One Tempting Proposal by Christy Carlyle Page B

ground, but each of her movements fascinated him, every subtle expression of pleasure he could read in her profile drew him.
    She bowed her head to make notations in a journal, and he noticed a patch of dirt on her cheek that he itched to wipe away. He blamed the impulse on a sense of chivalry, insisting to himself that it had nothing to do with satisfying a desire to touch her again. He’d almost convinced himself to do it when she made it worse by tapping the end of her pen on her lower lip and leaving a dusting of soil there too.
    Touching her mouth would be a definite mistake, never mind chivalry.
    A clock chimed the top of the hour somewhere in the house, and Seb struggled to care that he’d be late for his meeting with her father if he continued staring at her. He preferred to stay and watch her work, but she’d likely loathe being observed.
    He began to retreat, stepping carefully so as not to disturb her, but his boot heel scuffed against a tile. Her hummed tune cut off on a dissonant squeak, and he looked back to find her scowling.
    â€œWho allowed you in here?”
    It was no use blaming a maid for doing her job, but Seb couldn’t resist revisiting their first encounter.
    â€œIs that the proper etiquette for greeting a visitor? I’ll make a note of it.”
    â€œMost visitors wait to be invited before pushing in.”
    Seb tried not to smirk. He even considered being contrite, but her green fire glare brought out a terrible streak of defiance.
    â€œAm I not welcome?”
    â€œYou weren’t invited.” She swiped her hands down her hips, apparently trying to settle her gown or remove the dirt from her hands, but it only drew his attention to how the dress hugged her slim figure.
    He forced his gaze away from her body and studied the fronds of an enormous spiky plant arching over his head. “Does anyone receive an invitation to join you back here?”
    â€œNo.” In a less strident tone, she added, “I come here to be alone.”
    He felt the utter fool. He understood the desire for solitude. When he was wrangling with a vexing mathematical concept, he’d sometimes wander on solitary walks around the Cambridgeshire countryside for miles.
    â€œI’ve intruded.”
    â€œYou surprised me.” Her tone had softened, but she still watched him warily. “Why are you here, Your Grace? Have you come to chastise me again?”
    Seb ignored her sarcasm and focused on the more interesting question.
    â€œYou enjoy horticulture?”
    She seemed unwilling to let go of her ire, lifting dirty hands to her hips, and then crossing her arms to hide dirt-­stained fingers from his view.
    â€œYes, I love plants.” The tentative catch in her voice when she finally answered made Seb swallow hard. It was a moment of honesty, vulnerability, and he wanted more. Then her eyes went wide a moment before she tightened her crossed arms. “But I prefer to work in the conservatory alone. Annie shouldn’t have brought you out here. If you’ll excuse me.”
    She stepped toward him as if to move past, but the space was cluttered with ceiling-­tall potted ferns on one side and wrought iron shelves overflowing with plants on the other. His shoulders spanned the space and she’d have to press in close, nearer than they would have stood if they’d danced the waltz, to get around him.
    â€œI must go and change, Your Grace.”
    He didn’t wish her to go. Or to change. With tendrils of hair framing her face, eyes brightened by the light filtering through the conservatory windows, and a smudge of dirt on her cheek, she was the most appealing woman he’d ever seen. He knew he should move, allow her to go on her way, but his body fought him. He wanted to draw closer, not move away. He took a step toward her and caught her scent. Not vanilla this time, something brighter, citrus with a sweet tang.
    â€œWhat is that