Reaching up, she gently patted his cheek. "Austin, darling. You know that icy stare doesn't scare me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'll join Elizabeth and Lady Penbroke,"
She sauntered off, and Austin tossed back his champagne in a single gulp. His gaze again settled on Miss Matthews as she greeted Caroline with an inviting smile curving her lips, and he wondered how it would feel to have her greet him in such a warm manner. The very thought sent a tingle through him, thoroughly annoying him.
Caroline's words echoed in his mind. You haven't been able to take your eyes off her since she appeared in the doorway. Couldn't take his eyes off her? Ridiculous! Of course he could. And he would. As soon as she turned away and he could no longer see her smile. Or her mouth. Or that fascinating single curl flowing down her dress.
Until then, he needed to watch her, to observe her, to find out all he could about her.
For investigative purposes only, of course.
At dinner, Elizabeth sat between her aunt and Lord Digby. To her surprise, Lord Digby conversed with her at length, engaging her in conversation about American farming techniques. She knew next to nothing about the subject, but listened politely, nodding encouragingly, while she enjoyed the sumptuous ten-course meal and dodged her aunt's peacock feathers.
While Lord Digby waxed poetic about sheep-shearing procedures, her attention wandered to the head of the table where the duke sat. Resplendent in black evening wear, he all but took her breath away, a fact that irritated her to no end. She did not want to find that pigheaded man attractive.
He chatted easily with the guests seated around him, but she noticed that he rarely smiled, a fact that pushed her irritation aside and tugged at her heart.
A troubled soul lurked beneath his polished exterior, but he hid it well. If she hadn't touched him, she would have seen only what he presented. She wouldn't have known his sadness or loneliness or guilt. Or sensed the danger threatening him.
She hadn't realized she was staring at him until their eyes met. His silvery gaze locked onto hers and her skin tingled under his intense look. Heat suffused her, and she knew she should look away, but she couldn't. She wanted so much to help him. If only he would listen to her.
Dear God she wished she'd been able to see more, to know what menace threatened him, and when. Would harm befall him this very night? If so, what could she do to prevent it?
His gaze penetrated her, heating her as if he'd touched her. She forced her attention away from that disturbing stare, back to Lord Digby, but she'd already made a decision.
She would do whatever was necessary to see that the duke remained safe.
Austin approached the stables a little after midnight, restless, unsettled wanting only to ride Myst and work this annoying, unnamed frustration out of his system.
It had started the moment he'd seen her in the drawing room doorway, looking achingly beautiful, smiling at everyone… everyone except him. As much as it irked him to admit it, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her all evening. Even when he'd managed to focus his attention elsewhere, he'd been aware of her every minute, knew whom she was speaking to, what she ate. And when their eyes had met across the length of the dinner table, he'd felt as if someone had punched him in the heart.
Her presence had distracted him all evening, and he'd breathed a sigh of relief when she'd retired shortly before eleven. But his relief was short lived because he couldn't get the damn woman-her eyes, her smile, her luscious mouth-out of his mind. It galled him that he had to keep reminding himself that she knew things she shouldn't know, couldn't know, without a reason other than the "visions" explanation she'd given him.
But every time he tried to convince himself she was up to something with her talk of visions, that she might be involved with the blackmail scheme and couldn't be trusted all his instincts rebelled. There was a kindness, an innocence, and damn it, a trustworthiness about her that kept trying to stomp down his suspicions every time they cropped up.
Was it possible that she was merely placing too much credence in her own undeniable intuitiveness, calling it "visions"? Could her words and actions truly be no more than what she claimed-an attempt to help him?
He entered the stables, making his way toward Myst's stall, but halted when a subtle scent wafted to him, a scent out of place with the smell of leather and horse. Lilacs.
Before he could react, she emerged from the shadows and stepped into a shaft of moonlight. "Good evening, your grace."
Much to his annoyance, anticipation skittered down his spine. She still wore the cream silk gown she'd worn to dinner, and that same long, tempting auburn curl drew his gaze. "We meet again, Miss Matthews."
She stepped closer to him, and he noticed her expression. She appeared distinctly annoyed.
"Why are you here, your grace?"
"I might ask the same of you, Miss Matthews."
"I am here because of you."
And I am here because of you… because I cannot stop thinking about you. Crossing his arms over his chest, he contemplated her with studied detachment. Damn it, he wished he knew what to make of this woman. "What about me draws you to the stables at such an hour?"
"I suspected you might plan to ride." She raised her chin a notch. "I'm here to stop you."
He couldn't contain his bark of disbelief. "Indeed? And how do you intend to do that?"
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know. I suppose I was hoping you'd be intelligent enough to heed my warning about danger befalling you should you choose to ride at night. Clearly I was mistaken."
Bloody hell, who did this woman think she was? Approaching her slowly, he didn't stop until only two feet separated them. She didn't retreat so much as an inch, just stood her ground watching him with a single raised brow that irked him further.
"I don't believe anyone has ever dared question my intelligence, Miss Matthews."
"Indeed? Then perhaps you weren't listening, your grace, because I just did that very thing."
Full-blown anger struck him like a slap. He'd had more than enough of this damn woman. Before he could give her the scathing set down she deserved however, she reached out and pressed his hand between both of hers.
A tingle sizzled right up his arm, effectively cutting off his angry words.
"I still see it," she whispered her eyes huge, trained on his. "Danger. You hurt." Releasing his hand she laid her palm against his cheek. "Please. Please do not ride tonight."
Her soft hand lying against his face ignited his skin, overwhelming him with the desire to turn his head and brush his lips over her palm. Instead he grasped her wrist and pushed her hand away from him.
"I do not know what game you're playing-"
"I am not toying with you! What can I do, what can I say, to convince you?"
"Let's start by you telling me what you know about my brother and how you know it. Where did you meet him?"
"I never met him."
"Yet you knew about his scar." He allowed his gaze to roam over her in an unmistakably insulting fashion. "Were you his lover?"
Her eyes widened with shock too real to be forced. Relief swept through him, a reaction he did not care to examine.
"Lovers? Are you mad? I had a vision about him. I-"
Yes, yes, so you've said. And you can read minds as well. Tell me, Miss Matthews, what am I thinking right now?"
She hesitated her eyes searching his face. "I am not always able to tell. And I'd need to… touch you." He held out his hand. "Touch me. Convince me."
She stared at his hand for several heartbeats, then nodded. "I'll try."
When his hand was firmly pressed between her palms, he closed his eyes and purposely focused his thoughts on something provocative. He imagined her in his bedchamber, backlit by the golden flames dancing in the hearth. Reaching out, he flicked open the pearl-encrusted clip holding her hair in place. Silky tendrils tumbled down into his hands, falling over her shoulders, down, down-