Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

He laughed, his breath tickling against her cheek.

“I—I told you, my mind’s not feeling very poetic right now,” said Caro. “Feel free to suggest a more inspired alternative.”

“Actually, I’m not feeling much in the mood for musing over words either. Now that the subject of our feelings is nicely settled, we ought to proceed to the real task at hand.”

And yet he made no move to release her.

“Right. The sooner it’s done, the better.” She shifted her gaze to look out over his shoulder, unwilling to look any longer at the sensuous curves of his mouth. “There look to be a number of possible hiding places around the old chancery.”

“You have the ancient eagle?”

Feeling unsettled by his strangely whimsical mood, Caro responded a little sharply. “Yes, of course I do. I’m not so bird-witted that I forgot to bring it with me.”

“Don’t fly up in the boughs. You mistake my words. I wasn’t implying any such thing, merely making sure you had it with you at this moment.”

Drat. She had left it in the basket, hidden under the remains of the oilskin packet of cheese.

“Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“We all make mistakes,” he murmured, as she wriggled free and stepped around him.

His mentioning the word “mistake” was… a mistake.

Reminded of his halting words after their lovemaking, Caro stopped and turned to face him. “Yes, we all make mistakes,” she said hotly. “We all fall on our arses and make fools of ourselves. Ye gods, just look at me! I know I make more than my share of them.”

A small voice in her head—the one she rarely listened to—warned her to stop. She was, however, feeling a little reckless.

After all, I’ve probably just made the biggest mistake in my life already by falling in love with a man who won’t ever, ever let his heart feel light and laughter again.

“But you can’t let mistakes squeeze the life out of you,” she went on. “That makes for a pretty bleak existence.”

“Caro,” he began.

“So you, you big lummox, ought not let a past mistake make you keep your feelings, and your marvelous penchant for poetry bottled up inside you.”

A lummox. Alec watched Caro stalk away, a wry smile pinching at the corners of his mouth. Skirts swirling, hips swaying, her glorious curls dancing in the breeze—she was always in motion, a fierce energy crackling from without and within.

Poetry in motion.

She wasn’t afraid to take a risk. She wasn’t afraid to dare to reach out and grab for her dreams.

Perhaps he was a lummox—a hulking, ham-witted brute, afraid of his own shadow and the dark little demons who lived in that blackness.

“Damnation,” he muttered, more in bemusement than anger. Sunlight flickered over the weathered stone, dipping and darting over the cracks and crevices carved by the centuries of wind and rain. A bleak existence, letting a small part of yourself be worn away each day by the hostile elements.

Caro returned in a few minutes, a reticule swinging from the strings looped around her wrist.

“Ready?” she asked.

He stepped aside with exaggerated politeness. “Lead the way.”

Swoosh, swoosh—she picked her way swiftly and surely over the fallen blocks of limestone, choosing to head for the jumbled remains of the small chapel attached to the rear of the ruins. Once through the low archway, she slipped through a small opening in the broken wall and started to climb the ancient circular stairs.

“Halfway up, there’s a spot where we can shimmy down into an alcove that’s impossible to see when you’re strolling the grounds. I imagine we’ll find some excellent hiding places there.”

Alec found himself smiling at her spirit. “You are enjoying making an adventure of this, aren’t you?” he murmured as he joined her on the stone perch. Staring down at the steep drop, he added, “Are you perchance, plotting out a scene for your sister’s next novel?”

“Life should be an adventure,” she replied, hitching up her skirts. “Pulse-pounding excitement shouldn’t exist only in books.”