an icing-covered blade at her brother-in-law. “You forget yourself.”
Wynthrope didn’t seem the least bit affected by her words, but he bowed to Moira all the same. “My apologies, Lady Aubourn. I meant no disrespect, quite the opposite.”
Oh, Moira knew exactly what he meant. He was watching her with barely veiled predatory interest. Perhaps his brother and Octavia were ignorant, but Moira knew without doubt that Wynthrope had meant to shock her. He might be able to play the gentleman, but he wasn’t, not underneath his carefully crafted façade. In fact, she’d be willing to bet he wasn’t what he pretended to be at all.
Such knowledge served to make him even more attractive. Dangerously attractive. Did she follow his lead and be brazen right back, or did she retreat as she so desperately wanted to?
“Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Ryland. I took no offense.” She would not let him see how deeply he affected her—she couldn’t, not if she wanted to maintain some kind of control within their budding relationship. Her entire life had been built on control. She would not allow a man to change that.
Again he raised that mocking brow, staring at her with dark eyes that glinted with challenge. Dear God, what was she doing entering into any kind of relationship with this man? He was too much for her. He would be too much for any woman who wished to retain some semblance of self. Wynthrope Ryland was a maelstrom of a man, drawing women into his path and whirling them around until they were too dizzy and free to care what he did next.
Just once it might be thrilling to experience such a sensation, but it was much too frightening to entertain this early in their game.
Game . Odd that she should think of whatever they were doing as a game, but she supposed it was. Each of them wanted to set the rules and each of them was determined to be the less vulnerable.
Octavia passed her a plate. On it were slices of each cake—all of them thicker than Moira would have cut for herself.
Well, there was nothing saying she had to eat all of it. With Wynthrope watching her, it was amazing she could eat at all.
He turned to his sister-in-law with his empty plate offered. “I will have some more of the chocolate please, Vie.”
“ More ?” The redhead’s face lit with surprise. “You’ve eaten half the cake already!”
He shrugged, seemingly unaffected by her teasing. “It is good cake.”
As she slid another slice of velvety dark cake onto his plate, Octavia turned to Moira with an amused, questioning gaze. “I reckon men do not pay the same attention to their figures as we women do, Moira.”
“We are simply not as obsessed with our appearances,” North spoke, his own empty plate on a table beside him. “Is that not true, Wyn?”
His brother cut a bite of cake with his fork. “Quite right. However, you are even less concerned than most of us, brother.” He smiled at Moira as he lifted his fork to his mouth. “Will this little indulgence damage my appearance, do you think, Lady Aubourn?”
Moira flushed once more. “Why? Do you plan on rubbing your face in it, Mr. Ryland?”
He laughed at that—they all did.
“Serves you right for asking such a bold question,” Octavia chastised, but she shot Moira an amused glance. “It seems that Moira’s wit is as quick as yours, Wynthrope.”
Wynthrope licked a bit of icing from his fork. Moira shivered. Oh, to be that fork.
“It is not my wit that is quick, my dear sister, but rather my tongue.” He smiled sweetly at Octavia, but when his sister-in-law’s attention shifted to her husband, Wynthrope turned his cobalt gaze to Moira, and what she saw there made her bones turn to custard.
Good God, had he read her mind when she envied his fork? It certainly seemed so.
He set his plate aside, his cake unfinished, and closed thedistance between them. Moira watched him approach, her heart tripping in her throat. Her fingers gripped her plate to stop from
Wynthrope didn’t seem the least bit affected by her words, but he bowed to Moira all the same. “My apologies, Lady Aubourn. I meant no disrespect, quite the opposite.”
Oh, Moira knew exactly what he meant. He was watching her with barely veiled predatory interest. Perhaps his brother and Octavia were ignorant, but Moira knew without doubt that Wynthrope had meant to shock her. He might be able to play the gentleman, but he wasn’t, not underneath his carefully crafted façade. In fact, she’d be willing to bet he wasn’t what he pretended to be at all.
Such knowledge served to make him even more attractive. Dangerously attractive. Did she follow his lead and be brazen right back, or did she retreat as she so desperately wanted to?
“Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Ryland. I took no offense.” She would not let him see how deeply he affected her—she couldn’t, not if she wanted to maintain some kind of control within their budding relationship. Her entire life had been built on control. She would not allow a man to change that.
Again he raised that mocking brow, staring at her with dark eyes that glinted with challenge. Dear God, what was she doing entering into any kind of relationship with this man? He was too much for her. He would be too much for any woman who wished to retain some semblance of self. Wynthrope Ryland was a maelstrom of a man, drawing women into his path and whirling them around until they were too dizzy and free to care what he did next.
Just once it might be thrilling to experience such a sensation, but it was much too frightening to entertain this early in their game.
Game . Odd that she should think of whatever they were doing as a game, but she supposed it was. Each of them wanted to set the rules and each of them was determined to be the less vulnerable.
Octavia passed her a plate. On it were slices of each cake—all of them thicker than Moira would have cut for herself.
Well, there was nothing saying she had to eat all of it. With Wynthrope watching her, it was amazing she could eat at all.
He turned to his sister-in-law with his empty plate offered. “I will have some more of the chocolate please, Vie.”
“ More ?” The redhead’s face lit with surprise. “You’ve eaten half the cake already!”
He shrugged, seemingly unaffected by her teasing. “It is good cake.”
As she slid another slice of velvety dark cake onto his plate, Octavia turned to Moira with an amused, questioning gaze. “I reckon men do not pay the same attention to their figures as we women do, Moira.”
“We are simply not as obsessed with our appearances,” North spoke, his own empty plate on a table beside him. “Is that not true, Wyn?”
His brother cut a bite of cake with his fork. “Quite right. However, you are even less concerned than most of us, brother.” He smiled at Moira as he lifted his fork to his mouth. “Will this little indulgence damage my appearance, do you think, Lady Aubourn?”
Moira flushed once more. “Why? Do you plan on rubbing your face in it, Mr. Ryland?”
He laughed at that—they all did.
“Serves you right for asking such a bold question,” Octavia chastised, but she shot Moira an amused glance. “It seems that Moira’s wit is as quick as yours, Wynthrope.”
Wynthrope licked a bit of icing from his fork. Moira shivered. Oh, to be that fork.
“It is not my wit that is quick, my dear sister, but rather my tongue.” He smiled sweetly at Octavia, but when his sister-in-law’s attention shifted to her husband, Wynthrope turned his cobalt gaze to Moira, and what she saw there made her bones turn to custard.
Good God, had he read her mind when she envied his fork? It certainly seemed so.
He set his plate aside, his cake unfinished, and closed thedistance between them. Moira watched him approach, her heart tripping in her throat. Her fingers gripped her plate to stop from
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