Page 114 of To Catch a Viscount

That was what she told herself, desperate reassurances in an effort to make their relationship the one it had always been and one that had not changed. One where she wasn’t completely and hopelessly besotted with him.

Because she could not be.

With his eyes still fixed on Marcia, Andrew said something to his mother and Lord Exeter. The elegantly graying gentleman took the small girl from Andrew and proceeded to tip her upside down as Andrew had done moments ago, and then Andrew started across the room.

To her.

Marcia’s mouth dried, and her mind remained scrambled.

And then he was there.

“Ladies.” He greeted her friends first, capturing Anwen’s hand and then Faith’s. “It is a pleasure, as always.”

It did not escape Marcia’s notice that he directed his words towards Faith’s functioning ear. Marcia’s heart stirred at the considerate gesture, one her friend had lamented that most members of thetonfailed to do. Marcia loved him desperately for that kindness, just as she loved him for—

Marcia strangled on her swallow.

Andrew thumped her hard between the shoulder blades. “What’s this?” he asked between the determined thwacks. “I cannot have my bride kicking her heels up on our wedding day.”

Her friends giggled.

Yes, because he was that endearing.

And Marcia was still not a woman about whom he possessed any romantic imaginings.

Oh, God, I am in bad trouble. The worst.

Not even married a moment, and she was waxing on romantic about Andrew Barrett, the Viscount Waters, from whom she’d practically had to pull a pledge of fidelity at the altar while a man of God officiated and her father at his back.

His smile dipped, as did her friends’.

“We should go. My mother is motioning,” Faith said quickly, catching Anwen by the arm.

“No,” Marcia said on a rush. “You really don’t have to.”

Because being alone with Andrew suddenly seemed like a very bad, very dangerous idea.

The butler entered the room and announced breakfast, and Marcia couldn’t contain her audible sigh at being saved.

Andrew took her gently by the arm, steering her closer. He lowered his lips close to her ear, and his breath tickled her cheek. Her body quickened as she recalled the last moment she’d been in his arms, an embrace she wanted to know again.

“I daresay it’s hardly a good sign to have one’s bride frowning on one’s wedding day,” he said, and then he tweaked her nose the way he always had since she’d been a small girl.

Her panicked thoughts continued galloping wildly in her head. What if that was all she was to him? No different than his younger sister Edine, whom he’d perched upon his hip and brought to laughter, like he managed to pull laughter from everyone.

“I’m not frowning,” she said, and Andrew teased a finger along the right corner of her mouth, and her lips parted.

Her belly quickened.

Oh, goodness.

“Frowning again,” he pointed out.

How could he, as a rogue, prove completely unaware of the effects he had on her?

“You forget, Marcia,” he whispered against her ear. “I know your smile as well as I know your frown.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He did know her, but apparently not so well as to gather the reason for her disquiet.

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