Never Lie to a Lady by Liz Carlyle Page B

for pity’s sake, Lord Nash.” She looked at him uncertainly. “No one need suffer.”
    “Alas, there is but one way to avoid that,” he murmured. “And it is quite out of the question. Thank you, my dear, for a remarkable evening—two of them, actually.”
    He heard a sound of relief escape her lips as she turned toward the door. But at the last instant, she caught him by the arm. “Wait, Lord Nash.” Her eyes were still wary. “I should like to know—what was your conclusion?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “On the terrace,” she reminded him. “You said you could think of but one conclusion to draw. Obviously, it was the wrong one.”
    “Ah, that!” He smiled faintly. “When I learnt you were unmarried, I supposed that I had been followed onto the terrace and entrapped.”
    “Entrapped?” It took her a moment to comprehend, then understanding dawned. “ Entrapped? Good Lord, what an insult.”
    He lifted one shoulder. “It is a constant threat to a man in my position.”
    She glowered at him. “You flatter yourself, Lord Nash. Were I a man, I might just call you out for such an affront and put a period to both you and your self-absorbed concerns.”
    “I begin to wonder you don’t do it anyway,” he said honestly. “Are you a very good shot?”
    “Yes, but a tad out of practice,” she said. “I’d likely miss your heart and hit your bowels, so it would be a long, painful, and putrefying death.”
    He winced. “Then I have been saved from a terrible fate indeed,” he said, bowing to her. “You are a rare beauty, my dear, but not worth dying for—slowly or otherwise. I give you good evening, Miss Neville. And I wish you joy of your unwed state. Long may it continue.”
    Xanthia watched Lord Nash suspiciously, but his regret did indeed seem sincere. She gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment, then escorted her unexpected visitor to the door. Nash set his hand on the brass doorknob, but on impulse, Xanthia covered it with her own. “Will you answer one last question for me?”
    He looked down his hawkish, arrogant nose, and lifted one eyebrow. “I cannot say,” he answered. “Will it result in further threats to my life or my manhood?”
    She ignored that, for she could see that he was struggling mightily to suppress a grin. “Could I ask you—or what I meant was—” She paused to lick her lips uncertainly. “Is it possible that you might be able to forget that…that last night ever happened?”
    The crook in his eyebrow went up another notch. “Oh, not in a million years,” he murmured, leaning just a little nearer. “I shall take the memory of that lush, sensuous mouth of yours to the grave, my dear. And then there is the perfect turn of your fine, firm derrière beneath my hand, and the almost searing heat of your—”
    “I did not mean it quite literally,” she interjected.
    “Ah,” he said, his eyes drifting down her length. “But you will not mind if I occasionally fantasize, Miss Neville, about what might have been? Here in London, the nights can be cold and lonely.”
    “Lord Nash, please.” Xanthia felt the heat rise to her face. “I exhibited an unfathomable lack of judgment, and I wish you would not remind me of it.”
    “But if I cannot forget it, why should you?” His voice flowed over her like warm velvet. “Indeed, Miss Neville, you have cut me to the quick. I had hoped that there was some small remnant of that little interlude which you, too, might wish to cling to.”
    Xanthia tried to look grave. “Never mind that,” she said. “All I am saying, sir, is that…well, I am going to be out in society a little more than I had expected. I beg you to never, ever mention what happened to anyone else.”
    He drew back a pace. “Good Lord, Miss Neville!” he answered. “What manner of man do you think me?”
    She bit her lip, and glanced up at him. “A gentleman, I hope?”
    “A gentleman, indeed,” he murmured. “I should sooner have my fingernails