he said, handing her a cup, “are the most annoying creature I have ever met.”
“Really?” She took a sip of the sweet-tart lemonade. “I take that as a compliment.”
“So you are both annoying and slow-witted,” he said.
“You don’t really think that.” Watching him over the rim of her cup, she added. “I am complimented because I have made you think.”
Lord, but he was a fine specimen of a man. She felt such a surge of triumph that she could not govern the wide grin on her face. She’d found him at last. After a lifetime of believing she would never meet someone who could arouse her passion, share her dreams, bring her joy, she’d finally found him. A man she could admire, perhaps even love.
“Do I amuse you?” he asked, frowning good-naturedly.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you keep smiling at me even though I have just called you annoying and—”
“Slow-witted,” she reminded him.
“Yes,” he said. “Rude of me.”
“It was. But I forgive you.” She glanced furtively from side to side. “Mr. Higgins, do you suppose we could go somewhere…a little less public?” Before he could answer, she took his hand and pulled him toward the now-empty lecture room. The dry windstorm that had been swirling through the city all evening battered at the windows. Gaslight sconces glowed on the walls, and orange light flickered mysteriously in the windowpanes. Rows of gilded chairs flanked a central aisle, and just for a moment, as she led him along the crimson carpet runner toward the front of the room, she had the fanciful notion that this was a wedding.
“Miss Hathaway, what is this about?” he asked, taking his hand from hers.
“I wanted to speak to you in private.” Her heart raced. This was a simple matter, she told herself. Men and women arranged trysts all the time. She should not get overwrought about it.
“Very well.” He propped his hip on the back of a chair, the pose so negligently masculine and evocative that she nearly forgot her purpose. “I’m listening.”
“Did you enjoy the lecture tonight, Mr. Higgins?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“It was a crashing bore.”
Clearly he didn’t share her passion for debate. She pulled in a deep breath. “I see. Well, then—”
“—until a certain young lady began to speak her mind,” he added. “Then I found it truly interesting.”
“Interesting?”
“Yes.”
“And…provocative?”
“Most definitely.”
“Did you think it was…stimulating?”
He laughed aloud. “Now that you mention it.”
Her spirits soared. “Oh, I am glad, Mr. Higgins. So glad indeed. May I call you Randolph?”
“Actually my friends call me Rand.”
She most definitely wanted to be his friend. “Very well, Rand. And you must call me Lucy.”
“This is a very odd conversation, Lucy.”
“I agree. And I haven’t even made my point yet.”
“Perhaps you should do so, then.”
“Make my point.”
“Yes.”
Ye gods, she was afraid. But she wanted him so much. “Well, it’s like this, Mr.—Rand. Earlier when I spoke of passionate feelings, I was referring to you.”
His face went dead white. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“You see,” she rushed on, “I’ve always wanted to have a lover. I never did encounter a man I wanted to spend my life with, and if I took a lover I would simply have no need of a husband.”
“Lucky you.” Some of the color, and arrogance, returned to his handsome face.
She could sense suppressed laughter beneath his wry comment. “But I wouldn’t want a love affair just for the sake of having one. I’ve been waiting to meet a man I felt attracted to.” She looked him square in the eye. “And I’ve found you at last.”
The humor left his expression. “Lucy.” The low timbre of his voice passed over her like a caress.
“Yes?”
“Lucy, my dear, you are a most attractive girl.”
She clasped her hands, thoroughly enchanted. “Do you think so?”
“Indeed I do.”
“That is wonderful. No one has ever thought me attractive before.” She was babbling, but couldn’t help herself. “My mother says I am too intense, and far too outspoken, and that I—”
“Lucy.” He grasped her upper arms.
She nearly melted, but held herself upright, awaiting his kiss. She’d never been kissed by a man before. When she was younger, Cornelius Cotton had kissed her, but she later found out his older brother had paid him to do it, so that didn’t count. This was going to be different. Her first honest-to-goodness kiss from the handsomest man ever created.
Late at night, she and the other young ladies of Miss Boylan’s would stay up after lights-out, whispering of what it was like to kiss a man, and of the ways a man might touch a woman. One thing she remembered was to close her eyes. It seemed a shame to close them when he was so wonderful to look at, but she wanted to do this right. She shut her eyes.
“Lucy,” he said again, an edge of desperation in his voice. “Lucy, look at me.”
She readily opened her eyes. What a glorious face he had, so alive with character and robust health and touching sincerity. So filled with sensual promise, the way his lips curved into a smile, the way his eyes were brimming with…pity? Could that be pity she saw in his eyes? Surely not.
“Rand—”
“Hush.” Ever so gently, he touched a finger to her lips to silence her.
She burned from his caress, but he quickly took his finger away.
“Lucy,” he said, “before you say anymore, there’s something I must tell you—”
“Randolph!” a voice called from the doorway. “There you are, Randolph. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Lucy turned to the back of the salon. There, in the doorway, stood the most
