by Candace Camp
“And you are such a pillar of propriety.”
Rylla glared. “You are in the way. I cannot get up with you crouched there.”
“That, I think, is for the best. You’re in no condition to be walking about.”
“I’m fine. I was simply dizzy for a moment.”
“Mm. No doubt the impropriety of being attacked outside a gambling hell turned you quite faint.”
Rylla swallowed a bubble of laughter. “You are most annoying.”
“So I’ve been told.” He moved, no longer sitting back on his heels, but coming up so that he was once again kneeling at the edge of the sofa, unnervingly close. “Still, I need to check your wound.”
He reached out to grasp the sides of her shirt, and Rylla jerked back, squeezing into the sofa cushion as far as she could go. She clutched the garment even more tightly to her. “You don’t need to do any such thing! I’m perfectly all right.”
His hands dropped. “You don’t know that. The knife went through your clothes.”
Holding her shirt together at the top with one hand, Rylla carefully lifted the bottom of her shirt. She peered at her stomach. “It’s only a scratch.”
“ ’Tis a pity to mar such beauty.” Gregory was studying her skin as if it held great secrets. His face was flushed, his blue eyes glittering, his mouth soft and full. She had never seen such a look on a man’s face before. It shot a strange leaping excitement all through her. He had lowered his hands, but now they rested on her thighs, warm and heavy. It was thoroughly indecent—and even more indecently, Rylla liked the way they felt on her.
He smiled at her, more with invitation than amusement. “What were you doing at that gambling den, I wonder? A romantic assignation?”
Rylla’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon!”
“But surely no man is so foolish as to leave you waiting. He would arrive early and wait any length of time.” He went on musingly, “No, I think more likely you were spying on a lover.”
“A lover!” Indignation surged through her. “You think I am a . . . a hussy!”
“Nae, I would never use such a term for you.”
“Oh!” Rylla jumped up, shoving him back with both hands. Irritatingly, he only laughed and rose lithely to his feet. “You are rude! Insufferable!” She rushed to refasten her clothes, her fingers trembling and clumsy with fury. In her agitation, she fumbled at both shirt and waistcoat, succeeding with neither.
“Wait, here, you are doing them up all wrong.” Gregory’s expression was indulgent as he reached out to help her. His action only served to fuel the fires of her anger.
Rylla slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me! You are no gentleman. You’re a . . . a perfect beast. A scoundrel.” She drew herself up to her fullest height and lifted her chin haughtily. The pose was somewhat spoiled by the fact that she wobbled and Gregory had to grab her elbow to steady her.
“I did come to your rescue,” he pointed out mildly.
“My rescue! Hah!” She shrugged off his hand. “You were probably in league with him.”
Gregory’s brows popped up. “I like that. I chase off a thief who is attacking you, and now I’m a villain.”
“You took advantage of me.” Rylla had managed to get her shirt fastened, even if the buttons were a trifle askew. She decided to abandon the attempt on her waistcoat.
“Took advantage of you! You are drunk as a wheelbarrow and running about dressed in men’s clothes, visiting gambling hells. And I took advantage of you?”
“I am not drunk as a wheelbarrow! Nor am I a woman of loose morals.” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I, Mr. Rose, am a lady.”
He stared at her for a moment, then let out a long breath. “Devil take it. You really are a blushing virgin, aren’t you?”
Chapter Three
“Yes, if you must put it in such a crude manner.”
“I believe I must.” Gregory shoved one hand back into his hair and sighed. “What am I to do with you?”
“You don’t have to ‘do’ anything with me,” Rylla said loftily. “I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”
“Indeed. And what is it you are so capable of doing?”
Rylla scowled. “Of . . . of whatever needs to be done.” She swept her hand out in a vague, all-encompassing gesture and lost her balance.
Gregory grabbed her arm again to keep her from falling. His lips twitched. “I think you better sit down.” When Rylla tried to pull away, he gave her a sharp tug—rather more forcefully than necessary, Rylla thought—and put her back down on the sofa. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere. Stay there. I’ll make you some coffee.”
He strode off. Rylla sent a baleful glance at his back before she flopped back against the couch and closed her eyes. Everything tilted, then settled back into place. Maybe she was a trifle foxed, at that. How else could she explain the peculiar sensations she’d she felt this evening? The way her stomach flip-flopped when she looked into Gregory’s blue eyes. Or the warmth that had blossomed deep inside her when she saw him kneeling between her legs. The way her pulse speeded up every time his hand closed around her arm—even though she hadn’t wanted him to touch her. She hadn’t wanted it at all. She listened to Gregory clattering about and muttering curses. Rylla had the suspicion that he was not entirely sober himself. She smiled faintly, thinking of the blank astonishment on his face when he realized she was a woman. He’d been nice, really, coming to her rescue like that, helping her to safety. And his concern that she might have been cut was rather touching.
“I can only hope that smile is for me.”
Rylla scowled at Gregory. She had no intention of telling him any of the things she’d just been thinking. “It isn’t.”
“Here. Drink this.” He handed her a cup and sat down on the footstool in front of her.
She took a sip. The liquid burned her tongue and tasted bitter. “This is awful.”
“It is rather,” he agreed amiably. “Well, it’s the first time I’ve made coffee.”
“Are you sure you did it correctly?” Rylla looked dubiously into the cup. “I don’t think it should have all those grains floating about.”
“You may be right.” He peered into his own cup, then took another sip. “It doesn’t taste like the coffee the housekeeper makes. Still, best drink it down like the man you are not. Maybe it will counter whatever you were drinking.”
“It was port. I can’t imagine why men like to ruin a good meal with that. And smoking cigars! Ugh.”
Gregory laughed. “You turned a bit green after you took a puff.”
He was quite close to her, his position on the stool making his face nearly level with hers. Rylla could see each line, each curve of his face. Looking at him made her feel edgy and restless . . . and daring.
His bright blue eyes were lined with brown lashes, darker than the color of his hair. His eyebrows were reddish-brown, as well, and they had a sharp downward slant at the ends that added to the hint of perpetual mischief in his expression. She could see the shadow of his beard, and somehow that sight made her abdomen tighten and twist. His lips were full and soft, his mouth wide. And she had the most startling desire to press her own lips against his. What, she wondered, would he taste like?
“I think it’s most unfair,” she said.
“What is?”
“No one thinks anything of it if a man goes about kissing anyone he wants.”
He let out a startled laugh but did not question her sudden change of topic. “I think some people might object.”
“You know what I mean. Everyone excuses men when they have affairs. They say, ‘Oh, he’s a man and everyone knows that men are given to lewd behavior.’ ”
“Is that what they say? Perhaps I have been behaving too circumspectly.”
She ignored his remark. “But if a woman wants to kiss a man, she is adjudged wanton. A hussy. Scorned by society.” She swept her arm out grandly. “Why should a man have pleasure and a woman only
duty?”
“Why indeed?” His blue eyes danced. “Tell me, do you plan to kiss someone? I’d be happy to volunteer. Purely to right an injustice, of course.”
“You are an exceedingly foolish man.”
“You are an exceedingly tempting woman.” His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Warmth flared inside her. Rylla knew her reaction was wrong. The way he looked at her should make her indignant, not strangely eager. There was none of the respect a gentleman should have for a lady. But what else was he to think, given the boldness of her words just now? No lady would have brought up such a topic. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I am not usually so improper.”
“Are you not? I confess, I’m disappointed.”
“Perhaps you are right. I may be somewhat inebriated. I have not behaved well. Indeed, I’ve been quite shocking.”
“I’m not easily shocked.”
“I think that says something more about you than it does about me,” she retorted. That brought another laugh out of him. The sound made her chest lighter.
“You wound me.” He laid his open palm against his chest.
“I doubt that very much.” Rylla picked at an invisible piece of lint on her trousers. “I can’t imagine why you’re being so nice.”
“Can’t you?” He studied her for a moment. “Who are you? For I am sure you are not Rolly.”
Rylla said nothing. She could not tell him. She had thoroughly compromised herself this evening, but as long as he did not know who she was, there could be no scandal.
“Why were you in Faraday’s this evening?” he went on when she did not answer.
“It was nothing to do with you.” Rylla stood up. “I must go.” She pulled on her jacket.
“Who did it have to do with?” He rose with her.
“No one. It had nothing to do with anyone but me. I wanted to see the inside of a gentleman’s club. That’s all.” Seeing the skeptical look on his face, she decided to turn their conversation down a different path. “No doubt you are appalled at such unladylike curiosity.”
Irritation flashed in his eyes. “You certainly assume you know a great deal about me.”
“I know you are a gentleman.”
“And that means I’m a prig?”
“It means you prefer ladies remain unknowledgeable about . . . lower sorts of activities.”
“Indeed?” The light in his eyes was different now, and the smile that touched his lips was slow and inviting. “I think I might prefer a lady to be knowledgeable about some ‘lower’ activities.” He leaned a little closer, his voice as soft and beckoning as his smile. “I fear I rarely do what I ought. The truth is, I think you are a refreshing, delightful, and thoroughly intriguing woman. Will you not even tell me your name?”
Rylla shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. “No. You ask too much.”
“I will not reveal anything that happened tonight,” Gregory said. “I swear it.”
“I cannot take that chance.” She grabbed her greatcoat. “Where is my hat? Oh, drat, I have lost it. He won’t be happy.”
“Who won’t be happy?” He stiffened slightly. “Do you have a husband?” She shook her head. “A fiancé?”
“No. No one. Mr. Rose, please stop.”
“Gregory,” he corrected. “If you will not tell me your whole name, your first would do. Tell me if you are Anne or Mary or Katherine. Sybil, perhaps?”
“Sybil!” Rylla laughed. “No, my name is not Sybil. Or any of those. Please stop asking me.”
“But how will I see you again if you don’t tell me your name?”
“You won’t.” She took a step away from him, surprised by the sting of regret.
“Why will you not tell me?” His voice was tight with frustration. “You must realize you can trust me. I came to your aid. Hell, I carried you up a flight of stairs.”
“Which proves you are brave and have a strong back. One could also say you abducted me and carried me off to your rooms.”
“You fainted!”
“Good-bye, Mr. Rose,” she said firmly and turned once more to the door.
He heaved a sigh and followed her, reaching out with ingrained courtesy to open the door. “We may have difficulty finding a hack this late. If we go a street over, one should come by before too long.”
“I am sure I will find one. Thank you for all you’ve done.” She walked away, but he caught up with her on the stairs. “Mr. Rose, really . . .”
“I thought we had established that you would call me Gregory.”
“Your memory is clearly faulty. And you do not need to accompany me.”
“I could not allow a lady to go home unescorted.”
“But tonight I am not a lady.” She swept her hand down at her male attire. “I went to the club unescorted.”
“Yes, and look what happened to you.”
Rylla would have liked to protest, but she could hardly dispute the attack. And she had to admit that she would feel safer with Gregory by her side. Stepping out the front door only made her even more sure of that. The street was dark and cold, made even eerier by the wisps of fog trailing across it.
However, if Gregory saw where she lived, it would be an easy enough matter to establish who she was. Even though she was tempted to trust him, she couldn’t put her family’s name at risk. “I am grateful to you, but I doubt I will be attacked twice in one evening.”
“One never knows what might happen,” he told her darkly, still walking at her side.
“Gregory . . .”
“Why are you being so unreasonable? What is wrong with me seeing you home?”
“I am determined to keep what I have done tonight a secret.”
“But—”
“My father is a very strict man.” That was not entirely true. He was no more rigid than most, certainly not as stuffy as Eleanor’s father. Inspired, she added, “He is a minister.” It would do no harm to borrow a bit of Eleanor’s life story as long as she did not give him Eleanor’s name. “He would be disgraced if word of my escapade got out.”
“I told you, I won’t reveal anything. I want only to see you again.”
“I cannot count on that. I scarcely know you. And how would you see me again? You can’t simply come to the house unknown.”
“I will think of a way.” He grinned. “I can be quite inventive.”
She ignored the appeal of his smile. “In any case, there is no point. I will soon be gone.” She might as well continue with her adoption of Eleanor’s background.
“Gone? You do not live in Edinburgh?”
“No, I live in a small village.”
“Really? I do as well. Obviously we have a great deal in common.”
“Many people come from the country.”
“True. But how many of them frequent the same club? On the same night?”
She laughed. “You are absurd.”
“So I’ve been told. If you do not live here, then I suppose your family must be renting a house?” She shook her head, and he ventured, “Staying at an inn?”
“I am staying with a friend.” That was almost true, only a bit reversed. “We went to a ladies’ academy together.”
“Really? Which one?” When she merely sent him a repressive look, he sighed. “You are as secretive as the grave.” They walked on in silence for a moment, then he said, “I’m from the Highlands. I’m visiting my cousin Andrew.”
“Sir Andrew Rose?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Do you know him?”
She shook her head. “No. How could I? I do not live in Edinburgh.”
“I remember.” His voice was dry. “You see how freely I have told you about me. It seems only fair that you reciprocate.”
Her laughter tumbled out, and she turned toward him. The look in Gregory’s eyes took her breath away.
“Your laughter bewitches a man,” he told her, his voice husky.
Rylla stopped, astonished. “What?”
“I heard you lau
gh tonight, and it sent shivers through me. I can tell you, it gave me a peculiar feeling to think you were a man.” He curved his hand along her cheek. “Tell me your name.” He bent and brushed his lips against hers.
A quiver ran through Rylla, and she had a sudden, urgent desire to wrap her arms around him and burrow into his warmth, to raise her lips to his. He dug his fingers into the sides of her coat, holding her in place without touching her. He did not need to; Rylla was certain she could not move. She did not want to. Slowly he lowered his head.
Then his lips were on hers, soft and seeking, drawing vivid, unfamiliar sensations from her. He did not press, did not seize, but beckoned her to further pleasures. His tongue slipped along the line separating her lips, startling a gasp from her. He apparently took this as an invitation, for his tongue stole into her mouth, exploring and awakening an absolute maelstrom of feelings.
Rylla was intensely aware of her body—of the pounding of her heart, the heat that flickered along her skin, the bizarrely melting, shivery state of her insides. Gregory cupped her face between his hands. She felt the touch of his ring, cool against her cheek, and remembered how the look of it had drawn her earlier tonight.
He lifted his mouth from hers. His breath shuddered out against her cheek. “I have to know you.”
Rylla was certain that her knees were about to give way. She struggled to pull together the pieces of her will and stepped back. “If anyone comes along, you will present a most shocking image, sir.”
Gregory glanced down at her male attire and ground his teeth. “The devil.” He turned away.
Rylla glanced up the street and saw a hack pull into view at the corner, stopping to let his fare alight. She took off at a run, waving to the driver. Behind her, she heard Gregory let out a curse and come after her. She knew she could not hope to outrun him for long, but it was a short distance and she had a head start. And it was wonderfully easy to run without skirts hampering her.
Luck was with her, for she heard Gregory’s footsteps skid to a stop, followed by a man’s irritated exclamation and Gregory’s hasty “sorry.” She reached the hack and, tossing the driver the name of a church near her home, jumped into the vehicle. The hack pulled away just as Gregory reached it.
