“I can picture that exactly,” Annabel said.

He looked up in surprise. And pleasure. “You can?”

She nodded. “I used to be an early riser. Before I arrived in London. The light is different in the morning. It’s flatter, I suppose. And more golden. I’ve always thought—” She cut herself off, cocking her head to the side. Her brows knit together and she frowned. It was the most adorable expression. Sebastian almost thought that if he looked hard enough, he could actuallysee her thinking.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she said.

“I do?”

“Yes.” She straightened, and her eyes flashed with memory. “You said so. When I met you at the Trowbridge party.”

“The heath,” he said with a sigh. It seemed such a delightful, far-off memory now.

“Yes. You said something about the morning light. You said you—” She stopped, blushing furiously. “Never mind.”

“I must say, now Ireally want to know what I said.”

“Oh…” She shook her head quickly. “No.”

“Anna-bel,” he prodded, liking the way her name took on a musical lilt.

“You said you’d like to take a bath in it,” she said, the words coming out in a single, mortified rush.

“I did?” Strange. He didn’t remember saying that. Sometimes he got lost in his own thoughts. But it did sound like something he’d say.

She nodded.

“Hmmm. Well. I suppose I would.” He tilted his head in her direction, the way he frequently did when about to deliver abon mot . “I should want some privacy, though.”

“Of course.”

“Or maybe nottoo much privacy,” he murmured.

“Stop.” But she didn’t sound offended. Not quite.

He glanced at her when she thought he wasn’t looking. She was smiling to herself, just a little bit. Enough for him to see her courage, her strength. Her ability to hold herself straight in the midst of adversity.

He stopped. What the hell was he thinking? All she had done was hold her own against his risque comment. That was hardly akin to adversity.

He needed to be careful, else he’d build her up into something she wasn’t. It was what he did almost every night, holed up in his room with pen and paper. He created characters. If he allowed his imagination to get the best of him, he’d turn her into the perfect woman.

Which wasn’t fair to either of them.

He cleared his throat and motioned to the book. “Shall I continue?”

“Please.”

“She looked down at her faithful collie—”

“I have a dog,” she blurted out.

He looked up in surprise. Not that she had a dog. She seemed the sort who would. But he hadn’t expected another interruption so quickly on the heels of the last. “You do?”

“A greyhound.”

“Does he race?”

She shook her head. “His name is Mouse.”

“You are a cruel woman, Annabel Winslow.”

“It’s a fitting name, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t suppose he was the winner in the Winslow Most Likely to Outrun a Turkey contest.”

She chuckled. “No.”

“You did say you’d come in third,” he reminded her.

“We usually limit candidates to those of the human variety.” Then she added, “Two of my brothers are quite fleet of foot.”

He held up the book again. “Do you want me to continue?”

“I miss my dog,” she said with a sigh.

Apparently not. “Er, your grandparents don’t have one?” he asked.

“No. There is only Louisa’s ridiculous hound.”

He recalled the fat little sausage on legs he’d seen at the park. “He was quite stout.”

She let out a little snort. “Who names a dog Frederick?”

“Eh?” She was jumping from topic to topic like a chickadee.

She sat up a little straighter. “Louisa named that dog Frederick. Don’t you find that ridiculous?”

“Not really,” he admitted.

“Mybrother is named Frederick.”

He could not imagine why she was telling him all this, but it seemed to be taking her mind off her troubles, so he went along with it. “Is Frederick one of the fleet-footed ones?”

“He is, actually. Also the Winslow Most Likely Not to Become a Vicar.” She motioned to herself with one hand. “I would have certainly beaten him atthat , had the girls not been disqualified on religious grounds.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “Most likely to fall asleep in church and all that.” Then it occurred to him to ask, “Did you actually do it? Fall asleep in church?”

She let out a weary sigh. “Every…single…week.”

He chuckled. “We would have made quite a pair.”

“You, too?”

“Oh, no. I never fell asleep. I was ejected for bad behavior.”

She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “What did you do?”

He leaned forward, smiling wickedly. “I’ll never tell.”

She drew back. “That’s not fair.”

He shrugged. “Now I just don’t go.”

“Ever?”

“No. Although to be honest, I probablywould fall asleep.” He would, too. Ser vices were very poorly timed for people who did not sleep well at night.

She smiled, but there was something wistful in it, and she rose to her feet. He started to get up, but she held up a hand. “Please. Not on my account.”

Sebastian watched as she walked to the window, resting her head against the glass as she peered out. “Do you think he’s still there?” she asked.

He didn’t pretend he didn’t know exactly what she was talking about. “Probably. He’s very tenacious. If your grandparents tell him they expect you to return soon, he’ll wait.”

“Lady Olivia said that she would drive past Vickers House after her appointment to see if his carriage is there.” She turned around, and she didn’t quite look at him as she said, “She didn’t have an appointment,

did she?”

He thought about lying. But he didn’t. “I don’t think so.”

Annabel nodded slowly, and then her face seemed to crumple, and all he could think was,Oh God, not more tears , because he wasn’t good with tears. Especially nother tears. But before he could think of an appropriately comforting thing to say, he realized—

“Are you laughing?”

She shook her head. While she was laughing.

He came to his feet. “What is so funny?”

“Your cousin,” she sputtered. “I think she’s trying to compromise you.”

It was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. And true.

“Oh, Annabel,” he said, walking toward her with predatory grace. “I was compromised a long, long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She was still laughing. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

Sebastian waited, but whatever it was she hadn’t meant to imply was lost in a fresh gale of laughter.

“Oh!” She leaned against the wall clutching her middle.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he said. But he was smiling as he said it. It was impossible not to smile while she was laughing.

She had an extraordinary laugh.

“No, no,” she gasped. “Not that. I was thinking of something else.”

He waited. Nothing. Finally he said, “Care to tell me what?”

She let out a snort of laughter, possibly through her nose, and she clapped both hands over her mouth, nay, her entire face.

“You look like you’re crying,” he said.

“I’m not,” was her muffled reply.

“I know. I just thought to tell you that, on the off chance someone comes in and thinks I made you weep.”

She peeked through her fingers. “Sorry.”

“What is so funny?” Because really, by now he had to know.

“Oh, it was just…last night…when you were talking to your uncle…”

He leaned against the back of the sofa, waiting.

“You said you wanted to restore me to the bosom of society.”

“Not the most elegant turn of phrase,” he allowed.

“And all I could think was—” She looked as if she were going to explode again. “I’m not so sure I like society’s bosom.”

“It’s not my favorite bosom,” he concurred, trying very hard not to look at hers.

This only seemed to make her laugh more, which made her quiver in rather bosomy areas.

Which had quite an effect on certain ofhis areas.

He stopped moving.

She covered her eyes in embarrassment. “I can’t believe that I just said that.”

He stopped breathing. He could only look at her, look at her lips, full and pink, still suspended in a smile.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted to kiss her far more than he had sense, because if he’d been thinking sensibly, he would have stepped away. Walked out of the room. Found himself a very cold bath.

Instead he stepped toward her. Put his hand over hers, holding it gently in place over her eyes.

Her lips parted, and he heard a soft whisper of air rush across. Whether she’d exhaled or gasped, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. He just wanted her breath to be his breath.

He leaned forward. Slowly. He couldn’t rush it, couldn’t risk losing one second of it. He wanted to remember this. He wanted every last moment burned into his memory. He wanted to know what it felt like to be two inches away, and then one, and then…

He touched his lips to hers. One tiny, fleeting touch before pulling back. He wanted to see her, to know exactly what she looked like after a kiss.

To know exactly what she looked like waiting for another.

He wound his fingers through hers and slowly pulled her hand from her eyes. “Look at me,” he whispered.

But she shook her head, keeping her eyes closed.

And then he could wait no longer. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, and brought her lips to his. But it was so much more than a kiss. His hands stole around and down to her bottom, and he squeezed. He didn’t know whether he was trying to press her against him or simply revel in the lushness of her body.