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go,” he said quietly.
    Phoebe gave a reluctant nod. “I should.” And yet, perhaps she was more of her shameful father’s daughter than she’d ever feared because her feet remained fixed to the ground.
    Edmund closed the space between them with languidly elegant movements. She swallowed hard as the gentle gleam in his eyes darkened, replaced with a harsh, angry glint. Then he blinked, so she thought she merely imagined the frigidity there. He angled his head down and touched his lips to hers.
    A startled squeak escaped her and she danced out of reach. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. “What are you doing?” Her voice emerged as a breathless, barely-there whisper.
    He opened his mouth.
    Phoebe continued her retreat, never taking her gaze from his piercing brown eyes. She knocked against a stone statue and grunted.
    Edmund took a step forward.
    She jabbed a finger in his direction. “Stop.” He froze. He’d intended to kiss her. She’d seen as much in his eyes. Gentlemen didn’t kiss her, even those who’d determined her worth of little value for her connection to the lecherous, reprobate Viscount Waters. But this gentleman had. She kept her finger outstretched, warding him off.
    “Forgive me.” There was a harsh, almost gravelly quality to that whispered response. “I was taken by your beauty.”
    Phoebe knocked into a fountain and an inelegant snort escaped her. And gentlemen certainly were not taken by her beauty . She didn’t possess the otherworldly exquisiteness of Gillian, or even the blonde prettiness associated with a proper English miss. Nor did she believe a stunning model of masculine perfection such as Edmund, 5 th Marquess of Rutland, would be overcome with passion for one such as her.
    A frown formed on his hard lips. “I don’t know what you believe of me.” The marquess folded his arms. “But I am not…” Heat blazed a path up her neck and burned her cheeks. He quirked an eyebrow.
    “Immoral,” she said on an angry whisper and then glanced about to be certain they weren’t discovered and she was indeed forever labeled exactly that.
    Edmund spread his arms wide. “It was never my intention to disrespect you. Perhaps I was caught in the moonlit moment or perhaps it was the splendor of these grounds, for I assure you, madam, I am not a gentleman to be so unwise as to give my attentions to a respectable lady, particularly an uninterested lady.” He sketched a stiff bow. “Forgive me.”
    Guilt roiled in her belly and mixed with shame over the staggering truth—she’d not been uninterested. Which only made her body’s awareness of a mysterious stranger all the more alarming.
    He made to leave.
    “Wait!”
    He immediately halted at her exclamation.
    “I didn’t mean to question your motives.” Up to that faintest meeting of lips, his intentions had been honorable and good. “Thank you for your assistance.”
    Edmund turned back and searched her face with his gaze once more, as though seeking the veracity of that apology. He gave a curt nod and then stalked over with a languid, almost panther-like sleekness that again sent warning bells clamoring. Or was that the rapid beat of her pulse? Her heart fluttered as he came to a stop beside her and she detested this inexplicable awareness of him that defied logic—something she’d always prided herself upon. He ran his knuckles over her cheek and her heart skipped several beats. “You wear your doubts upon your face, Miss Barrett. You’re guarded.”
    She wet her lips, uncomfortable with that unerring accuracy. A mere stranger, he’d seen so very much to know… What he couldn’t know is that having been born to a disloyal, black-hearted bastard such as her father, she’d learned long ago to be wary of a man’s motives, while hopefully daring to believe there were men of honor.
    “You say nothing, which is your confirmation,” he admonished.
    Unnerved by his ability to seemingly know her thoughts, she retreated,