Bound By Temptation by Lavinia Kent Page B

held her disappointment to herself. For a moment she had doubted all her thoughts about this man, had thought that he could open up, could treat her as his equal, as a person.
    Licentious .
    The word stood between them.
    He had kissed her every bit as much as she had kissed him. Perhaps if she had not felt so judged she would have taken his withdrawal with more grace.
    She placed her teacup and saucer back on the tray with deliberate precision. She brushed imagined crumbs off her skirts before standing with easy grace. “I will leave you to the books. If you do not care for the Wordsworth, I am sure that you can find something else to your liking on those lower shelves.” She pointed to a long shelf of slim embossed volumes.
    “My thanks, Lady Westington. I shall choose a few volumes and then retire. I do find that I am weary, and I must regain my energy before I can begin my journey again.”
    She stopped in the process of summoning the maid to clear the tray. “You seek Isabella?”
    “I believe that we have already discussed the purpose of my travels. It is my responsibility to find her.” He was so crisp and proper. He did not betray how he felt about his search for his sister.
    “Yes, we have. I merely wondered that you still search after all this time,” she said. She longed to ask about the gossip that had followed Isabella’s disappearance. “Do you believe her to be in Norfolk?”
    He was quiet, and she wondered if he could see her real questions reflected in her face. Had even thinking about the rumors breached some invisible wall?
    He walked to the fire and stood warming his hands as if fighting the cold of his long journey. “While I was in Coventry I heard rumors that she might be employed with Lord Connortan.”
    She debated, but then answered fairly. “I may be able to help you then. I can certainly make inquiries. The earl’s wife was a close acquaintance in my schoolroom days. I will pen a note and have it sent over.”
    “That would be most helpful, Lady Westington.”
    He sounded so stuffy—so unlike the man on the stairs. But perhaps that was for the best. She was still determined to begin fresh when she returned to London, and a man who drew her to kissing him on the stairs where anyone could see them was far from what she needed.
    She needed to think reasonably.
    At least he had not refused her help. She still did not fully understand what had prompted his sudden ending of their earlier conversation. She could see that it was painful for him, but then he should never have begun. She had been surprised that he had been willing to broach the subject—even with her pushing—but even more startled by his sudden stop.
    It should not have been important to her, but it had become so—for reasons she could not understand, he had become important. Damnation. Her shaky emotions were playing her for a fool.
    She needed to regain her sense of power.
    “I will leave you to your selection then.” She took a step toward the door and then turned, dropping her voice to a low husky purr. “And you really must call me Clara. I only kiss men I am familiar with.”
    She looked at him from under her lashes for the briefest of moments, letting him see she was not just speaking of their past kiss.
    The expression on his face caused her to chuckle, a deep laugh that filled the room. It was a small victory to keep him off guard, but still ithelped to restore her sense of balance. She’d have to make it a point to poke at him whenever he grew prim.
     
    It had been five days since she had spoken to him. Masters dropped the book to his lap and watched the flickering flames of the fire. At least he was allowed down the stairs on his own now—and the Wordsworth had actually proved engrossing.
    He turned from the fire and glanced at the window. Spatters of rain still marked it. It seemed never to stop raining for more than an hour at a time, making the continuation of his journey impossible.
    Now if only Clara