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Is that the audience you prefer?”
    “No. I just…just…” She halted, shrugged, then said, “You make me too nervous.”
    “ I make you nervous? Why would I?”
    “I want you to think I’m good.”
    “Trust me, I think you’re very, very good.”
    “Do you mean it?”
    She inquired tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure of her ability, as if maybe she’d been denigrated for it in the past.
    “Yes, Miss Etherton, I’m bowled over by you.”
    “You’re being serious? You’re not jesting?”
    “I’m not jesting.”
    She graced him with her beautiful smile. On seeing it, his heart actually lurched in his chest.
    “And you’re not angry?”
    “No.”
    “I’d hate to have you be cross with the servants because of me.”
    “While you are my guest, you may perform in any fashion and at any volume you like.”
    “What if I keep luring the servants from their duties, and they don’t serve you a brandy fast enough? Won’t you be irked?”
    “With you and that voice in my home? You must be joking. I haven’t heard a singer as grand as you in any of the theaters in London.”
    “That’s the sweetest thing you could have told me.”
    “Have you ever considered singing on the stage?”
    “I dreamed about it when I was younger, but of course, I eventually grew up and had to accept that it’s not a suitable path for a woman.”
    “It’s the very dickens, isn’t it, being an adult?”
    “Yes, the very dickens,” she agreed.
    She leaned her elbows on the box too, so there was hardly an inch of space between them. She scrutinized him, as if she didn’t know what to make of him. Was he an enigma? He’d like to imagine he was, although the truth was that—for all his pomp and circumstance—he was very dull and ordinary.
    Very quietly, very surprisingly, she said, “I like you. I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”
    “I like you too, Miss Etherton. Very much.”
    They stared and stared, a thousand comments swirling that couldn’t be spoken aloud. A strange wave of destiny swept over him, as if it was his fate to have met her, as if they were supposed to find themselves alone in this very spot.
    Before he realized his intent, he closed the gap separating them and kissed her. In the entire history of kisses, it was very brief, very chaste. And very, very wrong .
    She was his houseguest—his engaged houseguest—who was betrothed to his cousin. So what was Aaron thinking? He wasn’t thinking; that was the problem.
    For the fleetest moment, she allowed the contact, then she jumped back. If she’d slapped him, he’d have deserved it, but he was relieved to see that she was smiling.
    She wagged a scolding finger at him. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
    “No, I shouldn’t have.”
    She paused, apparently waiting for him to apologize, but he didn’t because he wasn’t sorry. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to drag her over to the sofa, lie down with her, and kiss her until dawn.
    He was being pummeled by a confused sort of yearning he didn’t understand. Once again, there were a thousand comments swirling, and he clamped his teeth together, terrified he might open his mouth and blurt out any wild, inappropriate remark.
    “Say good night, Lord Run,” she said.
    “Good night, Lord Run.”
    She laughed, the sound sultry and alluring and extremely dangerous to his equilibrium.
    “Go.” She pointed to the door.
    “You first.”
    She studied him for an eternity, then nodded. “Yes, me first. I definitely think I’d better.”
    She scooted around him and left.

CHAPTER THREE
    “What do you think?”
    “Your home is lovely.”
    “I suspected you’d like it.” Vicar Bosworth pompously preened. “It has to be much grander than that school where you were teaching.”
    “Yes, it’s much nicer.”
    Evangeline forced a smile, mustering every bit of fortitude she possessed so she’d appear composed and happy.
    The rectory was a fine house, much larger than she’d anticipated. The rooms