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She stared at him for a heartbeat before a light laugh escaped her, warm and spontaneous and so entirely without reserve that he felt the sound settle somewhere deep inside him. He loved hearing her laugh, but he did not mistake it for an answer to the more serious question between them.

“Do you truly believe there is such a difference?” she asked when she had recovered sufficiently to speak. “Were you not only teasing me that night when you defined a rogue?

“A rake is a man whose chief occupation is the pursuit of pleasure, generally with insufficient regard for the consequences. A rogue, on the other hand, is a gentleman whose reputation is somewhat worse than his actual conduct.”

“How very convenient for you,” she observed, arching a brow.

“I have always thought so.” His smile gentled. “But I do not suppose a clever definition will persuade either you or your sister that I deserve your confidence. I should much rather you judge me by what I do than by what others say.”

Cordelia smiled. “I believe I am beginning to do precisely that.”

He could have asked her what she meant, but the tenderness of her gaze told him more than any hurried declaration would have done, and he wanted to give her the freedom to reach her own conclusions. He glanced at the decanter in his hand. “Would you care to join me for a drink?”

She scowled, and the expression was so damned pretty that he wanted to kiss it from her lips.

“I have sworn off spirits altogether, for I have discovered that liquor renders me far too reckless.”

He wanted to draw her into his arms and taste the sweetness of her mouth again, a desire his body greeted with wholly inconvenient enthusiasm. Yet what unsettled him most was how thoroughly she had captivated him beyond the pleasures of the flesh. He delighted in her laughter, her spirited arguments, the indignation flashing in her lovely eyes, and even the simple pleasure of watching her enjoy a slice of cake. He wanted her company as fiercely as he wanted her kisses, and that was a longing for which his considerable experience with women had left him entirely unprepared.

George made no effort to disguise his admiration. She was so damned pretty, with the evening light catching the auburn strands of her hair and lending a luminous warmth to her lovely brown eyes. Her lips, soft and inviting, held the faintest suggestion of a smile, and he found himself wondering whether she had any notion of how thoroughly she tempted him. The delicate color spreading across her cheeks only made him want to kiss her until that blush deepened and her eyes grew heavy with pleasure.

“Do not look at me like that,” she warned, a becoming flush stealing into her cheeks.

“Like what?” he asked innocently.

“As though you want to ravish me.”

“I am wounded by your suspicion,” he drawled, allowing his gaze to linger upon her mouth.

“You are not even attempting to look contrite,” she said with a laugh.

“Would you believe me if I did?”

“Not for a moment.”

“Then I shall spare us both the effort.” His mouth curved with amusement. “The sun is beginning to set, and I have a habit of enjoying the spectacle with a glass of brandy.”

Her luminous eyes widened as she glanced toward the golden sky. “Where do you go?”

“Into the woodland, whenever the weather permits.”

“You go into the woods to drink brandy and watch the sunset?” She regarded him with frank astonishment, and he found himself absurdly charmed by her expression.

“Come, and I shall show you.”

He offered his arm, but she eyed him with playful suspicion.

“I do not have my rapier, and I suspect I might need it.”

George went very still. For one dangerous moment, his gaze dropped to her lips, and he imagined drawing her into the shelter of the trees, where no curious eyes might witness just how thoroughly his gentlemanly restraint had deserted him.

“You might,” he admitted softly.

A startled, half-choked laugh escaped her, and the blush in her cheeks deepened. Yet she hesitated only briefly before slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.

They followed a winding path away from the formal gardens and toward the ancient woodland bordering the estate, where the air grew cooler, and the evening sunlight sifted through the leaves in shifting patterns. George moderated his pace to hers without drawing attention to it, for he had learned early in their acquaintance that she disliked having her limp treated as though it rendered her helpless. She walked beside him with her customary determination, occasionally pausing to admire an unusual flower or listen to a bird hidden among the branches.

“Do you come here often?”