What had she done? She bit down on her lip as the thought of Lord Wycombe attending her supper party, and then his escorting her to the ball. What in heaven’s name had possessed her to accept his proposal of being her escort tonight in exchange for his donating the Voltaire papers to the library? Elbow on the dressing table, she rubbed her forehead. Tonight would be a disaster. She should never have agreed to his proposal. Nervously, she returned her gaze to the mirror as she remembered the way Lord Wycombe had kissed her. Nothing had prepared her for the wild emotions that had raged inside her. One glance in the mirror reflected that the memory of his touch was plain to see on her face. Her eyelids were weighted downward in a sultry look, her cheeks were flushed, and her mouth looked as though she were longing for his kiss. She released a breath of disgust. Lord Wycombe’s calling cards had been entertaining, but she wanted nothing to do with the man. Nothing at all. A voice in the back of her head called her a liar.
