Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

Andover’s chuckle died away. “It was meant as compliment, Miss Caro. You have a rare spirit.”

For an instant, she wondered whether his flirtations were more than brotherly. She hoped not. There was no denying his charm, his good looks, or the fact that his company was delightfully companionable. He was the best of friends, but as for being more than that—

“And in case you are thinking that I mean to work my wiles on you, perhaps we ought to, um, make sure there are no misunderstandings between us.” He cleared his throat with a cough before adding, “We have a wonderful friendship, which—”

“Yes, yes, I couldn’t agree more,” she interrupted in a rush of relief. “Nothing could be more perfect.”

“Right-ho. Absolutely nothing!” He, too, blew out his breath. “Well, now that we understand each other perfectly, I trust I will be the second to know when you decide who the lucky fellow will be.”

“You are forgetting one thing, Andy. The decision is not entirely up to me. The lucky fellow does have some say in the matter.” She was careful to keep her mind’s eye firmly shut. “Despite what you think about me being a hellion, I’m not about to club him over the head—assuming there is a him—and drag him to the altar.”

He grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. If you really felt strongly enough about the fellow, I suspect you might be willing to resort to extreme measures.”

“Well, there is no fellow, so let us not waste our breath in arguing the point,” said Caro.

“Very well.”

They strolled on, making several leisurely circuits of the Pump Room promenade while chatting about the just-finished London Season. Most of the other patrons that afternoon were elderly, and Andover left off his teasing to nod politely to many of the ladies.

“A number of them are bosom bows with my grandmother,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “And she will ring a peal over my head if my manners aren’t up to her exacting standards.”

“I wouldn’t think that the prospect of a grandmotherly lecture would strike terror into such a stalwart heart as yours,” remarked Caro dryly.

“Oh, but it does!” he replied. “You see, she has a very pointy cane and knows how to wield it.”

As they rounded the next turn, Andover was obliged to stop and converse about the upcoming races at Newmarket with the Marquess of Webster, allowing Caro a chance to survey the surroundings.

Craning her neck, she hoped to spot Isobel among the crowd. A cough had kept her new friend confined to her bed for the last two days, but a note she had sent this morning had indicated that the physician might allow her out for a short stroll to fortify herself with the healthful waters.

Growing up, friendships with girls her own age had not come easy to Caro. Between the travel to exotic locales while her father was still alive and the family’s reputation for eccentricity, Polite Society was not overly willing to have their children mingle with the Hellions of High Street. It hadn’t really mattered while her sisters were still at home.

But now, with the house feeling forlornly empty, the chance to talk about literature and art with another young lady who shared her interests was something she sorely missed.

She had a feeling that Isobel Urquehart might be a kindred spirit. Despite the fact that Alec McClellan was her brother.

As if summoned by some perverse Celtic imp of mischief, a shock of all-too-familiar red-gold hair suddenly appeared among the more muted shades of silver.

Caro felt her heart thud against her ribs as Alec skirted around a group of matrons and paused by the archway to glance around the room.

In the play of shadows, his chiseled profile looked even more austere and forbidding than usual, but something about his face—a beguiling hint of both light and dark—sent a frisson of awareness down her spine. In contrast to his stiff expression, his big, broad-shouldered body moved with a panther-like grace, the muscles rippling beneath his dark coat and trousers.

He turned, and their eyes met.

And suddenly her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

She tried to look away but her rebellious body refused to obey the simplest command.

It was Alec who broke the connection. Squeezing through the throng by the pump, he was at her side a moment later.

“Miss Caro,” he said stiffly.

Andover looked around and raised an inquiring brow at the sight of Alec’s unsmiling face.

“Sir,” she murmured in reply to the greeting. To Andover she explained, “Lord Strathcona and I are acquainted, Andy. We met last autumn, while attending the hunting party at Dunbar Castle.”

“Ah.” Her friend inclined a friendly nod.

To which Alec responded with a stony stare. “If you will excuse us,” he said, before Caro could make any formal introductions, “I should like to have a private word with the lady.”