He nodded, and the tension in the air between them heightened. There was no reason for him to linger, and yet she sensed that they both wanted him to.

Something was holding him back.

“Why?” she asked softly. “You have not yet asked me to dance or flirted with me or made a casual remark about where you intend to be in the future so that we might find one another again.”

Montoya reentered the small circle. “You are too bold, Miss Benbridge,” he admonished gruffly.

“And you are a coward.”

He drew up sharply just a few inches from her.

A cool evening breeze blew across the top of her shoulder, carrying with it one of the long, artful curls that hung down her back. The count’s gaze focused on the glossy lock, then drifted over the swell of her breasts.

“You look at me as a man looks at his mistress.”

“Do I?” His voice had lowered, grown softer, the accent more pronounced. It was a lover’s tone, or a seducer’s. She felt it move over her skin like a tactile caress, and she relished the experience. It was rather like exiting a warm house on a frosty day. The sudden impact of sensation was startling and stole one’s breath.

“How would you know that look, Miss Benbridge?”

“I know a great many things. However, since you have decided not to acquaint yourself with me, you will never know what they are.”

His arms crossed his chest. It was a challenging pose, yet it made her smile, because it signaled his intent to stay. At least for a short while longer. “And what of Lord Ware?” he asked.

“What of him?”

“You are, for all intents and purposes, betrothed.”

“So I am.” She noted how his jaw tensed. “Do you have a grievance with Lord Ware?”

The count did not reply.

She began tapping her foot again. “We are having visceral reactions to one another, Count Montoya. As attractive as you are, I would venture to say that you are accustomed to snaring women’s interest. For my part, I can say with absolute certainty that a similar situation has never happened to me before. Stunning men do not follow me about-”