Page 27 of To Catch a Viscount

“You know, I was recently saying as much myself,” Andrew murmured. He apparently had no idea that she was reciting a list and not speaking for herself.

“‘You were too good for him.’”

“Well, you are,” Andrew said it so quietly, so simply, she paused. His words penetrated her frustration, and a warmth flared in her chest, in a place very near to her heart.

“This isn’t whatI’msaying,” she explained. “This is what everyone keeps saying to me.”

He pointed with the bottle, wagging it in her direction. “Listen to the everyones. They know.”

They knew?

Who knew anything anymore?

Certainly not Marcia.

“You dropped your necklace,” he remarked.

She stared dumbly at him.

Andrew pointed, and she followed that gesture to the spot at her feet.

“No,” she said on a rush. “It’s just—”

Except he was already reaching out, and in one smooth motion, he looped that chain about her neck. The fire having warmed it, the metal proved surprisingly hot as it fell against her skin.

Her fingers immediately came up to touch the heart pendant that rested there. A silly bauble that her friends had insisted would bring her true love.

“There,” Andrew murmured, his mouth near the lobe of her ear. His breath was a soft sough upon her skin that sent the most exciting little shivers traipsing, tickling, and teasing over her skin, pulling a breathy but soundless laugh from her.

Did she imagine the hesitancy as he drew his fingers back, as though she wasn’t the only one who’d enjoyed a tingle because of his touch?

“You really should be getting back,” he said.

“Why?”

He cocked his head, sending a golden strand tumbling over his brow. Endearingly boyish in his befuddlement, he brushed that loose curl back. “Do you know, you’re right. If you don’t want to, you shouldn’t have to. You should feel free to do whatever you want.”

“Are you leaving?” she asked, unable to account for the sudden disappointment.

Actually, she could.

Ever since she’d been a small girl, she’d enjoyed Andrew’s company. A rule breaker and a charmer, he always had a smile on.

“Alas, I fear I have to. My presence—or rather, my lack thereof—has been noted.”

“Lord Rutland?” she asked.

His brother-in-law’s relationship with her father went back as long as Marcia had memories of the viscount.

“The very same,” Andrew muttered.

“Made you come, did he?” She brought her shoulders back and an emphatic finger out and up. “He insisted on standing in solidarity,” she said in her best impersonation of her father.

“I would have come anyway,” Andrew said, a light flush staining his cheeks.

Stretching a foot out, Marcia kicked him lightly in the ankle. “Liar.”

He winked, ringing a laugh from her as he stood.

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