"Are you all right?" he asked.

Her gaze snapped up to find him watching her with an inscrutable expression. Heat flooded her cheeks. No. I am not all right. You're throwing all my fine plans into utter disarray. How could she possibly entice him to kiss her when it apparently required all her wits to remember to breathe? "I'm fine."

He studied her for several more seconds, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I can see that you are. Indeed, you appear well recovered from your fright. Remarkably so."

Was that a twinge of suspicion in his voice? Before she could decide, he continued softly, "There's something you're not telling me."

Clearly that was suspicion in his voice. She had no doubt that given enough time he would unearth the truth-and be very angry with her when he did. Rightfully so. He'd no doubt never forgive her. Rightfully so. No doubt never want to speak to her again, let alone kiss her. Which meant she needed to do everything she could to insure that time didn't come too swiftly.

Lifting her chin, she said, "Contrary to what you obviously believe, I am not prone to the vapors or artfully arranging myself on fainting couches. I am made of sterner stuff and don't require days to recover from unsettling experiences." She offered him a small smile. "Besides, I feel very safe with you here."

He didn't comment, merely set aside the towel then sat on the opposite end of the settee. She glanced down and noticed that mere inches separated his knee and her yellow muslin gown. Far too little distance to be proper. Far too much distance for her liking.

She cast about in her blank mind for something to say. Something to divert his attention from her remarkable recovery. Something witty and interesting that would engage him. Perhaps draw a smile from those lovely, firm lips-before he laid them upon hers. But his nearness once again rendered her mute with longing and wants so overwhelmingly strong she feared when she did finally speak they would simply just pour out of her like a dam burst free. Touch me. Kiss me. Put out this raging fire you've started in me…

He leaned toward her, and what little breath she had remaining expelled from her lungs. She felt herself leaning toward him, as if blown by a strong wind, and her lips parted in expectation.

"It would be much easier if it were in the cup," he said softly.

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

He nodded toward the table. "The tea. It would be considerably easier to drink if it were actually poured into the cups."

Julianne jerked her head around and stared at her hand, which still gripped the teapot's handle-the teapot that remained resting on its silver tray. A hot flush of embarrassment and self-directed annoyance rushed into her face, and she quickly lifted the pot. It was one thing for the man's presence to make her forget what she was about; it was quite another to allow his profound effect on her to be so patently obvious.

"Of course," she murmured, filling both cups then passing him one, managing only thanks to years of experience not to slosh the hot liquid over the cup's edge.

She took extra care in selecting a trio of biscuits for his plate, using the time to compose herself. She'd longed for and had gone to great lengths for an opportunity such as this: time alone with him. She had no intention of wasting this chance to get to know him better. Both Gideon the man and Gideon the extraordinarily excellent kisser.

She passed him the plate of biscuits. "Are you feeling warmer? Do you need more towels?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

Yes, he certainly was. Much more than fine, actually. Supremely, extraordinarily fine. Good heavens, he was beautiful even when he chewed a biscuit. Although she couldn't deny he also appeared… displeased? Her heart sank at the thought. Certainly he didn't appear particularly happy about sitting here, sipping tea with her. A depressing state of affairs, as she was nearly giddy with excitement.

A dozen questions sprang to her lips, things she wanted to know about him. Actually, she wanted to know everything about him. Where he lived. Where he'd grown up. His family. His likes and dislikes. His favorite color. If he enjoyed reading. The details of his dangerous and adventurous work. If he thought of her even a fraction of the number of times she thought of him.

How it was possible that such a devastatingly attractive man wasn't married or spoken for.

Or was he?

The thought struck her like a cold slap, and before she could stop herself, she asked in a rush, "Are you married?"

He looked at her over the rim of his steaming cup. His eyes narrowed slightly, then he slowly lowered his tea. "No."

A ridiculous wave of relief surged through her-ridiculous because, what did it matter? Whether he belonged to someone else or not was irrelevant. He could never belong to her. Still, in her heart she'd known he wasn't married. Had known he wouldn't have kissed her if a wife waited for him.

"Betrothed?" she asked.

"No. Why do you ask?" His gaze hardened. "Do you think I would have kissed you if I had a wife or fiancée waiting at home for me?"

His words so closely mirrored her thoughts that she wondered for an insane instant if through his intense regard he could actually read her mind.

Don't lose your nerve now, her inner voice whispered. Carpe diem.

Yes. If she didn't seize the day, here and now, she might never get another chance. Before she found herself married to a man she didn't love. A man who would plunk her down in Cornwall and likely leave her there to rot. After demanding his husbandly rights. A shudder of revulsion ran through her. Dear God, the thought of the duke's hands on her made her flesh crawl. And spurred her to action.

Drawing all her courage, she answered, "No-I believe you too honorable to kiss me if you were married. Yet, surely dozens of women are madly in love with you."

His gaze seemed to pierce hers. "The way dozens of men are madly in love with you?"

Julianne shook her head. "There is no one in love with me."

"Says a woman whose suitors litter the path leading to her door."

"They wish to marry me. For money. They care nothing about me."

"They seem quite besotted to me."

"They are. With my very generous dowry."

Something that looked like annoyance flashed in his dark eyes. "You make it sound as if that is all a man would admire about you. Which sounds like false modesty. And a fishing expedition for compliments."

There was no missing the rebuke in his words-one that stung. "I'm not seeking compliments, especially from a man who clearly has a disinclination of bestowing them. Nor do I possess false modesty. I know I am admired for my looks. I simply take little pleasure from that fact."

"Really? Why is that?"

There was no missing his skepticism, and she debated how honest to be with him. She'd planned to use this time to find out more about him, yet he'd somehow turned the tables on her. Still, if she told him something of herself, perhaps he would be more inclined to reciprocate. "Do you truly wish to know?"

"Indeed. I cannot wait to hear why a princess such as yourself doesn't wallow in her looks." He leaned back and raised his brows, looking like a man expecting to be entertained by a troupe of jesters.

Vexing man. How did he manage to make her desire him yet wish to shake him at the same time? Annoyance rippled through her, nudging aside her shyness. "Wallow? Has anyone ever told you you're condescending?"

"Condescending?" he repeated in an incredulous tone. "A commoner like me? Never. Has anyone ever told you you've no idea what you're talking about?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Almost daily. Neither of my parents credit me with the least bit of intelligence. They think the only thing I'm capable of is being decorative-and they demand that I be so. You cannot begin to understand how much I loathe being nothing more than an ornament. As if I have no thoughts or feelings. No ambitions." She moved her leg so that her knee touched his. "Or desires."

His teacup froze halfway to his lips. His hot gaze bored into hers for several seconds, then he slowly set aside his cup and rose. He backed several steps away from the settee until he stood before the hearth. Julianne might have been thoroughly discouraged were it not for how his damp pants clung to the irrefutable evidence of his desire for her.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

She huffed out an impatient breath. Clearly any form of subtlety was lost on this man. "I'm trying to get you to show me what you referred to this afternoon-just before we were interrupted-as your best. If you'll recall, you were about to kiss me."

"That… shouldn't have happened."

Her heart sank. "And last night?"

"You know the answer to that as well as I do."

She rose and joined him near the fire, stopping when a mere arm's length separated them. Longing raced through her, and the sense of urgency, of time running out, of her parents soon returning suddenly overwhelmed her. Capturing his hand between both of hers, she gripped his fingers tightly.

"I know what answer I'm expected to give, but it isn't what's in my heart. I… I have this recurring dream… a nightmare, actually. I'm in the middle of a crowd, trapped inside a glass coffin. I scream and cry and pound on the glass, but no one pays the slightest attention. They all just go about their business as if I'm not there. I'm trying to tell people that I'm alive. Tell them what I want, my hopes and dreams, but no one listens. No one cares."