Page 9 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

Her words drew a slow, assessing look from him. “So you’ve said. More than once, as I recall.” His gaze dipped briefly to the dwindling distance between them before returning to her face. “And yet here you remain, not fleeing, but somehow edging closer.”

Shock caught her breath when Cordelia realized that, as though they possessed wills of their own, her feet had carried her two steps nearer. The sheer astonishment of moving toward him without even realizing it rooted her in place.

He smiled, something unknown gleaming in his gaze.

It was then that the shifting firelight in the hearth caught his eyes fully, and Cordelia saw their color for the first time.

Silver-gray.

Not the dull gray she might have expected, but a brilliant, arresting silver-gray, darkened at the edges and made almost luminous wherever the firelight touched them. She stared a moment too long, captivated by their unusual beauty before realizing, with a peculiar little jolt, that the stronger light had revealed considerably more of his features as well.

Good heavens, he is terribly handsome.

She had understood that much before, of course, but understanding it in the shadows and seeing him clearly were entirely different matters. The firelight traced the strong planes of his face, the straight line of his nose, the dark sweep of his brows, and the firm, beautifully shaped mouth that seemed perpetually on the verge of smirking. His midnight-black hair only sharpened the striking contrast of those remarkable eyes.

And he was watching her watch him.

Heat swept into her cheeks. Worse, the sharp intelligence in those beautiful silver-gray eyes made her feel as though he saw far more than he ought, perhaps even the direction her thoughts had so disastrously taken. Cordelia nearly scoffed at her own absurdity. He could hardly know what she was thinking.

And yet the impression persisted, undeniable.

“I am almost certain you are aware of how improper and lacking in good sense it is for any woman to sneak into the house of...of a stranger,” she said softly. “Worse, to remain and play chess with him. The fact that you are encouraging me to compound one scandalous decision with another suggests your concern for a woman’s reputation is woefully deficient.”

There.

Now she sounded like a proper young lady putting him firmly in his place for daring to suggest that she remain alone and unchaperoned with a gentleman.

“I have always found society’s conviction that a gentleman and lady cannot be alone together in a room without courting instant ruin rather...amusing,” he said. “One might imagine ruination to be a considerably more dramatic affair than this. A man, a woman, a cat, and a chessboard.”

His gaze dipped pointedly to the cane in her hand. “Though I confess the weapon lends a certain menace to the tableau. Tell me, do you feel ruined as yet?”

Cordelia suppressed the amusement threatening to curve her lips. She had entertained similar thoughts more times than she could count and had even been foolish enough to voice them on occasion, only to earn a stern reprimand from her mother. It was strangely exhilarating to hear someone else treat one of society’s most rigid dictates with the same irreverence she so often felt.

“Of course not.”

His mouth curved into another slow smile that awakened an odd awareness within her, one she could neither name nor understand. There was something inviting about it, as though he were coaxing her to step into a private jest and laugh at the world’s absurdities alongside him.

Yet beneath that easy charm lingered the faintest hint of mockery, making her acutely aware that she was hopelessly out of her depth. Cordelia had never encountered a gentleman remotely like him, and instinct warned that attempting to match him in wit or banter would end with her thoroughly undone.

“Pity.” His gaze traveled deliberately over her, unhurried and unapologetic, lingering where it had no business lingering. “You have your blade with which to defend your honor. Should I prove so ungentlemanly as to overstep the bounds of propriety, I shall stand obligingly still whilst you skewer me.”

She took an instinctive step back. “Do not mock me.”

“I am mocking the absurdity of it all,” he said softly. “Society declares you ruined merely because you are alone with me, yet no one can say precisely when this terrible calamity is supposed to occur. Was it the moment you crossed my threshold? When the window closed behind you, and there were no witnesses to preserve your virtue by observation?”

His mouth curved, wicked amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Or does ruination begin only when you notice that you are being looked at in a way you have never been looked at before? Tell me, can even an unspoken thought accomplish such devastation?”

Her cheeks flamed. “A gentleman looking at a lady as though he is contemplating matters he has no business contemplating is precisely why such situations are avoided. Privacy gives those thoughts opportunity to flourish, and from there, I imagine the descent into wickedness becomes alarmingly swift.”

His mouth curved. “You appear to have given the descent considerable thought.”

“I have done no such thing.”

“No?” His gaze traveled over her with leisurely insolence before returning to her face. “You have identified the look, diagnosed the danger, and mapped the path to wickedness with remarkable efficiency.”

Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “One need not throw oneself from a cliff to understand the consequences of standing too near the edge.”