“Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

Oh, dear God.

“Can I get you anything?”

You.

“No!” he blurted, rather too loudly. How the bloody hell had this happened? He was staring at Sarah Pleinsworth like a randy schoolboy, and all he could think about was the shape of her lips, the color.

He wanted to know the texture.

She placed a hand on his forehead. “May I?” she asked, but she was already touching him before she finished her query.

He nodded. What else could he have done?

“You really don’t look well,” she murmured. “Perhaps when Frances arrives with the cake, we can ask her to fetch you some lemonade. You might find it refreshing.”

He nodded again, forcing his mind to focus on Frances. Who was eleven. And liked unicorns.

And should not, under any circumstances, enter the room while he was in such a state.

Sarah removed her hand from his forehead and frowned. “You’re a little warm,” she said, “but not overmuch.”

He could not imagine how that was possible. Just moments ago, he’d thought he might go up in flames.

“I’m fine,” he said, almost cutting her off. “I just need more cake. Or lemonade.”

She looked at him as if he’d sprouted an extra ear. Or turned a different color.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” she said, although she didn’t sound as if she entirely meant it. “You just don’t sound like yourself.”

He tried to keep his tone light as he said, “I wasn’t aware we knew each other well enough to make that determination.”

“It is strange,” she agreed, sitting back. “I think it’s just that— Never mind.”

“No, tell me,” he urged. Conversation was a very good idea. It kept his mind off other things, and more importantly, it ensured that she was sitting on her sofa and not bending over him in his chair.

“You often pause before you speak,” she said.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not. It’s just . . . different.”

“Perhaps I like to consider my words before I use them.”

“No,” she murmured. “That’s not it.”

A small laugh escaped his lips. “Are you saying I don’t consider my words before I use them?”

“No,” she said, laughing in turn. “I’m sure you do. You’re very clever, as I’m sure you know that I know.”

This made him smile.

“I can’t really explain it,” she continued. “But when you look at a person— No, let’s not be unnecessarily vague— When you look at me before you speak, there is frequently a moment of silence, and I don’t think it’s because you are picking and choosing your words.”