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tea.
    “As you stated, he’s very protective,” Mr. Cooper said, his gaze not wavering from hers as he dropped a sugar lump into his steaming tea. “But then, he should be. He has a great deal to protect.”
    Another wave of heat suffused Genevieve, this one annoying her. At two and thirty, she was far past the age for her head to be turned by a man’s flattery. It’s been a long time since a man has flattered you, her inner voice whispered.
    Yes, obviously that was the problem. She suddenly realized that other than Baxter, she hadn’t been alone with a man since Richard had tossed her aside like yesterday’s trash. And there was no denying Mr. Cooper was extremely attractive. No wonder she felt so uncomfortably warm. And uncharacteristically tongue-tied.
    She watched him add four more lumps of sugar to his tea—so many that the liquid nearly spilled over the top, and her lips twitched. “You like a bit of tea with your sugar, Mr. Cooper?” she asked, lifting her cup to her lips to hide her smile.
    He lifted his cup and regarded her steadily over the rim. “I confess I’ve a weakness for sweets. Do you?”
    “I suppose, although my preference is for Baxter’s raspberry jam. You must try it.”
    She watched him spread the clotted cream and jam on a scone. His hands were browned by the sun, large and capable-looking, his fingers long and strong. The faint remnants of an ink stain marred his index finger, no surprise given his profession. He obviously spent many hours filling in columns of numbers to keep his employer’s accounts.
    An image flashed in her mind…of those masculine hands sifting through her hair, scattering pins, holding her head immobile as he leaned forward to brush those lovely firm lips over hers. Then his hands drifting lower—
    “Don’t you agree, Mrs. Ralston?”
    The question, asked in his deep voice, popped the sensual picture like a soap bubble. Good heavens, what on earth was wrong with her? Her thoughts never wandered like that. He was gazing at her with an expectant expression. Clearly he’d asked her something…something he wondered if she agreed with. To her chagrin she had no earthly idea what that something was.
    “Agree?” she murmured, her outwardly cool demeanor at complete odds with the heat racing through her.
    “That we should indulge our weaknesses.”
    She watched, transfixed, as he took a bite from his scone and slowly chewed. Recalling herself, she opened her mouth to speak, but her words evaporated in what felt like a puff of steam when he swallowed then licked a bit of jam from his lips. That tiny flick of tongue reverberated through her as if he’d licked her lips rather than his own and to her consternation, she found herself involuntarily mirroring his action. His gaze dropped to her mouth and fire flared in his eyes.
    “I…I suppose that depends on what one’s weaknesses are,” she murmured. Dear God, was that breathless sound her voice? “And if they are within one’s means.”
    His gaze returned to hers. “Meaning?”
    “If one harbors a weakness for diamonds but not the means to purchase them, well, then that is a weakness that should not be indulged.”
    “Lest one finds oneself deeply in debt.”
    “Or in Newgate for stealing.”
    “Are diamonds a weakness of yours, Mrs. Ralston?”
    She thought of the stunning necklace and matching earbobs Richard had given her, trinkets she’d sold soon after he’d left her. “No. In fact, I don’t really care for them. I find them cold and lifeless. I much prefer sapphires, although I wouldn’t call them a weakness.”
    “What would you call a weakness?”
    She considered fobbing off the question with a light laugh then changing the subject. But if she did, she wouldn’t be able to ask him what his weaknesses were. And she very much wanted to know.
    “Flowers,” she answered. “Especially roses.”
    “Any particular color?”
    “Pink is my favorite.”
    He smiled into her eyes and her breath