He stepped inside, compelling her to take a step back. Closing the door behind them, he turned the lock with a soft snip.

“Wh-what are you doing in here?”

“How was your stroll with Prentiss?” He asked the question mildly enough, stated it evenly, without inflection, but there was still something in his voice that gave her pause.

She angled her head and eyed him, trying not to let the sight of him this close, alone in her bedchamber, addle her thoughts.

“Lovely,” she replied, noting that his expression darkened to a scowl. Did he not like Mr. Prentiss? “And how is Lady Elise?”

“Lovely,” he echoed.

“Should you not be downstairs with her?”

“I’m right where I want to be.”

With her? In her bedchamber?

Alone in this vastly inappropriate scenario?

It seemed uncharacteristic of him to place either one of their reputations at risk in such a way. He had much to lose. Lady Elise did not seem like a female to look the other way at her husband’s (or husband-to-be’s) indiscretions.

“How is your head?” His gaze flickered over her face as if seeking the answer in her features.

Her fingers moved to her temple. “M-my head?”

“It was aching. Remember?”

“O-oh.” She shrugged, recalling the excuse she had used to flee the drawing room. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” He took another step closer. “I’d hate for you to be feeling poorly.”

“That is . . . kind of you to say.” She backed up a pace, inching deeper into the room.

“Nothing kind about it. Rather selfish of me, actually.”

She frowned. “Selfish?”

“Indeed. If you were unwell then you wouldn’t be up for this.”

He advanced then, his body crowding her. The air grew charged, crackling between them.

She retreated, and he followed like a predator in steady pursuit. Her heart took flight like a wild bird in her chest.

All at once, she stopped. Excitement warred with wariness inside her. Lifting her chin, she froze in place, waiting.

He reached for her, tumbling her against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her easily.

She held her breath as he clasped her against him, suspended above the ground, her body pressed so tightly to his that it would be impossible to determine where either one of them ended and began. They were eye level and she found herself drowning in his dark gaze.

Then they were moving.

He was walking quickly with her in his arms, her toes dangling inches off the ground as he carried her.

She could scarcely digest what was happening.

Everything was sensation.

Was that her pounding heart? Or his? With their bodies plastered together, she could not know for certain.

He set her down carefully on the edge of the bed, and then he dropped at her feet, lowering himself before her until he was on his knees like some prostrated medieval knight.

She moistened her lips. “Wh-what are you—”