Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

She lifted her head, and the shadow of her bonnet brim made it impossible to see her eyes. “To my knowledge, there are no lurking dragons hidden in the shrubbery, waiting to devour unwary patrons.” A dappling of sunlight caught the curl of a wry smile. “The management would likely charge extra for experiencing the thrill of such a danger.”

The sight of her lovely mouth caused a clench of longing in his b

elly… well, to be honest, it was a little lower than his belly, but Alec tried to ignore his baser instincts.

“Let us not jest about dangers,” he replied. “I am sorry if I am, as Isobel terms it, acting like a mother hen. But I suppose recent events have made me feel overprotective.”

“Such sentiment does you credit, sir,” said Caro softly. “She may tease you, but be assured that any sister would be happy to have such a thoughtful brother take on the role of her knight in shining armor.”

Alec moved a step closer. “I, um…” How ridiculous to be standing there stammering like a puling schoolboy. He pulled himself together. “That is, I am of course concerned for your safety as well.”

“That is very kind of you.” Caro withdrew a little farther into the shadows. “However, that’s really not necessary.” She exaggerated a flex of her fists. “I can take care of myself.”

Without thinking, he covered the distance between them. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Lord Strathcona.”

“No, but you are my friend.”

At that her head jerked up, a look of surprise deepened by an undertone of something else.

Blast—he wished he could fathom what it was.

“Are we friends?” she asked tentatively. “At times, it certainly doesn’t feel like it.”

Alec reached out to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

Don’t. The warning voice in his head was in fine fettle this afternoon—clear, loud, insistent. He ought to listen.

But he didn’t.

His fingers grazed the delicate shell-pink curve, the merest gossamer touch of flesh against flesh. Yet it sent a jolt of awareness thrumming through his entire body.

She must have sensed it too, for her muscles tensed and the tiny pulsepoint just above the ruffle of her neckline began to quicken.

“Unlike many men, I don’t have the gift of making myself pleasing to ladies.” His voice sounded a little rough, which only proved his point. “My tongue is unable to put a silvery shine on my words. But that said, Miss Caro, yes, I do consider us friends.”

Their gazes locked, and for a long, drawn-out moment, she seemed to be searching to see something.

God only knew what. Whatever the mysterious quality was, it must be lacking, or else…

No, he had vowed not to think of the past.

“Your words don’t need artificial glitter and gleam, sir,” said Caro softly. “Not every lady wishes to hear conversation so highly polished that all hint of individuality has been rubbed off it.”

Alec hardly dared breath. The breeze had stirred her scent and its softly sweet spice was making him feel a little woozy.

“Well, if you are looking for roughness,” he rasped, “you have certainly found it.”

She touched a fingertip to his jaw and traced a line to the tip of his chin. “Rough and smooth,” she murmured. “You are a man of very interesting textures, Lord Strathcona.”

Interesting?

At that, he flashed a rueful smile. “I would have thought you would choose a very different sort of adjective. ‘Prickly’ or ‘bristly’ are the first that come to mind.”

Her laugh—a sound that defied description—was almost lost in the ruffling of the emerald green needles.

“You forgot ‘thorny.’ Anyone who tries to touch you risks getting badly scratched.” Her hand, however, remained hovering in the air, keeping them physically joined.