Captivated by a Lady's Charm (Lords of Honor Book 2) by Christi Caldwell

word utterance hinted at her unease. “I should return to my sister.”
    Christian followed her gaze to her sister, happily chatting off a weary-looking Maxwell’s ear. He looked again to Prudence and inclined his head. “Shall we?”
    The young lady stared at his elbow a moment and then placed her fingertips upon his sleeve. Christian slid his gaze to her hand and stilled. He locked his eyes on those long, graceful, gloved fingers curled about his bicep. What bliss would it be to know that hand curled about his length. His mouth went dry with the need.
    “Is something the matter?”
    That hesitant question yanked him back. Heat burned his neck. “Not at all.” What madness had she wrought upon him?
    They moved along the same path they’d walked a short while ago. One thing was certain, whatever image had been contained upon the next page of Prudence Tidemore’s sketchpad had been something very important to the lady. His interest redoubled and he felt a wave of disappointment when they reached her maid’s side.
    The servant’s shoulders sagged in apparent relief. Ah, the young woman had sense enough to know that her mistress had no place with his roguish self. Ignoring the maid’s stern countenance, Christian captured Prudence’s spare fingers and raised her gloved hand to his lips. If the lady were wise, she’d draw her hand back from his roguish grip. Instead, her eyes formed wide moons and she allowed him to continue clasping her fingers. “It was a pleasure again seeing you.” How many previous times had he uttered those very words to other women, words that had been nothing more than the polite, expected response? This admission to Prudence, however, was born only of truth.
    She smiled softly. “It seems you are always there to save me. The soppy water. The waltz. Now, Poppy.”
    “I certainly did not require saving,” the youngest Tidemore sister groused from where she stood beside Maxwell.
    Prudence glared at her sister and then cleared her throat. “Regardless, I thank you for coming to my rescue. Again.” The young lady lingered with hesitancy in her expressive eyes but then with another quick curtsy, hurried off.
    He stared after her a long moment. The wind tugged at the lady’s cloak and he squinted in the distance, hoping for another glimpse of her trim ankles. As though feeling his gaze upon her, she stole a glance over her shoulder and he’d have to be blind to fail to see the wide smile on her full lips.
    “You should marry her,” Maxwell said at his side, pulling him back to the moment. Humor laced his words. “I’ll remind you again the lady is purported to possess a fat dowry. With the scandal surrounding her family, she can hardly be particular where her marital prospects are concerned.”
    “Why, thank you for that generous endorsement.” He feigned a nonchalance into his response. Yet, he fisted his hands at his sides detesting his friend’s blunt, if accurately spoken, opinion on the lady’s circumstances. “Alas, I am in the market for a specific wife.” In a manner he hoped was dismissing, he turned and strode off in pursuit of his mount who was now chewing at a patch of grass under a barren elm tree.
    “Ah, yes,” Maxwell said, effortlessly matching his stride. “An experienced, wealthy widow perhaps? A woman who will not mind your philandering ways and roguish reputation.”
    He frowned at having his thoughts these past months tossed back at him. Uttered in that coolly mocking way, there was, well…something wrong with that particular marital goal. That something which moved beyond the whole loathsome, fortune hunting business. Regardless—“The lady does not fit into my marital schemes,” he said, collecting Valiant’s reins. Christian was too jaded for the Lady Prudence Tidemores of the world. She, with her talk of hope and romance, could never fit into his skeptical, broken existence. He climbed astride and then guided his mount around, back toward the