Page 7 of A Virgin for the Rakish Marquess

“To what other assumption must I reach when my own eyes tell me that I am not in the presence of a wallflower, let alone a jilted one?”

“Is brandy still your—” Richard tried once more.

“It seems to me that you have developed a fast way to put labels on women, Lord Crawford. I wonder how one comes to possess such an insight?”

“Like I said, Diana, Elizabeth is—” Richard’s attempts to change the topic were failing miserably.

“I see that my reputation precedes me,” the Marquess murmured.

“I trust that it’s as exaggerated as most gossip?” Diana asked.

“Not exaggerated,” the Marquess corrected. “But incomplete. Gossip, after all, rarely captures the full picture. For instance, it says nothing about your sharp tongue.”

“Should we just…?” Richard was almost pale with mortification.

“I do tend to reserve my sharp tongue for occasions such as these,” Diana said with a smile. “After all, most gossip is embroidered with embellishments.”

“Not embroidered,” the Marquess countered. “Merely stitched together with threads of truth. Though I suspect you prefer working with finer materials.”

“Indeed,” Diana replied, her tone sharpening. “I work with precision, My Lord, ensuring that every stitch is purposeful and secure. I find it prevents one from becoming tangled in careless threads.”

Did I just say that?

Diana was torn between feeling proud and feeling worried. This heated banter did something to her body that no amount of needlework or reading could ever offer. And the heat became almost unbearable, since that pang that worried her before had coiled in her belly when his smile widened and his eyes roamed over her body.

“Careless threads often weave the most interesting patterns, Lady Diana.”

Richard coughed nervously. “Now, let’s not?—”

“Interesting, yes,” Diana relented smoothly, ignoring his interruption. “But what use do I have of them if they were to unravel at the first pull?”

It could have been her idea, but she was sure that the striking man soaring over her like a bird of prey was looking for the loose threads of her soul to unravel her. She could almostfeelhis eyes caressing her, the heated conversation adding a deep growl to his breath that was the most dangerous sound she had ever heard.

“You know what?” Richard huffed. “I am going to grab a much-needed brandy.”

He walked away from them, appalled that they remained silent, caught up in a staring match, even though good manners demanded that they both acknowledge that their host left.

Diana gathered all her ‘little sister’ energy—the grit it took to survive under three older siblings. She could immediately tell that the Marquess was an only child.

Finally! A victory.Diana allowed herself a private smile when the Marquess looked away.

She was ready to take her hard-earned winnings and flee while she was still ahead. But his retreat was temporary, merely a strategic scope of their place so he could draw nearer.

His proximity caught her unawares and unprepared. It was the first time someone not related to her invaded her personal space. And though he didn’t touch her, his scent enveloped her.

Sandalwood…Why do I care how he smells?

She immediately panicked.

“Now that we’ve lost our chaperone, shall we dispense with the pleasantries?” he asked.

“I thought we already had,” Diana replied, her voice steady despite the inexplicable heat rising within her.

The list of the ‘most dangerous sounds’ shifted the moment he laughed. That crystal, deep laughter rivaled his growl when coupled with a look that was the exact opposite of mirth.

How could he make laughter so… so… so…

Diana was not ready to utter the word.

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