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her as she looked at that disheveled bit of sand, so she turned her face forward and quickened her pace. A tightness clutched at her lungs. Though she was clothed, she felt more naked than she had before. His intelligent eyes saw too much, read too much in her face—and she was afraid he saw things she wasn’t even entirely aware of herself.
    She could breathe easily only when she was once again ensconced in her parents’ town house, safe from Michael…and safe from the vulnerability he had awakened within her.

Chapter Four
    The drawing room Anne found herself in the next night had been cleared of all unnecessary furniture and lined with rows of chairs in preparation for the evening’s entertainment. And though it was a large drawing room, it was overheated by the sheer number of people crammed within its striped, papered walls.
    She sat next to her two sisters in a row near the back, listening to a young woman play the harp like she’d been born to it.
    But Anne was having difficulty concentrating on the beautiful music. Her mind refused to move past a moonlit shore and a half-naked man doing wondrous things to her with his mouth.
    She waved her fan a little more vigorously. The tall sash windows were open to let in the sea-soaked air. Every so often the pale-green curtains would flutter, but she and her sisters were seated too far away for it to make a difference.
    Her mind wandered even further. Could sexual ventures be a pastime? If so, she would be tempted to add it to her list of favorite activities, even above dancing.
    She closed her eyes, trying to relive the sensations Michael had drawn out with his skilled touch. It wasn’t quite the same, but she did feel a stirring of desire. Her lips parted slightly as she remembered his kiss. She tilted her head and trailed the edge of her fan against her throat—the same path he’d followed with his mouth.
    Someone sat down in the chair next to her—she heard its wooden legs creak.
    She paused in mid-caress.
    “I would give a hundred pounds to know what you’re thinking about,” a low voice said, right next to her ear.
    Shock jolted her, and the fan fell from her suddenly limp fingers. She opened her eyes slowly.
    Thornhill’s profile came into view. His lips were quirked in a half grin.
    Well, two could play at this game.
    “I was thinking about you,” she whispered in her most seductive voice. “The way you touched me.”
    His head turned toward her. The primal look he sent her was enough to freeze her in place, to make the blood rush from her brain to a lower part of her anatomy.
    He shifted—his thigh pressed against hers, a wonderful, torturous heat. He leaned down. “I believe you dropped something,” he said casually.
    As he straightened with her fan, he took the opportunity to let his fingers brush her ankle beneath her dress, then slide up her calf. He stroked the back of her knee gently before withdrawing. The moment was over so quickly she might have thought she imagined it—except her whole leg tingled warmly in response to his touch. He held out the fan, a feminine contraption of flower-painted silk and lace that looked fragile in his hand. She grabbed it ungratefully, frustrated that she’d been bested in their exchange.
    “Do you enjoy music, Miss Middleton?” he asked, as though he hadn’t just been teasing her outrageously.
    She strove to keep her voice steady. She didn’t want the man to think he could unravel her so easily. “Yes, but I’m not the best musician. I don’t have the patience for it.”
    “Impatient? I wouldn’t have guessed,” he said, his tone light.
    She recalled the way she’d yanked on his hair when he’d pulled away from her on the beach. “I’ve never thought patience was one of the more important virtues.”
    “Ah. That’s unfortunate.”
    “Why?”
    “I thought we could explore, but it would have to wait until the intermission, at least.”
    She startled in her seat, her mouth opening. When she