You Again by Carolyn Scott Page B

what your visitors are thinking when they meet me for the first time."
    "You won't be meeting any of my visitors, Miss Appleby.  You'll be keeping out of my way, remember?"
    "I remember." 
    He seemed so sure of himself, so confident that he could avoid her and even succeed in ridding himself of her presence that she almost felt sorry for him.  Learning that he would not succeed—or more to the point, that she could not afford to fail—would come as quite a shock. 
    He rose and stood so close she could have touched him without leaning forward.  He was a solid tower of strength, one that remained perfectly still except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the clenching and unclenching of his fists at his sides.  It was as if the calm exterior contained a mass of raw, seething power that would burst out if he moved one muscle too many. 
    She rose too and gave him a small curtsy.  "I think I'll go for a walk.  Good afternoon, Mr. Redcliff." 
    He opened the door for her, watching her all the while beneath a frown.  His gaze unnerved her yet she couldn't pinpoint the reason why.  It was direct certainly, but not sharp enough to tear through her.  "Might I suggest Hyde Park," he said, voice low and simmering across the gap between them.  "That should keep you out of trouble."
    "And what makes you think I want to be kept out of trouble, Mr. Redcliff?"
    His eyes widened ever so slightly, then his lips tilted into the shadow of a smile.  It seemed she had surprised him with her answer, and amused him.  At least he had a sense of humor buried somewhere beneath the hardened exterior. 
    "Forgive me.  I assumed you would not approve of our looser city ways."
    It was her turn to be surprised.  "Oh?  And pray, what is it about me that led you to that assumption?"
    He crossed his arms then immediately uncrossed them as a whisper of pain passed over his face.  His arm must hurt in that position, although he'd shown no hint of it when he crossed his arms earlier.  It was perhaps a testimony to what he could endure when he wanted to.
    "I'm not sure you really want to know," he said.
    She most certainly did now that he'd said that and with such smugness too.  Particularly as it would give her some insight into what he saw when he looked at her.  "Tell me anyway.  If we're to be thrown together we might as well be honest with one another."
    "Very well, if you insist.  It's your...tightness."
    The description caught her off guard.  "My what?"
    "Tightness."  He waved a hand at her dress, her face.  "Everything about you is tight.  Your hair is pulled back so severely that your eyes are pointed at the outer corners.  Your lips are perennially pursed, except on the occasion you deign to smile, and that dress is a little too small for you.  It is tight in all the...interesting places."  His blue eyes suddenly blazed with heat as his gaze shifted to her chest.  Slowly, slowly he looked up at her face again.  "Even your freckles are tightly packed across your nose."
    Georgiana controlled a blush but it took effort.  Then she had to stop herself from laughing—he'd got her thoroughly wrong.  Thank goodness.  "And it's because of this that you think I'd be shocked by what I see and hear in London?  I may live in the country, Mr. Redcliff, but I have been to London many times and I can assure you I am quite aware of your city ways."
    "But are you comfortable with them?" 
    She was trying to think of a witty retort when he got in first.  "Good afternoon, Miss Appleby.  Please make use of the servants.  The library is also at your disposal." 
    She supposed it would be too much to expect an invitation to dine with him. 
    He bowed, not deeply, and opened the door wider, driving home the point.  She curtsied and left.  The door clicked softly shut behind her. 
    Georgiana expelled a long breath and wished she had someone to talk to about the strange encounter with Mr. Redcliff.  Esme was a good listener and