Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“Certainly long enough to ask for you to save me a dance at next week’s Assemblies.”

“Very well, sir, I shall.” The thought of twirling across the ballroom floor in the arms of a handsome stranger ought to ignite something other than than a flutter of wariness. And yet, despite his striking looks and smooth charm, she found herself feeling a little guarded. “And now, if you will excuse me, I need to pay a visit to the millinery shop and pick up a few sundries for my mother.”

Thayer took the dismissal with good grace. Bowing politely, he murmured, “Until later, then.”

Caro paused to adjust her shawl, using the gesture to watch him in the window until he disappeared around the corner of the next street. The reflection seemed to mirror her own reactions—the image was just blurry enough to make the details impossible to discern.

For some reason, one of the aphorisms her father was fond of repeating popped to mind. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.

For all his scholarly detachment from the real world, the baron had been surprisingly astute in judging people and had impressed upon his daughters the importance of being careful about whom to trust.

The phrase meant that one should be exceedingly careful when dealing with those who might be the enemy. Perhaps it was the hint of the Highland accent stirring her misgivings, but until she knew more about Mr. Edward Thayer, Caro intended to keep her guard up.

Alec shifted in the shadows of the arched entryway, watching his former friend take his leave from Caro. A graceful bow, a winsome smile—oh, yes, the smooth-as-silk Edward Thayer certainly knew how to make himself appealing to the fairer sex.

It was, he supposed, no surprise that such practiced flirtations should please her. Even from a dis

tance, Caro’s smile was evident.

Pinching back a scowl, he edged deeper into the recess between the marble columns, unwilling to be spotted. What young lady wouldn’t respond to flattery? And yet, he would have hoped…

Hoped for what?

That she might be different and see the true serpent beneath the superficial glitter of its golden scales?

That a high-spirited, vivacious beauty might find a gruff, gravel-mannered introvert more pleasing company than a gentleman who possessed all the social graces?

Alec pulled a face, cursing himself in several different dialects of Gaelic for being such a buffle-headed fool. Yes, he had been a bloody fool.

But only a complete lackwit made the same mistake twice.

He lingered in the shade, allowing ample time for Caro to be gone, before emerging from his hiding spot and continuing on his round of errands. A length of lace from the mantua-maker for his aunt, medicinal draughts from the apothecary for his sister, a volume of American poetry from the bookshop for himself… a half hour later, duty done and the parcels deposited in the entrance foyer of their townhouse, Alec tucked the book in his pocket and slipped out again, preferring an interlude of solitude to joining his family for the midday meal.

Making his way to the end of Great Pulteney Street, Alec skirted around the Sydney Tavern and entered the famous gardens to its rear. A sprawling, picturesque parkland of formal plantings and wild, natural beauty, the grounds were dotted with stone pavilions, scenic grottos, and refreshment boxes for dining during the various evening entertainments. He cut away from the main walkway and chose a path that brought him to a more isolated spot overlooking the Kennet and Avon Canal.

The soothing sound of the breeze ruffling through the water and the leafy trees made it a perfect place for a quiet hour of reading.

Unfortunately, someone else seemed to have had the same idea, for as he rounded the rock outcropping at the crest of the hill, he caught a glimpse of muslin skirts stretched out on the grass.

Swearing under his breath, Alec was about to retreat when the lady looked around.

“Oh!” Caro hastily snapped shut the book in her lap.

“My apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to intrude. I had no idea you were here.”

“No, of course you didn’t. How could you?” She seemed a little flustered, and as she looked down to fiddle with her skirts, the flare of emotion in her eyes wasn’t at all what he expected.

Annoyance would be understandable, given their past history. As would defiance. Or sarcasm. This reaction was very different, though he couldn’t explain why.

“But I suppose you can’t be blamed for thinking I was going to hurl sharp words at you,” added Caro, still fingering the fabric.

“The words don’t worry me. It’s when you start looking around for pointy objects that I start to become a trifle nervous.”

“Am I that bad?” Her smile was a little tentative, which only made her look more endearing. “You have to admit, I never resorted to swinging one of those ancient Scottish broadswords on display at Dunbar Castle at your head.”

“That’s only because they were bolted to the wall.”

“True. And besides, they looked awfully heavy. How very embarrassing it would have been to slice off my own toes, instead of your ears.”