that,â he said.
Her eyes widened at his profanity.
âI apologize, but I canât imagine a worse fate. What are you, in your twenties? Youâve got a long life ahead of you. Are you supposed to be dead because your husband died?â
âIâm a little older,â she said, âbut I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Preston.â
âBruce,â he said. âMy name is Bruce. You must call me that, otherwise I canât call you Ceana. It would be an inconvenience for me to have to translate your name to Mrs. Mead before I speak.â
âYou are the most surprising man,â she said.
âWhy? Because I say what I think?â
âIs that entirely wise, saying what you think?â
âDecidedly not,â he said, staring at her mouth. âOtherwise, I wouldnât tell you Iâve wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you, widow or not.â
Her fingers pressed against her mouth as if to banish any improvident comment or hide her lips from him. The first she might be able to do, but never the second. He would kiss her ear, then maybe behind it, down her neck and up again. Heâd make her gasp and lose control of herself and then heâd have that lush mouth of hers.
A week, thatâs how long it had been since he lost his reason. From the very first moment he saw Ceana Sinclair Mead.
S he had to leave.
He was making her think things she had no business thinking. Very well, perhaps he wasnât actually making her think those things, but he shouldnât say things like that to her. He shouldnât make her pulse race in such a manner.
His eyes were so attractive, reminding her of a tumbler of the best Scottish whiskey with light shooting through it.
His chin was square, his throat strong, his shoulders almost too large for the white shirt he wore. She had absolutely no intention of allowing her eyes to stray below his waist in memory of what he looked like naked.
She was not a woman to engage in fantasies, and he was very much a fantasy.
âWhat must Virginia not know?â she asked, gratified to see his face change. The teasing grin was instantly gone and in its place were thinned lips and a flat stare.
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â he said.
âNonsense, of course you do. You and Macrath were discussing something in his library. He didnât want to tell Virginia something and you were all set for letting her know. What was it?â
âYou misheard, Iâm afraid.â
She sat back against the gazebo bench and folded her arms, giving him a parental stare, one capable of freezing her daughters in place.
âYouâre lying. Iâm very good at ferreting out liars, and youâre lying.â
âYouâre mistaken.â
âVery well, then Iâll just go to Virginia and tell her what I overheard. Sheâll get it out of Macrath sooner or later.â
He actually had the effrontery to grin at her.
He had been so much more receptive to her tears. What a pity she wasnât the type to weep on command.
âYou really must tell me,â she said.
âI must?â
She nodded. âItâs the gentlemanly thing to do.â
âI regret I will have to be ungentlemanly, then.â
âSheâs my dear friend and my sister-Âin-Âlaw. If sheâs in danger, I should know.â
âYou donât trust Macrath to protect her?â
She sighed. âOf course I do.â
âThen leave it, Ceana.â
âHow can I?â
He looked away, staring through the trees.
âWhat do you know about Paul Henderson?â he finally asked.
She shook her head. âIâve never heard the name.â
âHe was employed by her first husband in London. As a caregiver.â
She nodded. âI remember. Lawrence was an invalid.â
âFrom what I understand, Henderson developed an attraction to Virginia. He kidnapped her.â
She