The Disgraceful Lord Gray. Virginia Heath

me wondering if they are as soft and inviting as they look.’

      She had touched her lips quite innocently, or so she had thought, but now they tingled. ‘You are delusional.’

      ‘Right now, we both know the position of your arms has only one true purpose.’

      She didn’t unfold them. ‘To show you I am not a fool, nor suffer fools gladly?’

      ‘To display your figure to its best effect.’ She hastily uncrossed her arms and gathered the shawl tighter, irritated at the missish response when he reacted with a knowing chuckle. ‘And...’ The word came out in a sultry whisper as his head leaned closer still before he paused and failed to finish his sentence.

       ‘And?’

      ‘That was a test and, I’m sorry to tell you, you failed.’

      ‘I did?’

      ‘Indeed. Because you leaned closer, too, obviously eager to hear what I had to say despite my intimate, wholly inappropriate conversation and my close proximity to your unchaperoned person being most impertinent.’

      ‘You are impertinent.’

      ‘I am—but you’d like to kiss me regardless.’

      She would—which came as a huge, unwelcome shock—but she most certainly wouldn’t.

      Ever.

      On principle.

      ‘Oh, Lord Gray, you are labouring under the most fanciful of misapprehensions.’ With purposeful, indifferent, possibly flirtatious slowness, Thea stood and shook her head pityingly. ‘Perhaps it is you who needs to be mindful of the sun’s rays and ration them going forward, for today they have clearly addled your mind.’