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Miss Seaborne, for then I would be denied the sheer pleasure of looking at you,’ he told her as if it were no more than passing the time of day.

      ‘I’m not a cold collection of limbs and good enough features to be gawped at like yonder statue, my lord. I am a human being with all the faults and failures and hopes and dreams we earthly creatures are subject to.’

      ‘But it doesn’t hurt the rest of us fallible beings that you’re a sheer pleasure to look upon, Miss Persephone Seaborne,’ he informed her quietly and strode dangerously close again, to look down at her as if he’d find out all the secrets of her inner soul she’d managed to bury deep inside.

      ‘And if I was to be as rude and bold as you are, I’d have to admit you’re no hardship to behold yourself, Alexander Forthin,’ she countered, meeting his disconcerting gaze as if it were normal for a lady to compliment a gentleman.

      For a moment he looked shocked, then almost flattered, before his insecurity about his scarred face and marred eye surfaced and he merely looked offended—as if she were mocking him for being less handsome, at least in his own eyes, than he’d been once upon a time.

      ‘I do remember you from before, you know,’ she said softly and, as he appeared to want to step back, she took a step nearer so she could meet his eyes to show him she meant what she said. ‘You were handsome and arrogant and proud as sin back then, when Rich and Jack left Eton for Oxford and you got your commission and a scarlet coat to dazzle schoolgirls like me out of the few wits I had left me. To my mind you’re a great deal better looking now than you were back then and considerably less vain.’

      ‘Then you’re still dazzled?’ he asked as if that was all that mattered to him in her shaming admission that she’d once cherished a fiery and fearsome crush for him, even though she’d only set eyes on him once or twice when she was supposed to be minding her lessons.

      ‘I’m no longer a schoolgirl who can be easily enchanted by a devil-may-care manner and a pair of knowing blue eyes, Lord Calvercombe,’ she claimed primly, but inside she wasn’t quite so sure.

      ‘If you first set eyes on me when I was still a boy straight out of school, I doubt they were as knowing as either of us thought at the time,’ he admitted and disarmed her all over again.

      ‘Whatever you knew, it was a lot more than I did,’ she admitted. Since he was about the same age as Jack and therefore eight or so years older than herself, that was a safe enough bet at least.

      ‘Not that you would ever have admitted it.’

      ‘No, not then,’ she acknowledged.

      ‘Or now,’ he said flatly, and since she’d dug that trap for herself, she supposed she couldn’t blame him for using it.

      ‘Nine or ten years have gone past since we first set eyes on each other and I’ve learnt a lot in the meantime, Lord Calvercombe.’

      ‘Then you’re prepared to rashly lay claim to having become a woman of the world since then, are you, Persephone? I suppose you are an experienced female with three, maybe even four Seasons at your back by now and still no husband to make them into a triumph,’ he observed, and she wasn’t going to admit the cutting edge of that conclusion, coming from him instead of her few known and familiar enemies among the ton as it did.

      She knew he was using temper to set her at a distance, but it hurt her far more acutely than it should. He’d slyly trailed the outrageous possibility she might have become worldlier than a respectable young lady should be, as well as reminding her the world might one day mock her looks and birth and comfortable marriage portion if she refused to wed. He deserved to have his face slapped before she flounced away, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

      ‘Only three Seasons actually, my lord, and that really doesn’t mean I’m either desperate for a lover or considered to be at my last prayers quite yet. I happen to be very particular about the man I might one day decide to marry.’

      ‘After you’ve had your pick of the bachelors to flirt and test and measure against some impossible ideal of perfection, I suppose? Please don’t tell me how he must be, let me guess. The poor man will have to be rich if he’s to afford you,’ he said as if about to count off on his fingers all the things she must demand in a husband, when all she really wanted was to love passionately and be loved in return one day or not wed at all. ‘Then there’s all that ducal blood flowing proud in your veins to measure up to. I doubt some ancient old noble will do for such a lovely and fastidious young lady as you, either, so he must be smoothly god-like and haughty as a Roman senator with all except his lady. He’d better be a fine horseman, or strive to become one, since you’re reputed to possess a fine seat and a good eye for a horse that he’d do well to match. All in all, the man must be a paragon, don’t you think? Little wonder it’s taking you so long to select the poor fellow; such a pattern card of perfection can exist only once in a generation.’

      ‘Even more of a wonder if he actually exists at all. What right have you to think you know me so well that all my most private thoughts are an open book to you, Lord Calvercombe? I’d sooner stay a maid all my life than go about the business of finding a husband in such a cynical and chilly fashion and, if that’s the best you can let yourself think of me, I’ll thank you to avoid me in future for our mutual comfort.’

      ‘It would certainly help mine,’ she thought she heard him murmur as if she made him acutely uneasy somehow by breathing the same air as him.

      ‘Consider it done,’ she declared airily and would have strolled away from him as if nothing about him interested her, if he’d let her.

      ‘If only I could,’ he rasped as he grasped her arm and his touch burned through her like wildfire and froze her in her tracks.

      ‘Take your hands off me,’ she hissed with all the passion she could muster, since the very air seemed to hum with a warning that he was now far too close.

      ‘Gladly, if only I could believe you will dutifully return to your mother’s side and leave me to find Richard Seaborne and my ward.’

      ‘Do you think Mama would want me to do that if there’s a chance we can find Rich and have him back here in his true home once more? Or do you assume she doesn’t miss him every minute of every day? I suppose you see the serene face she shows the world and imagine Lady Henry Seaborne either doesn’t feel deeply, or knows very little of the world beyond the safe boundaries of the Seaborne estates. My mother longs desperately for Rich every moment of every day he’s away, Lord Calvercombe, as she would for any of her children should they disappear. My big brother is her first child, the one she and my father made in the heat of first love and he will always be special to her. And, no, before you imply it, I’m not jealous of the strong bond that exists between them.’

      ‘You really do have a low opinion of me, don’t you?’ he asked with a look that seemed to hint he was hurt by such a harsh summary of his possible thoughts.

      ‘I merely reflect what I see in your eyes when you look at me, my lord.’

      ‘Then you see something I didn’t put there,’ he responded rather bitterly, as if that blurred line of scarring troubled him far more than his arrogant manner and to-the-devil-with-you glare allowed for.

      ‘Can you blame me when you’ve done nothing but snap at me since we first met again by moonlight that first farcical night you came to Ashburton?’

      He looked down at her as if he’d almost forgotten she was there that night and didn’t relish the reminder. ‘You’re certainly a thorn in my flesh, Miss Seaborne, but I don’t suppose you mind if I consider you irritating and prickly, since you have done nothing but abuse and rebuke me from that moment to this.’

      ‘Of course I have—you manhandled me like a sack of potatoes.’

      ‘And that still rankles with you? What a veritable goddess you are, Miss Seaborne, to expect reverent awe from the opposite sex at all times of the day and night, however ungoddess-like your own behaviour might be at the time.’

      ‘Enough,

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