For all of Lord Sedley's reassuring words and ardent touches, she was playing with fire. And her heart. "This was a mistake," she said, settling the hood about her face and stepping back. The thought of all those women he had bedded raised her hackles. Every one of them had used his lordship for enjoyment, to while away the banality of society. He was sport for them and nothing more. It should have been she who warmed his bed. Loved him with her heart and soul. Oh, it was an irrational, stupid reflection, but one she had nonetheless. "You don't want me?" The unsure note in Sedley's question caused an ache to settle in her chest. Of course, she wanted him. Had wanted him from the first day she had met the dark-eyed, handsome gentleman on a picnic at Richmond. She studied his immaculate attire, the crisply starched cravat. Such a gentleman on the surface but what hid beneath? Hard as such a realisation was to admit, she no longer knew. She met his gaze, and the desperate yearning she saw there crumbled to ash her resolve to leave.
