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situation in the first place.
    One of these days, he would learn that where this girl was concerned, he was in big trouble.

Chapter Eight
    “Dreams can become reality, if only one acts upon them.”
    ~The Duke of Lancaster
    When Michael returned with the records given to him by the committee of the Stock Exchange, Hope was ready for him. She had cleared off the top of her desk and moved another chair around to her side of the table so that they could both review the records together more easily.
    Michael appreciated her preparedness, and honestly, it was the same set-up he had in mind, but as he took a seat next to Hope and caught a whiff of her beguiling scent, he began to question the wisdom of sitting so close to her. Hope, on the other hand, seemed to have no compunctions about it whatsoever. Wanting to appear as equally unaffected, Michael tamped down his racing libido and began to organize the papers in front of him.
    Hope looked over at Michael and smiled. “Are these all of the records?”
    Michael swallowed hard, trying to get what was apparently a very large frog out of his throat. Funny , he thought wildly, I don’t remember trying to swallow an amphibian just before entering the room . Choking back some nervous laughter over his own sad attempt at humor, Michael rasped out, “Ah, ha, ah, yes.”
    “Is something wrong?” Hope asked.
    “No, no, not at all…I just, ah, have something in my throat.”
    “Oh, well I ordered some tea while you were fetching the records. It should be here any minute.”
    “Thank you. That was very, er, kind of you.”
    “I didn’t do it to be kind,” Hope replied. “I did it because it was only polite to do so.”
    Sighing inwardly, Michael replied, “I see. Well, I still thank you.”
    Forcing himself to focus, Michael was just beginning to understand what he was looking at when Rivers appeared with the tea. Putting the papers aside once again, Hope reached for the pot of tea at the same time as he. When their hands brushed against each other, Michael froze and stared at Hope for a long moment.
    “I, uh…that is…ah,” Hope stammered, her eyes flicking toward his, “I believe it is proper for me to, er, serve you.”
    “Really?” Michael drawled, giving Hope a heated glance before removing his hand. “Then please do, by all means.” Michael motioned to the tea set with the sweep of his hand, but it was clear that he was not just talking about the pouring of the hot beverage.
    Blushing warmly, Hope ignored the innuendo. “How do you, ah, take it?”
    Michael simply quirked his brow and smiled wickedly.
    “Your tea, Lord Lichfield! How do you take your tea?!” Hope clarified loudly, feeling once again very overheated. “My goodness,” she muttered.
    “Milk, no sugar,” Michael replied, softly adding, “please.”
    …
    Hope looked up quickly, somewhat startled by the way Michael had said “please.” Or perhaps it was her own reaction to the word that was so surprising. It was as if she felt the request all the way down to her toes. When she locked eyes with his, there was something in his gaze that took her breath away. She didn’t know quite what the look meant, but she was rather certain it had nothing to do with the way he liked his tea.
    Taking a shaky breath, Hope lowered her eyes and proceeded to prepare them both a cup of the steaming brew. There was something comforting about the process, and by the time she had served them both and taken her first fortifying sip, Hope felt much more at sorts. She just needed to avoid looking directly at Michael and, judging by the pile of work in front of them, she felt sure that would be easy enough to manage. Or so she hoped.
    Getting down to work, the two began sorting through all the data given to them. Splitting the work allowed them to move fairly quickly through the reports, but it was still a time-consuming process, and Hope didn’t realize just how much time had passed during their research until four