Page 28 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

Alarmingly warm.

One of his arms supported her back, the other rested securely beneath her knees, and every measured stride shifted her subtly against the solid breadth of his chest. She could smell him again, that clean, masculine blend of sandalwood now mingled with the faintest trace of brandy.

Cordelia became intensely interested in the garden.

She would not look at him.

Looking at him seemed an exceptionally poor idea.

Something streaked across the darkness overhead, and Cordelia blinked in surprise as another brilliant streak followed. “Falling stars,” she gasped softly.

He slowed, and Cordelia tipped her head back as another brilliant trail of light swept across the heavens.

“Oh, how beautiful! I wonder what causes such a remarkable shower of falling stars.”

“Men of science call them meteors and have offered various explanations for them,” he replied, amusement threading his voice. “Though others believe they are ill omens, harbingers of death, war, and famine, if one is inclined toward superstition.”

“Surely not all interpretations are quite so gloomy.”

“No, indeed. Some believe they mark the passage of a departing soul, while others claim a falling star announces the birth of a child.”

“How extraordinary that the same heavenly spectacle should signify both birth and death.”

“Superstition is seldom troubled by consistency.”

Cordelia laughed. “Well, I refuse to believe something so beautiful must herald misfortune. I should much rather think the heavens are inviting us to make a wish.”

“An infinitely more agreeable interpretation,” he conceded. “And what would you wish for, Miss Cori?”

She closed her eyes. There were dozens of things a sensible lady might hope for. A happy marriage. Children. A husband who would cherish her. A life untouched by the quiet humiliations she had witnessed her sister endure.

“I should like to live as a gentleman for a day,” she murmured. Then, after considering it, she added, “Perhaps even for a few weeks.”

Mr. George’s chest shifted beneath her with a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through her.

She opened her eyes and frowned at him. “You should not laugh at another person’s wish.”

“I beg your pardon.” Amusement still lingered in his voice. “Why would you wish for that?”

Cordelia looked back toward the heavens. The brandy had loosened something inside her tonight. Or perhaps it was the man himself. She could not quite tell where one influence ended and the other began.

“Whether one lives or dies is not what matters most. Life is a journey, and surely it is the places one goes, the wonders one sees, and the experiences one gathers along the way that give it meaning. To live without regrets, that is what I should wish for. But can a lady ever truly speak such words and live by them in this world? I fear such freedom belongs only to men.”

“Is that what you desire, then? To live so freely?”

Her voice softened. “Yes. Men of our society may shape the world according to their will, rather than being shaped by it. That must be a very wonderful feeling. I would like to experience such a life.”

He stopped walking. Cordelia felt the change immediately and lowered her gaze from the sky. He was staring at her, but not with the teasing amusement that had accompanied so much of their conversation, nor with the wicked glint that continually made her wonder whether an innocent remark concealed something scandalous.

There was something altogether different in his expression now.

His gaze was piercing and intent, fixed upon her with such concentration that her thoughts scattered, leaving her momentarily adrift.

Cordelia's heart gave a strange little thump.

Why did he look at her so?

For one peculiar moment, she had the sensation that she had surprised him.