“Why would you say that?” he asked in all mildness, as though he had not just declared a lunatic idea.

“Y—you . . . cannot take it.”

Absolutely not. He could not take the tonic. Just the notion of him . . . the very austere Mr. Sinclair all hot eyed and titillated was unthinkable. She swallowed thickly.

Unthinkable . . . and yet exciting when she did permit herself to think of it. She envisioned him as he had been in the carriage, all deep dark eyes and gravelly voice that she felt like a caress.

Except in her imaginings she would visualize him touching her.

His hand would land on her ankle and slide up, up, up . . . slipping beneath her skirts, skimming over her stockings until he reached her garters. And there he would make haste, ripping the ribbons free, shredding them in animal speed so that he could get to her skin, get to her. Her breathing fell faster. Oh, dear.

“Miss Langley?”

She snapped free of her little fantasy and looked at him, the very controlled Mr. Sinclair. This very restrained and self-possessed gentleman would not appreciate any remedy that robbed him of his control. Who would, for that matter?

“Yes?”

“You need a test subject, and as the tonic is for a member of my family and I am the one responsible for you being here—”

“Are you the one responsible for my presence here though?” She had rather forced herself on him here. Looking back at her behavior, she felt a small dose of shame. She could still hear the duke’s voice in her head, dismissing her so coldly, so imperiously. He’d made her feel small . . . so small and unwelcome that she wanted to flee this place with what dignity she still possessed.

He ignored her interruption and continued, “I should be the one to take it.” He flattened a hand to his chest covered only by the elegant lawn of his shirt. No jacket. No vest. This was the most casual she had ever seen him. Casual and loose and she rather liked him this way—disheveled. “I should be the one,” he insisted.

She could not allow that to happen under any circumstance. At least not without Lady Elise on hand. She should be the one, of course, to help him if the tonic affected him as it did her sister. Otherwise he would be left to the agony of his unfulfilled desires.

And what if Lady Elise did not help him with that? They might be courting, but that did not mean the elegant lady would cast aside all propriety to satisfy his cravings.

“Let us consider this,” she began. “If the tonic affects you—”

“Makes me aroused,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Er, yes. Then what?”

“Then I endure it.”

He made it sound so easy. Only she knew better. She knew what happened to Char. “What if you cannot? It might not be that simple.”

“What are you suggesting then?”