“Wait—how do women react to me?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Yvette eyed him askance. “You know perfectly well that every lady you meet wants to fall into your lap. The older you get, the more unobtainable they find you, and now that you’re nearly thirty, they’re practically salivating to catch the elusive Lord Stephen.”
“I’m only twenty-eight,” he said sourly.
“Close enough. Especially when you stalk about with that air of dismissive impatience that perversely attracts them all.”
“Have you been reading gothic novels again?”
“No, as a matter of fact,” she said lightly. “I’ve merely spent years watching you trail women behind you as though you were a prodigal son pied piper.”
The prodigal son part certainly fit. And it wasn’t his fault that his pursuits left him no time for the fairer sex. Or that his lack of interest only seemed to attract them more.
- The Heiress and the Hothead by Sabrina Jeffries
