Page 51 of To Catch a Viscount

Questions surfaced at the back of her mind, insidious wonderings about the women who’d worn this article before her, and her belly tightened into a thousand vicious knots.

She fumbled with the strings.

“Here,” Andrew murmured, reaching for the mask, relieving Marcia’s fingers of it. In one effortless motion, he angled her head slightly and quickly had the protective covering tied firmly in place.

When he’d finished, Andrew paused to assess his handiwork. His eyes locked on her face, and he remained motionless, not so much as blinking.

Unnerved, Marcia touched the corners of her mask. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Your eyes,” he murmured, as if speaking only to himself.

Her eyes?

“No one will notnotnotice them,” he said in that faraway way, and her heart forgot its rhythm. It forgot its sole job was to beat.

“They’re… just brown.” Her voice emerged as a whisper.

He shook his head and touched a finger to the corner of her mask, lingering at that place just beside her right eye. “They are surely ten different shades of greens and golds and browns, all mixed to make one unique shade unlike any other.”

Her breath caught.

Unbidden, her fingers came up and touched his.

That sudden movement—or was it the feel of her hand?—seemed to jerk Andrew back to the moment.

He blanched and yanked his fingers close to his chest as if she’d burned him when she’d touched him.

“I was just saying,” he blurted, stammering like a boy who’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Someone might notice because… your…”

“Eyes?” she supplied.

“They’re anoddshade of brown.”

Whatever mad haze had fallen over her lifted.

Marcia wrinkled her nose. “I beg your pardon?” And here she’d thought he’d been waxing on poetic about her eyes.

“They’re a lovely enough shade,” he said weakly, and alsounconvincingly.

She pointed her stare at the ceiling. “La, I certainly see how you get your reputation as one of the most charming of rogues,” she drawled.

An endearing little blush slapped his cheeks. “I’m not decidedlynottrying to charm you,” he said, slashing his palms up and down in an emphatic sweep that underlined his words. “At all. Ever. As in ever.”

“I quite get your point, Andrew,” she snapped, unsure why she was so perturbed by his adamancy. This was Andrew. Her friend. And yet, she was. Annoyed. Very much so.

“Er… right.” He fiddled with the collar of his cloak. “Now that we’ve sorted all that out.” He lifted a hand and knocked once.

Andrew’s driver was there in a moment, drawing the panel open.

Andrew jumped down first, and then as if they were a respectable lord and lady attending a proper ball or dinner party together, he reached a hand inside.

Marcia paused to bring her hood up and into place for further protection, but also because if… when… she saw other people, she’d not be seen wearing this ridiculous headpiece. After she’d adjusted her hood, she placed her hand in Andrew’s and allowed him to help her down.

When her feet touched the cobblestones, she did a sweep of her surroundings.

The pavement under her feet was slightly slick and more uneven than the roads in Mayfair. The thick scent of waste hung heavy in the air, making it a chore to draw in a proper breath.

Andrew leaned down, placing his lips against the shell of her ear. “Change your mind?” His breath fanned her skin and tickled her flesh, sending a delicious little tremble from the point of contact and down her whole back in the most wonderful shiver. “Hmm?”

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