Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“I will, of course, defer to your wishes for now.” An oblique answer if ever there was one. “But if on further reflection, you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” Caro assured him.

“You must think on it very carefully,” pressed Alec. “It’s never wise to make serious decisions in the heat of the moment.”

“I told you, I’m not wise,” she shot back. “I’m impetuous, and willful, and stubborn… and all the other annoying things that drive you to distraction. You are right—marriage would be a horrible mistake.”

“Caro…”

She edged away and began to scrabble around in the dark to find her clothing. “As you said, we really need to be dressed and gone from here before your aunt and Isobel return.”

A stocking, a chemise, a garter—how had her cursed corset strings become so entangled? Huffing a low oath, Caro wriggled out of the low opening with what she had gathered. She took cover behind a stack of bandboxes and, turning toward the wall, hurriedly set to pulling on her garments. A moment later she heard Alec emerge, and the sounds of rustling fabric indicated that he, too, was rushing to make himself ready to leave.

Blinking back tears, she managed to unravel the knotted laces and do up her fastenings. No doubt she looked like something the cat dragged in, but she would think of some excuse—a sudden squall, a carriage mishap… a herd of wild unicorns running roughshod over her.

After all, legend had it that unicorns could only be calmed by the touch of a virgin.

Shaking off such cynicism, Caro tried to just concentrate on the practical task of getting home without setting off a public scandal. With her emotions in such turmoil, there was no point in trying to sort through them. That could wait until the midnight hours, when darkness would once again wrap around her and remind her of fire and ice and—

“The antiquity.” Caro spun around. “Good heavens, we can’t leave it here in your quarters.”

“It’s safe in the storage nook.” Alec stuffed his shirttails into his trousers. “I don’t think the magistrate is keen on returning.”

“His superiors may order a more thorough search, especially if Thayer plants another poisonous seed in their minds,” she insisted. “I’ll take it. No one will ever suspect me of having it.”

“No!” he said flatly. “I’ll not put you in danger.”

“You aren’t,” Caro protested. “But Thayer has proved he’s diabolically clever, and determined to wreak evil on you. As long as it’s here, it’s you who is in danger. And that may also threaten Isobel.”

Seeing that her argument had given him pause for thought, Caro hastened to add, “I’ll just keep it for tonight. Tomorrow we can decide on a neutral place to stash it until it can be safely returned to its rightful owners.”

Alec darted a look out into the bedchamber. “Damnation, the light is fast fading.”

“You know I’m right—on this at least,” she urged.

“Just for tonight,” he growled.

“Agreed,” she said quickly.

He pulled a cloak from its peg and tossed it her way. “Put this on. There’s a route through the back alleyways that leads to the bottom of Milsom Street. If we are careful—and lucky—we should be able to make our way there without attracting any notice. From there, we’ll have just a short walk to your townhouse.”

“The alleyways make sense,” she agreed as he quickly retrieved the antiquity. “But we can’t take a chance on you being seen with me.”

“I—”

“Oh, stop being so noble,” she said. “And be your usual practical, pragmatic self, Alec.”

He looked up from refolding the wrapping around the ancient Roman eagle. The muted light accentuated the chiseled planes and angles of his face, making him seem very forbidding and far away.

Caro ached to bridge the distance that had suddenly come between them but she wasn’t sure how.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed for having let the intimacy of his name slip out. It was a mistake she mustn’t make again. “What I meant was, it’s best that I walk home from the alleyway alone.”

Alec said nothing in answer. Threading a hand through his tangled hair, he brushed it off his brow, setting off tiny glints of gold.

Fool’s gold, she told herself.

And yet the silky softness of the strands still felt imprinted on her fingers. Fisting her hands, she shoved them in the pockets of the cloak.