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flopped down again near the door. The dog could tell this discussion
    wasn’t over yet.
    “There was no hiding your identity, my pretty Cinderella. Your father showed me your portrait when he suggested our marriage.”
    “My portrait?” Lawrence had painted her when she was sixteen and the picture—unfortunately rather simpering—hung in the dining
    room, but Lyle hadn’t yet been into that room. Then Charlotte released a soft huff of understanding. “The miniature.”
    Her father, who hid a sentimental streak as wide as the Atlantic beneath his bluff exterior, never went anywhere without the tiny paintings of his late
    wife and his daughter. That sentimental streak meant she’d been caught unprepared when he’d suddenly decided to promote a loveless union for
    his cosseted child.
    “It doesn’t do you justice.” Lyle raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Heat sizzled through her, and for a dazzled moment, she
    blinked up at him.
    “Oh, this is bad, so bad,” she said, more to herself than to him.
    His lips twitched again. “What’s made you fly up into the boughs now?”
    She snatched her hand back, skin tingling after that brief salute. “I’ll have you know I’m considered the cleverest girl in the
    parish.” On unsteady legs, she backed away to slump despairing onto the bed. She struggled not to recall the wicked and delightful things Lord Lyle
    had done to her, but the wrinkled counterpane provided an inevitable reminder. “How is it you turn me into such a henwit?”
    He laughed softly. From the first, she’d noticed that Lord Lyle was a man who found rich entertainment in the world. Attractive creases around his
    eyes and mouth indicated he smiled a lot. Those creases deepened as he joined her on the bed. “Cheer up. You have the same detrimental effect on my
    wits.”
    “Really?” she asked, knowing he sat too close, but too bewildered to retreat to a safe distance. Then he took her hand once more, and the lunatic who had possessed her mind wouldn’t have shifted for a thousand guineas.
    “Really. If I reacted to every pretty face like this, I’d be barred from Almack’s.”
    She tried and failed to stifle her pleasure at his confession. Hearing that he was similarly afflicted shouldn’t be any consolation, but it was.
    “Perhaps it’s because forbidden fruit is within reach.”
    He cast her a skeptical glance. “You know it’s more than that.”
    Her free hand began to pleat her blue skirt. Her voice lowered to a mutter. “This last hour, I’ve discovered that I don’t know much about
    much at all. Least of all myself.”
    “Miss Warren…”
    “Yes?”
    When she glanced up, his face was surprisingly serious. “I know I’ve teased and annoyed you, but I hate to think that you might be
    frightened.”
    She shot him a quelling look. “I’m not easy to scare.”
    “No, I can see you’re not. But I’m sure you’d feel easier if I went away .”
      That, undoubtedly, was true. So why did the prospect of his exile make her want to howl like a banshee? “You can’t.”
    “I could try to cross the bridge.”
    “It’s too dangerous. Last winter, a wagoner tried to ford the flooding river, and he was washed away and drowned.”
    “The stables, then.”
    Her hand tightened on his. “No.”
    “If I’m discovered here, there will be a scandal,” he said quietly. “The court of public opinion will decide our future.”
    “Whether you sleep in the house or the stables, nothing will save us from gossip if the world finds out we’re here alone.” Then she spoke
    words she’d never imagined saying to the blackguard who had somehow convinced her gullible father that he’d make the ideal son-in-law. “I
    trust your honor.”
    She’d been so close to yielding to him, yet when she’d asked him to stop, he had. His self-denial was powerful persuasion that she was safe
    with him.
    Lyle looked shocked, before he granted her another glimpse of that singularly sweet smile.