He’d bet she wasn’t thinking about light at the moment. Her head was thrown back, exposing a lovely white column of neck, and she had her eyes closed. Just so would she look when she rode on top of him, her curls tossed back in abandon.

“What are you thinking?” he said, his voice roughened by that thought. He trailed a finger down her forehead, over her small straight nose and stopped at her lips.

Charlotte opened her eyes. “The smell of roses,” she said. “They smell so warm. Why should a smell be hot or cold? But they smell warm.”

Alex thought about this for a minute. “I suppose,” he said rather doubtfully. “Hot chocolate smells warm.”

Charlotte laughed, a lovely, joyful sound, he thought. “That’s not it! I was thinking of flowers. Freesias smell cold, for example.”

“Hmmm.” Alex trailed his finger over her chin and down to her collarbone. He leaned closer and took a loud sniff. “You smell …” He paused provocatively. She giggled. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “You smell warm,” he said finally. “Very warm. Also faintly like orange blossoms.”

“Very clever,” Charlotte said approvingly.

“I met a girl once, in a garden, who smelled like lavender, and so far that has been my favorite scent.” He leaned so close that his lips were almost touching hers. Then he gave another exaggerated sniff. She giggled again. “I think …” His lips were touching hers now, whisper-soft. “I think that orange blossoms are my new preference.”

Charlotte was trembling slightly. But Alex drew back. He couldn’t kiss her here, in full view of Viscountess Dewland, not to mention Sophie’s band of gallants. In the moonlight his eyes were black as jet, blacker than night, Charlotte thought. She felt like a hypnotized rabbit, unable to pull her eyes away from his. Alex stood up and pulled her to her feet. He seemed to feel no such weakness, she thought with a faint pulse of humiliation.

“Let’s check how Mr. Glister is doing with the fireworks, shall we? Your mother will be worrying about you soon.”

Mr. Glister had set up camp at the bottom of the garden. “So as I won’t show a burned patch,” he earnestly explained. “Because these here gardens are very nice, very nice indeed, and I wouldn’t want to show them any indig—any indignity, no.”