Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

Instead she merely asked, “Is that a promise?”

“Ye gods, would you like me to write it down in blood?”

Her lips quirked up at the corners.

“Yes,” he snapped before she could reply. “You need not resort to knives or razors—it’s a promise. Though I daresay I’ll regret it.”

She bit back a retort, suddenly feeling too tired to argue. But as he paused to relock the gate to the mews, another thought occurred to her. “You may not wish to worry Isobel, but surely you will have to give her a more convincing explanation than rogue soldiers run amuck.”

“I’ll think of something,” he muttered.

“Yes, well, I’ve reason to know your imagination is more active than you wish to let on to the people around you,” murmured Caro. When they hadn’t been arguing at the house party in Scotland, she and Alec had actually engaged in some very interesting discussions on poetry and novels. Much as he wished to hide it, there was a softer, more whimsical spirit lurking behind the mask of stone-faced reserve.

“But whether prevarication will do any good,” she went on slowly, “remains to be seen.”

“By the bones of St. Andrew.” Exhaling a sigh along with the grumbled oath, Alec took up the decanter from the sideboard and poured himself a glass of Scottish whisky.

Thankfully his aunt hadn’t questioned his story of Isobel taking a nasty tumble on one of the road’s slippery hills and her new friend coming to grief in trying to rescue her from a ditch. In short order, his sister had been taken up to her bedchamber for cosseting, while Caro—well fortified with hot tea and her disheveled garments brushed free of mud—had been escorted home by the footman.

So one potential bombshell had been defused.

But the current situation was still threatening to blow up in his face.

“Damnation,” he added under his breath. The one thing he didn’t need was the distraction of a spitfire hellion setting off dangerous sparks.

Dangerous. He took a long swallow of the amber-dark spirits and felt it burn a trail down his throat.

Miss Carolina Sloane was the last person he had expected to encounter in Bath. By all accounts in the London newspapers, she had been one of the leading belles of the just-ended Season, with a bevy of suitors seeking to win her hand. Not that he deliberately read the gossip columns recounting the parties and soirees, but one couldn’t help skimming over the pages while turning to the section of political news.

By all rights, she ought to be enjoying the gilded pleasures of some fancy country house party rather than be found rusticating in the staid quietness of a provincial spa town.

But then again, Caro was unpredictable.

Inquisitive. Adventurous. Stubborn. Passionate.

Oh, yes—most of all, passionate.

And that was the trouble. Alec stared morosely into his empty glass. He couldn’t decide whether he found her frightening or fascinating.

“Do you plan to drown yourself in a sea of spirits?” Clicking the door of the library shut, Isobel moved to one of the armchairs by the hearth and nestled in a cat-like curl on the soft leather.

“Perhaps.” Alec swirled his whisky, setting off a flickering of amber flashes as the candlelight reflected off the cut crystal.

“Is there a reason you are seeking oblivion?” she pressed.

“Aside from the fact that my beloved little sister was nearly ravaged by a pack of rabid curs?”

“I don’t think they intended to hurt us,” mused Isobel. “Just take us captive.”

“Somehow that does not make me feel like dancing a jig of celebration.” Alec exhaled, trying to ease the constriction in his chest. “You should be sleeping,” he added abruptly.

“So should you. You look bloody awful.”

His mouth quirked up in a reluctant smile. “While it appears that Bath and its medicinal mineral waters agree with you. It seems you are making great progress in regaining your health.”

Isobel make a rude sound. “I would have recovered just as quickly in Scotland. You are worse than a nervous mother hen when it comes to worrying about me.”

With good reason, thought Alec as he took another long swallow of his drink.