“Actually, there was one woman at the party who captured my interest, and, I would very much like for you to arrange another meeting between us.”

She swallowed once. Hard. She had to stop this. Now. “Lord Greybourne, I-”

“Philip. Please call me Philip. Would you like me to tell you about this woman?” Before she could reply-which would have taken a while, considering she could not seem to locate her voice-he said, his fingers still playing with her hair, “Her hair is dark, like a desert night. Its glossy color is like the rich, black soil deposited along the banks of the Nile each year after the spring floods. Her hair is, in fact, identical to yours.”

Desperate to add some levity, to dispel the foglike tension, she attempted a smile. “Are you saying my hair reminds you of dirt?”

Instead of answering, he eased pins from her hair until her tresses spilled over his hands. Stop him! her inner voice commanded, but her lips refused to vocalize the command. All vestiges of mirth disappeared, leaving her floundering in a sea of awareness and aching longing that threatened to drown her. He sifted his long fingers through her curls, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from purring.

“Dirt? No. Your hair… her hair… is vibrant. Silky. Glossy. Lovely.”

He slowly traced his fingertips over her face. Every nerve ending tingled, and her eyes slid closed at the sheer pleasure of his touch. “This woman who has captured my interest… she is not a classic beauty. Her features are too stark and angular.”

The feathery caress of his fingertip tickled over her lips, and her eyes flew open. His gaze was fixed on her lips with a compelling intensity that sizzled heat straight to her core. “Her mouth is too wide and mobile, her lips too rosy and plump. Yet it is the sort of mouth that inspires sensual fantasies, and distracts me from all the other things I should be thinking about.”

Breathless, heart thumping, she listened, as if in a trance, while his fingers continued their exploration of her face. “Her nose is a shade too wide, and her jaw far too stubborn. Yet she attracts me like no classic beauty ever has. Her smile is enchanting, and illuminates her entire face. She has a tiny dimple, just there”-he skimmed the pad of his thumb over the corner of her mouth-“that winks when she grins. Her skin is like velvet cream stained with peach that deepens and pales in the most fascinating way depending on her mood. And her eyes… her eyes are extraordinary. The same vivid aqua as the Aegean, just as deep, just as fathomless. They are expressive, yet they hide things as well, which only serves to intrigue and bewitch me further. Her features are, in fact, identical to yours.”

He stepped closer to her, drawing her into his arms. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slip her arms around his waist. He pulled her closer, until their bodies touched from chest to knee. His hardness pressed against her, flooding her with heat that settled between her thighs. Her nipples hardened, and she knew her cheeks flamed bright, knew her eyes and expression and flushed face gave away everything she was feeling. Still, she could not look away from him. From his eyes, the want and need in them magnified all the more by his spectacles. From the muscle jerking in his cheek, a testament to his fight for control-the same fight waging in her, and a battle she very much feared she was on the brink of losing.

He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck. Her eyes slid closed. A long, breathy sigh escaped her, and she tilted her head to allow him better access.

“Her scent,” he whispered, his warm breath caressing her neck, “drives me mad. She smells like fresh-baked goods… warm and enticing, tempting and delicious. How is it that a woman can smell so sweet? Every time I’m near her I want to just take a bite.” His teeth scraped gently against her skin, eliciting a shiver of delight. “Her scent is, in fact, identical to yours.

“And her form,” he continued, before she could catch her breath, “puts that of any so-called classic beauty to shame.” His hands slowly roamed her back, from her shoulders to her buttocks, pressing her closer to him while he continued to trail drugging kisses along her neck, his words breathing heat against her skin. “She fits against me as if the gods fashioned her for me alone. I danced with two dozen women this evening, but she was the only one who felt right in my arms. She felt, in fact, exactly as you feel now.”

He lifted his head, and she instantly mourned the loss of his lips against her. “Meredith. Look at me.”

With an effort, she dragged her heavy eyelids open. He was looking at her as if he wanted to devour her. As if she were the most beautiful, desirable thing he’d ever seen. Surely that should have alarmed her. Brought back her missing common sense. But instead it enthralled her. Excited her. And filled her with the reckless sort of abandon she’d strived to pummel into submission for as long as she could remember.

Keeping one arm wrapped around her, he combed the fingers of his other hand through her hair. “Those golden-haired society diamonds you paraded in front of me this evening all pale in comparison to you. I have never, in my entire life, been so painfully attracted to a woman as I am to you. I cannot stop thinking about you. God knows I’ve tried. After our kiss last night, after I’d tasted you, I thought it would be enough, that I could forget you. But I cannot. That kiss only made me crave more…”

He lowered his head until his lips hovered just above hers. “Is it only me who feels this way, Meredith? Or did our kiss make you want more as well?” His warm, brandy-scented breath touched her, intoxicating her as if she’d actually partaken of the potent liquor. Her heart and mind waged a brief battle, but there was no contest. Raising up on her toes, she spoke a single word against his lips. “More.”

All the pent-up longing and need Philip had held in check erupted like a volcano. He captured her lips in a wild, desperate kiss, all fire and raw need. His tongue caressed the silky heaven of her mouth, while his arms tightened around her. His inner voice tried in vain to inject reason, warning him that he was exhibiting an appalling lack of finesse. But any small chance reason might have had of exerting itself was instantly banished by her heated response.

Lost in a mindless, heated fog, his hands skimmed down her back to cup her rounded buttocks, then raced upward to tangle in the fragrant silk of her hair. One hand then smoothed downward again, tracing her delicate collarbone, absorbing the frantic pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Then lower, until he cupped the fullness of her breast. Her breath caught, a tiny sound of feminine arousal that tensed every muscle in his body. Her nipple beaded against his palm, and his fingers circled the aroused peak through the thin muslin of her gown.

She squirmed against him, and his erection jerked in response, eliciting an animal groan from him. He cursed the clothing that barred her soft skin from him. He was desperate to touch her. Desperate to have her hands on him. So desperate that in the infinitesimal part of his brain that was still functioning, he recognized that if he didn’t stop this now, he would be unable to stop at all.

Breaking off their kiss, he rested his forehead against hers. Eyes squeezed shut and pulling in ragged, shuddering breaths, he tried to calm his racing heart, but it was damn difficult while her soft body remained flush against his. While her breast still filled his palm. While she still clung to him in a way that indicated her knees were less than steady-much like his own.

After several seconds, he straightened and opened his eyes. And saw nothing but fog. Damn spectacles. Fabulous invention for many pursuits, but kissing was most definitely not one of them. Reluctantly releasing her breast, he lifted his hand to remove the steamed-over lenses, only to feel her small, soft hand halt his halfway to his face.

“May I?” she asked softly.

He wasn’t certain what she was asking permission to do, but he wasn’t about to deny her anything. “Of course.”

She gently removed his glasses, then set them carefully on the mantel. He blinked, feeling very much like an owl. Bloody hell, he no doubt looked like one, too. Since a piece of vellum could not have fit between them, he saw her face clearly. He knew if he took one step backward, she would turn blurry.

After studying his face with unabashed curiosity, the remnants of unmistakable arousal still lingering in her eyes, she said softly, “I’d wondered what you looked like without your spectacles.” She tilted her head from side to side, as if viewing a museum piece When the silence stretched between them, he finally asked, “Well?”

Her lips twitched. “Are you casting about for compliments again?”

“I wouldn’t presume to hope for one. I’m merely curious.”

“You look far less studious. Rather boyish, in fact.” She reached up and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, an intimate gesture that stilled him. “Or perhaps that is just because your hair is disarranged.”

“As is yours. In a very charming way.”

Meredith looked into his brown eyes, at the passion still simmering in their depths, and felt an answering stir in her body. Her common sense coughed back to life, bringing with it all the reasons that she should not be doing this. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped back, out of the circle of his arms.

“Lord Greybourne-”

“Philip. Surely after what we just shared you can call me by my given name.”

Warmth crept up her neck. He looked so incredibly tempting, his hair tousled from her explorations, his cravat askew, his eyes dark with unmistakable desire.

Two steps. It would require only two steps forward for her to be once again wrapped in his strong arms, to feel his warm, hard body against her, to again experience the magic and wonder of his kiss. And the urge to take those two steps was so overwhelming it frightened her. This interlude was something she never should have begun. But since she had and couldn’t change it, it was certainly time that she ended it.