Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“Yes, I caught a chill,” she went on. “But honestly, I’m not quite as delicate as you seem to think.”

“You were at death’s door,” he said tightly. All because of me. Thank God she did not know the contents of the note she had carried on to his friend in the neighboring town.

“An exaggeration.” She drew her knees up to her chest. “You must stop blaming yourself for that night. I’m not a child any longer, Alec. I am capable of making decisions for myself.”

“If I had been there—”

“Well, you weren’t. So I chose to carry the message on to Angus. Mr. Multoon seemed to think it was very important that it be delivered as soon as possible. And as I knew a shorter way over the moors than the road, it seemed the best decision.”

He grimaced. “In a raging storm?”

She had the grace to color slightly. “If the rocks hadn’t been loosened by the rain and given way, I would not have lost my footing.

“You are bloody lucky you didn’t lose your life.”

“Auch, we Scots are far too sturdy to succumb to a wee bit of fever.”

Her attempt at a jest only sunk him deeper into a brooding mood. Ignoring her frown, Alec reached for the decanter. “You really ought to be resting, to ensure that overexertion and overexcitement brought on by Miss Caro Sloane’s little adventure doesn’t bring on a relapse.”

“Miss Caro’s adventure?” Isobel’s expression tightened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Alec wordlessly lifted the glass to his lips.

“Surely you aren’t suggesting that what happened was in any way her fault?” pressed his sister.

She was right, of course. It was absurdly unfair and illogical. But at the moment, his brain was not functioning very rationally.

“Wherever she goes, trouble seems to be only a step or two behind,” he growled.

“While I, on the other hand, walk carefully enough so as not to ever kick up a dust?” asked Isobel.

“For the most part, yes.” The heat of the liquid tingled against his tongue. “Thank God.”

Alec heard her inhale sharply. “Why, that is quite the most bloody, bloody awful insult you have ever made to me.”

He nearly choked on the mouthful of whisky.

“I would have hoped you had a better opinion of my character,” she went on. “But clearly you think me a spineless ninny.”

“That is the last thing I think,” he replied, once he had managed to swallow the fiery malt as well as his initial shock. “The truth is, you hav

e too much steel in your spine.”

“I don’t have nearly as much as Caro Sloane does.”

How had the conversation strayed down such a slippery slope? Unwilling to slide any deeper into brooding about the fiery English beauty, Alec muttered, “Count your blessings. Steel sharpened to a razored edge can cut both ways. She is…”

Isobel tilted her head, waiting for him to go on.

“She… she is hardly someone you ought to use as a patterncard of propriety,” he finished lamely, knowing he sounded like a pompous prig.

“Perhaps not,” replied his sister thoughtfully. “But her unorthodox courage and fighting skills saved us from being abducted by those men.”

“Miss Caro Sloane may rival Boadicca, England’s mythical Warrior Queen, for bravery in battle,” responded Alec. “But that is not to say that other mortal women ought to aspire to such bellicose spirit.”

“And why is that?” she challenged. “Because men find a strong woman threatening?”

Damnation. There was an old Scottish adage about being caught between a rock and a stone.