“Turn my head, you mean? You seriously underestimate your appeal. When you left my room last night—” Shit. He couldn’t dare tell her that he’d pleasured himself to thoughts of her, while the sweet smell of her perfume or soap still lingered in the air.

“What?”

“It would hardly be a suitable conversation for a young lady.”

Alice stopped to look up at him, her expression more serious than a nun in church. “But that is precisely why you should tell me. That is why I came to you for help in the first place.”

He shoved his free hand in his trouser pocket. This was dangerous territory indeed. The words were burning his tongue, his mind anxious to see her reaction as he told her the truth. I pulled out my cock before you were even down the hall. I sat on my bed, smelling your lingering flowery scent, and stroked myself, my erection so hard it hurt. Twisting and pulling, I worked my shaft until I trembled and spend erupted into my hand.

He shouldn’t. He promised Maddie, and Alice deserved better. She needed a gentle soul to help her wade into the shallows before allowing her to jump into deeper, more salacious waters. Those were the depths Kit loved—the more salacious, the better, actually—but Alice was innocent. He didn’t want to corrupt her.

Gesturing to the walk ahead, he said, “Shall we continue?”

What had he been about to say?

Mind whirring, Alice struggled to keep her hat on her head in the stiff breeze as a silent Kit led her along the path. The light, easy mood from before had shifted like the tide, and now he was polite but no longer his charming self. In fact, he’d hardly said two words since she’d prompted him to tell her about last night. Why?

She wished he’d talk again. Clearly, they needed to avoid the topic of the previous evening, which was fine with her. She’d experienced enough rejection for one weekend. But what else should they discuss? She didn’t know him at all and, even if she did, she was terrible at conversation.

What did strangers of the opposite sex talk about when they were alone? Kit didn’t seem enamored of his family, so best not to offend him by probing on that front. Politics and religion were often touchy subjects, not that he seemed inclined to discussing either. What was left? Hobbies and interests?

His deep voice interrupted her musings. “I can hear you thinking, Alice.”

“That is ridiculous,” she said automatically.

“So, you weren’t thinking?”

“Of course I was thinking. I’m always thinking.” She paused. “Aren’t you?”

“Not if I can avoid it. Introspection is not my forte.” Something in his voice sounded off. Hollow, almost.

“Thinking doesn’t always mean introspection.”

“I believe that is the very definition.”