Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“Of course he was,” growled Alec. Raising his voice, he called to the housekeeper, who had remained hovering in the corridor throughout the search, muttering darkly about impudent country officials who dared to disturb their betters.

“Mrs. Battell, please see these men out. And please ensure that I’m not disturbed again. A fellow really ought to be able to sleep in peace in his own quarters.”

“Yes, milord!” Keys jangling, the housekeeper escorted the interlopers toward the stairs.

Alec waited for the sound of the front door slamming shut before moving quickly into the dressing room. Privacy here was now assured—the next challenge was spiriting Caro out of the house.

“But first, I had better make myself decent,” he murmured, turning to fetch a shirt and trousers.

A muffled moan froze him in midstep.

It came again, louder and more agitated.

“The devil take it!” Bolting to the back wall, Alec hurriedly shoved aside the trunks and yanked the storage door open. “Caro?”

No response.

“Caro!” Fear lanced through his chest as he dropped to his knees.

Dear God in heaven, had there not been enough air in the space?

What if she were—

A low cry shattered the silence. “Help, Help!”

Alec ducked through the low opening, arms outstretched, a myriad of horrible possibilities swirling in his head.

He touched her hand—it was trembling and cold to the touch. Twining his fingers with hers, he drew closer.

“Papa, I’m frightened.” Her voice was fuzzed, as if she were tangled in some bad dream. “So frightened.”

“You’re safe, sweeting,” he murmured, drawing her close.

“Mmmm. Warm.” She snuggled closer, her hand sliding beneath the silk of his dressing gown.

The friction of her palm ignited a fiery prickling on his chest, and as she slowly traced a tentative circle over his skin, her touch left a trail of exquisite sparks.

“Caro,” he whispered, trying to hold back the heat plummeting to his groin. Only the worst sort of knave would give way to baser instincts at a time like this. “Come, wake up.”

His voice finally seemed to draw her back from whatever netherworld fears had held her captive. He felt her body jump, then go limp as she slumped against his shoulder.

“Oh.” Her breath, soft and slightly ragged, tickled his ear. “Oh, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” replied Alec, feathering a caress to her hair. The pins had come loose in her tossings and turnings, and a knot of curls had fallen across her cheek. He gently brushed it back, feeling the tension still tremoring beneath his fingertips. “You should have told me you were terrified of the dark.”

“It’s too absurd,” said Caro unsteadily. “I wish to think of myself as brave and adventurous, and I’m…” Her breath caught for a moment in her throat. “And I’m not. I’m a craven coward.”

“You’re incredibly brave,” said Alec. That she was so very vulnerable at this moment clutched at his core. “Incredibly resourceful.”

“N-not really,” she answered. “My sisters are both far more clever and admirable—Olivia is brilliant and wise, Anna is imaginative and steady. While I seem to be ruled by uncontrollable passions.”

“Don’t,” he chided. “Don’t compare yourself to your sisters. You have your own special strengths that make you unique.”

Uniquely wonderful.

“Your passions do you proud.”

His words drew a small sound—something between a laugh and a sob. “But my passions always seem to arouse naught but trouble.”