The Scandalous Lord Lanchester. Anne Herries

madame.’

      ‘Oh, I never go out without a hat and my parasol during the day,’ Sylvia told him. ‘Mariah will do it, but she does not seem to burn as I do.’

      ‘Lady Fanshawe has the kind of skin the sun loves,’ Paolo said, directing a look at Mariah that she felt far hotter than any sunshine. ‘I think perhaps she may have Latin blood in her somewhere.’

      ‘Oh, no, I do not think it,’ Mariah replied, a little smile on her mouth. ‘My mother and father were both of English descent—unless one of my ancestors strayed …’ There was a hint of mischief in her manner as she deliberately teased. ‘I must admit that I do love to walk in the sun without my hat. Sylvia is forever scolding me.’

      ‘I should not like you to be ill,’ Sylvia said fondly. ‘You are as a sister to me, dearest. I had brothers, but no sisters, something I regretted, and you have become more to me than most sisters could ever be.’

      ‘I am very fond of you, too,’ Mariah said. ‘I do not know how I should have managed after Winston died if you had not come for me.’

      ‘You speak of your husband?’ Paolo’s left eyebrow arched. ‘He was, I believe, some years your senior?’

      ‘Yes, but the kindest, sweetest man I have ever known.’

      Paolo inclined his head. ‘Of course you must miss him, but you are too young to grieve for ever, I think?’

      ‘Winston would not expect it,’ Sylvia said before Mariah could answer. ‘We have been speaking of Mariah’s marrying again. She will not wish to remain a widow for ever.’

      ‘No, that would be a waste,’ the count said, his gaze smouldering as he looked her way. ‘Such beauty in a woman is meant for pleasure, to be enjoyed and savoured by the man who adores her.’

      Mariah swallowed hard and then ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. The expression in his eyes was setting little butterflies of apprehension fluttering low in her abdomen. Count Paolo was one of the most sensual men she’d ever met. If she wanted an affair, he would certainly oblige her.

      For a moment her thoughts returned to those few precious moments by the lake when she’d thought that Andrew Lanchester cared—that he would ask her to marry him. He had not spoken, even though she’d tried to provoke him by suggesting that he help her to find a husband.

      Andrew Lanchester was the man she wanted. Why could he not look at her like this?

      ‘You have a beautiful home here, sir. I think if it were mine, I should not wish to leave it often.’

      ‘I have always preferred my houses in France. I lived there for many years as a child and a young man. However, a house is but a house unless it contains a special person who makes it a home.’

      ‘Yes, that is perfectly true.’

      Mariah felt herself warming to him. He seemed to think as he ought and despite an instinctive feeling that she should be careful of him, she found him attractive. Marriage with such a man would certainly leave no time for moping or feeling lonely.

      ‘I would be willing to live almost anywhere with the woman I loved. No sacrifice is too much when one loves, do you not agree, madame?’

      Mariah nodded, making no answer. His eyes seemed to convey so much and her breath caught in her throat. She could not doubt that he was pursuing her in earnest. There was a small silence before Sylvia drew the count’s attention to a particularly fine specimen of lily.

      Mariah had seen the faint lift of the count’s eyebrows. The signals were clear; he waited only for some sign of encouragement. She was afraid to give it, afraid of the intensity in his eyes.