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“ Y ou’ll break your neck if you jump, Countess. Or was that the plan?” Patrick said, looking up at the woman above him.

What the bloody hell is she doing up there? His heart had just about stopped when he’d looked up and seen her perched on that ledge.

“Go away, Lord Coulter,” she said in her haughtiest voice.

“It’s certainly a novel way of taking some air,” he added.

“What I do is no business of yours, my lord.”

“If you were not planning to end it all on that ledge, Countess, then perhaps you were taking air?”

“If I wish to sit on this ledge all evening, my lord, then that is my choice.”

“I am not debating this with you up there in danger,” Patrick said, moving closer. If she fell, he could lunge and try to grab her but would likely fail. He needed to get her off there now. “You need to come down here at once.”

As if to strengthen his argument, Patrick watched one of the countess’s feet move closer to the edge. Is she actually insane, and I missed that part of her personality?

It was only by chance he’d chosen this small balcony to find some peace from the noise inside.

His head was aching, which he knew would yield a night of pain if he did not leave the ball soon.

But he was reluctant to do so, and he laid that blame squarely at the feet of the woman above him.

She drew him to her, and he couldn’t work out why.

“Get down,” he said with more force than he’d meant to. “Before you fall.”

“I can manage quite well on my own, my lord, so please leave and allow me to—ah?—”

“Dismount?” Patrick suggested helpfully.

She ignored him, instead waving him back. He, in turn, ignored her, curious now why she was up there in the first place, or he would be when she was safe.

Patrick climbed onto the balustrade. “Take my hand now, Countess.”

“Get down at once, my lord!”

“Take it,” Patrick said again, this time with a little more force, which she noticed because her eyes widened fractionally.

“I can jump. Please leave at once.”

Heaving a very loud sigh, which the woman above him could hear clearly, Patrick folded his arms and waited. He knew it was a long drop to the ground, but he had excellent balance.

She looked small sitting on that ledge. Small and vulnerable.

“What the hell are you doing on that ledge?” he asked, because suddenly he needed to know.

“I am taking air, my lord,” Sophie said, as if she were a bloody princess. “Pray do not ask me again, and please hold on to something before you fall. Your legion of admirers would be desolate.”

“But not you?”

“No one deserves to die that way,” she said.

She shivered, and he doubted what she wore offered much protection to the cool night air. He’d certainly be cold, too, if half his chest were exposed. And what a lovely chest it is.

“Come, enough of this nonsense. You are shivering and in imminent danger of falling. Place your hands in mine. I will bring you down safely.”

“Very well, but I am more than capable—” Her words ended in a shriek as he took the hands she held out to him and swung her to safety. He jumped down beside her.

Patrick waited patiently while she straightened her skirts and then patted her hair. When she could find nothing else to fuss with, she looked at him.

“Thank you, my lord, for your help.”

“Why were you on that ledge, Countess?”

“I am going back to the ballroom.”

He stepped in front of her.

“Move, please. Lady Carstairs will have missed me.”

“When you have answered my questions, madam, I will let you return.”

They stared at each other for long, heated seconds until finally her shoulders lowered, and he knew he’d won.

“The ladies,” she said and then clamped her bottom lip firmly between her teeth.

“The ladies what?” Patrick prompted, placing both hands on the balcony railing, effectively caging her inside his arms.

“I don’t have to tell you.” Her chin lifted, and he knew this for a defensive gesture.

“The ladies what?”

“If you must know, they were saying things I did not want to hear, so I left the room via the window rather than engage in an argument.”

He wanted to laugh at her defiant look, as if what she’d done was completely justifiable and the actions of a sane person. But when he looked closer, he saw the worry in her lovely eyes. She was not as confident as she wanted him to believe.

“And why do you care what they say?” He leaned closer and caught her scent on the night air. Soft, subtle, with a hint of rose. The woman only had to be a foot away to ignite his body.

“I care for Letty, who does not need any scandal or gossip.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, but I’m sure Lady Carstairs would not have wished for you to take such rash actions to evade a bunch of gossiping women.”

“Let me go back inside.”

“You shouldn’t care what they say, Countess. Ignore them,” Patrick added.

“Spoken like a man who could never understand what it’s like to be on the receiving end of vicious gossip.”

“Don’t judge what you do not know, Countess,” Patrick said.

She surprised him by saying, “Forgive me. You’re right. I do not know that.”

“What is your story?” Patrick said. “Lord Monmouth was not married when I saw him just before he died, and he definitely did not mention a son. Then there is the fact you suddenly appeared in society and yet are not comfortable being here.” His words hit their mark because her face betrayed her.

Shock had her eyes widening, and then she was struggling to get away from him.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I am the Countess of Monmouth,” she said, “and I will not stay to listen to your… your lies a moment more.”

He pulled her closer. “But they are not lies, are they, Countess?”

The feel of her body touching his was Patrick’s undoing.

The first touch of her lips, and he knew it had been a mistake to kiss her.

Emotions warred for domination inside him as the heady feel of her in his arms made his body tighten.

One hand cupped her head; the other slid up her back to hold her closer still.

“Open your mouth for me,” Patrick rasped and was rewarded seconds later.

He told himself to be gentle, and yet he’d lost all reason when he touched her.

Her hands clutched the lapels of his jacket as she took what he gave.

The high-pitched sound of laughter had him pulling back, his arms dropping to his side as they stared at each other, both breathless.

His eyes ran over her face, taking in the dazed look and kiss-swollen lips.

He wanted this woman, and he would have her.

“We will be discreet.” He spoke the words against her lips. “And when this is done, we will walk away from each other.”

“No!” She reared back. “No.” This word came out softer. “That can never happen, Lord Coulter. This, what we did, was wrong.” She skirted around him and started for the door.

“Why deny what we both want?” Patrick followed her. “You are no innocent, so why not give in to this madness that lies between us?”

“I am going back to Monmouth soon?—”

His laugh held no humor. “I don’t want to wed you, Countess. I want to bed you.”

He knew instantly by the look on her face that he’d shocked her with his vulgar words. This was what she did to him. When she was near, he was no longer a gentleman.

She turned from him silently and walked back inside the ballroom. Patrick stayed where he was, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.