Free His Wicked Sins by Silver Eve Page A

if Alice had her druthers, recognition of
    Mr. Fairfax ought to incite Beth to further alarm. Wry amusement touched her.
    She watched his approach and wondered what he was doing, walking on this road. His
    curricle was nowhere to be seen and he was clothed for a warm day, not a rapidly cooling
    evening.
    Her gait faltered and her heart twitched strangely in her breast. She turned and looked at
    the road behind her, then the lay of the field that blended with the copse at its far end. For
    an instant, she felt disoriented, and more than a little wary.
    Had it been his gaze she sensed earlier, watching her from the woods?
    She could not fathom it, for to be ahead of her here on the road he would have needed
    to sprint the distance from behind her, and he looked relaxed and comfortable, not at all
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    out of breath or exerted. Still, she could not negate the possibility. She pulled her shawl
    tight about her shoulders, raised her head, and waited.
    As he drew near, she studied him, taking in each magnificent bit of him, put all together
    in masculine perfection. That was the puzzle. What made him so attractive? The cut of his
    coat to his broad shoulders? The slight curl of his hair, dark against the white collar of his
    shirt? The way he tipped his head, just a bit to the right as he approached?
    She could not help herself. Her gaze followed the line of his coat to lean hips, and
    lower, lingering on his muscled legs. He moved with the natural grace and elegance than
    she had noted the first time they met.
    His stride was purposeful, his attention focused wholly on her person, and she had the
    odd inclination that he searched this road for her.
    On a sharp exhalation, she looked away. Her heart beat too fast and her body felt flush
    and alive.
    Had he known she would walk? Had he waited for her?
    Impossible. She had herself not fully realized her intention or direction until she paused
    at the fork in the road.
    So he did not —could not possibly— travel this way looking for her.
    No sooner had the thought formed than he dispelled it.
    "Good evening, Miss Canham. I had hoped to meet you," he said, inclining his head in
    greeting and offering a small smile. It was a strange and alluring beauty he had, harsh
    features, hard lips, handsome when taken in bit by bit, more than wonderful when looked
    at as a whole. She had never thought of a man as beautiful or wonderful, but Mr. Fairfax
    was.
    "Good evening, Mr. Fairfax," she said, feeling breathless and silly and out of sorts.
    He was near enough now that she could see his dark eyes, sparkling with an inner light,
    bright with a heat that was both disturbing and alluring. That look left her feeling as
    though his gaze touched her in truth, as though sensation brought life to her flesh.
    Again her heart tripped over, and she was awash in an odd, hot ache that stole her
    breath.
    The breeze caught her hair and pulled strands from her carefully placed pins, then sent
    the tendrils dancing, restless and free. She was grateful for the distraction. Raising her
    hands, she gathered the few wayward curls and held them still. As the wind abated for an
    instant, she quickly tucked the stray strands into her carefully pinned plains.
    Mr. Fairfax kept his gaze upon her, his expression thoughtful as he stepped closer. He
    looked both the gentleman and the ruffian at once.
    When he was an arm's length away, he gave a spare smile that made her skin feel as
    though she had rubbed her feet on a carpet and caught a spark. She tingled with
    anticipation, with anxiety, with both dread and hope of … what?
    The man flustered her to the extreme.
    "Forgive me, Miss Canham. Do I intrude?" he asked.
    She stared at him a moment, struck by the way the dying sun touched his dark hair, a
    bright halo, leaving his face in shadow. She dropped her gaze, anxious and uneasy, not in
    the way of fear, but in the way of … excitement.
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    The realization