow enhanced the untamed, earthy quality that radiated from the marquess.
    Tugging at his snowy cravat, he said, “I, well, ah, take my leave tomorrow and wished to ascertain for myself that you are recovering.”
    “I am quite well, thank you.” She tried to ignore the thrill that shivered through her. “Except for the interminable boredom that comes with being in the sickroom, but there it is.”
    Camryn grinned in a radiant, full-toothed way which made her heart stumble. “I am so relieved to hear it.” He fell silent and she couldn’t think of a thing to say. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to leave. He turned to go. “Very well then.”
    “I could use a walk in the garden.” The words tumbled out in the rush to stay his departure. “If you would be kind enough to escort me.”
    “Of course.” His face brightened. “It would be my pleasure. I shall await you at the end of the corridor.”
    Spinning around, Charlotte grabbed her shawl and dashed over to check her reflection in the mirror. She pinched her cheeks before grabbing a bonnet and rushing to the door. Halting, she forced herself to step out of her chamber in a graceful manner, attempting a ladylike glide toward Camryn, instead of galloping down the corridor like a thoroughbred at Newmarket. Reaching the marquess, she took the arm he extended. “Thank you for taking pity on an invalid.”
    “Are you certain it is wise to move about? Willa said the doctor ordered complete bed rest.”
    “A serene walk about the garden will not jangle my brain.” She quickened her step, urging him along before he changed his mind. “And the invigorating fresh air will no doubt speed my recovery.”
    “As you wish.” The lines of concern on his forehead eased. They walked in silence, making their way through the cavernous house toward the garden. The cool night air and pungent scent of blooming flowers greeted them as soon as they stepped outside.
    “These gardens go on forever,” she said, breathing in the crisp air.
    “Hart says there are seven acres of garden. One could get lost.”
    “Then I am fortunate to have you as my guide. Are you very familiar with the paths?” Her cheeks flamed as soon as she asked the question, suddenly remembering the last time she’d seen him in the garden.
    He appeared not to notice. “My