Diana snorted.

“Most women do, you know.”

“Stroke your nose?” She closed her eyes, trying to shake that image out of her mind. When she was with Lord Bryant, it was easy to forget that he had this kind of rapport with dozens of young ladies. He had a way of gazing at her as if she were the most interesting person in England.

“No, of course not. You are the only woman who has admitted to that. But most women tend to fall in love with me.”

“Because of your nose?”

“I can’t see what else it would be.” His lips turned down slightly. “The adoration comes so quickly I can’t fathom any other reason.”

“You don’t think it has anything to do with your title, income, or position in Society?”

For the briefest moment, Lord Bryant’s devilish gleam seemed to dim, but it was back before she was certain. “I don’t think most women think of those things—not like they do a perfect nose.”

They couldn’t spend the rest of the afternoon speaking of his nose. She wasn’t that adept at lying. She gestured around the room. “As you can see, I am not most women.”

Lord Bryant stepped closer to her, moving from a distance of pleasant conversation to something much more intimate. Her hands tightened on the chair. “I’m starting to see that. But I would hazard a guess that even you are not immune to my position, title, and looks.”

Diana bit the insides of her cheeks. The man was infuriating. It was as if the only thing that mattered to him was his ability to attract women—but not for who he was as a person and not for anything permanent. It was as if he knew he would only have superficial relationships, and he was happy to leave it at that. Of course he was. Most rakes were. She needed to stop thinking of him as the dashing person she had seen at Nate’s wedding and remember exactly what type of man he was. “I admit, when I first met you at Nate’s wedding, I did find you attractive. But I’m not a young, impressionable eighteen-year-old anymore.”

“And how old are you now, Grandmother?”

Diana lifted her chin. “I’m twenty-two, but more to the point, I am running two businesses and making a lot of people—including you—quite rich.”

“I already was rich.”

“Richer, then.”

He nodded as if that answer was acceptable.

“So,” Lord Bryant said, “seeing as you are so wise and—dare I say—old . . .” He smiled at that. He must still think of her as a baby. “No matter how charming I am, nor how perfect my nose is, you won’t fall in love with me?”

“Correct.”

“Ah, Miss Barton. You are just the distraction I need. That makes this much more fun.” Lord Bryant was already unseemly close to her, but he bent forward until his face was only inches from her own. Lifting his hand, he placed a gloved finger under her chin. “I find this chin of yours quite distracting. It is always lifted, which makes that delicate throat of yours much too accessible.”