The moonlight cut clearly across his magnificent shoulders, allowing Alva to see the way his muscles tensed and bulged even from fifteen feet above him. Was he really going to climb up the stonework?—He was. Even as she thought the words he pulled himself up off the ground, finding a foothold in the thick, bumpy stones that formed the front of the house. His arms bulged with every movement upwards, and Alva’s mouth grew drier and drier and drier.

After a few minutes seemingly suspended in honey, he pulled himself over the edge of her windowsill, and suddenly she was faced with the reality of having approximately six feet and four inches of gorgeous, smiling man in her bedroom.

“Hi,” he said, slowly surveying her nightgown.

She cleared her throat. “Um. Hello.” She hurried to the armoire and looked for a dressing gown—possibly instead of ogling him as he’d climbed she should have been finding something to cover herself with. Something large and fluffy, preferably, instead of the light gauzy thing that seemed to be the only option hanging in front of her. Still, it was better than only her thin nightgown, so she quickly wrapped it around herself before turning back.

He hadn’t moved. He stood frozen, with his hands firmly in his pockets and his eyes glued on her. “This might not have been a good idea,” he said.

Heat rose into her cheeks as she tugged uselessly at the dressing gown. “I’m not the one who decided to pay his morning calls a few hours early.”

“Hmm?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You came here for a reason?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And it was?”

“Something very important.” He cleared his throat. “Which I will remember at any moment.”

“Oh, for the love of—listen, I’ll get a blanket—”

“Mrs. Webster. Do not turn around again.”

Alva froze, half-turned. “But I just want—”

“Your dress is very sheer,” he said, half-strangled. “I don’t think you intended—and that dressing gown doesn’t look—”

Now her face was aflame. “Oh,” she said. “Um. Yes, I see.”

They stood there, staring at each other in silence.

“I know,” he said. “We’ll both turn around.”

“Right.” She waited, but he didn’t move. “Well?”

“May I say—you’re beautiful.”

The thrill started from her toes and crept up her whole traitorous body. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself in protection. “You grow compliments like dandelions,” she said, and frowned when he laughed. “Are you turning?”

He put his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m turning.”

She waited until he was facing the window before scurrying to her bed, snatching the heavy woolen blanket off the top.

“There,” she said, after she had thoroughly cocooned herself. “Now maybe you can tell me what you’re doing here.”