Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

Alec might not welcome her amorous feelings, but he was in danger—and Isobel was, too. So like it or not, he could use some help in fighting an enemy who had shown himself to be diabolically cunning.

She lapsed into thought, trying very hard to recall the snippet of conversation she had overheard in the churchyard. Had it been Thayer? The voice had been too low for her to be sure, but it seemed more than likely. And the realization was like a sliver of ice sliding down her spine. Whoever had spoken possessed a cold-blooded ruthlessness. He was a man who wouldn’t bat an eye at committing violence.

Alec had said he was formulating his own plan to stop his nemesis. But having an alternative was always wise. He would use razor sharp logic, rather than emotion. So perhaps a more imaginative approach would be useful in stimulating ideas.

What would Anna’s heroine, Emmalina Smythe, do? Granted, it was more an exercise in fantasy, as her sister was so far away, but still, merely writing would lighten her spirits, and she had a half hour to kill…

Taking up her pen and a fresh sheet of paper, Caro began to compose a missive to Anna.

I have been musing over a possible idea for a novel, and was wondering how would you would devise a plot to thwart a dastardly cold-blooded villain who…

Ducking under a string of brightly colored glass lanterns, Alec entered Sydney Gardens and turned up the main walkway leading to the grounds overlooking the River Avon. Music from the outdoor orchestra drifted down through the trees, accompanied by the trilling laughter of the crowd. Flickering lights, diamond-bright flashes winking through the smoke-green leaves, punctuated the dusk. In another few minutes the last lingering colors of sunset would give way to the black velvet darkness of night.

He quickened his steps, not bother

ing to don the silly little mask that Isobel had insisted on putting in his pocket that morning. The scrap of silk was hardly a disguise—it was meant more as a merry diversion, as everyone would recognize their friends and acquaintances.

But even if it had been a hooded domino, designed to hide all features, he hadn’t been exaggerating when he had said he would recognize Caro in any disguise. Nothing could shroud her exuberant spirit, her willowy body, her lively grace—like a lyrical rhyming couplet, she always seemed to be in constant, playful motion.

Just watching the provocative sway of her hips was enough to unman a saint…

Uttering an inward oath, Alec forced aside such thoughts. Dealing with that challenge would have to wait until he could eliminate the enemy that threatened not only him but also the ones he loved.

Love.

The word had kept echoing in his head until he had finally admitted the truth.

Yes, he loved Caro.

And quite likely had from the very first moment at Dunbar Castle when she had fixed him with a defiant stare and dared to retort one of his cynical statements, despite the horrified hush-hush noises from her mother.

Spirit, courage, and beauty, complemented by a fierce loyalty and a kind heart.

She had been a wonderful friend to Isobel, who had no sisters, and he had no doubt that his sibling’s dramatic improvement in health had much to do with Caro’s cheerful camaraderie and encouragement.

That bond was easy to define. As for his current relationship with the young lady, that was far harder to articulate. He wasn’t usually so clumsy with language, but he had made a complete hash of his proposal. His ill-chosen words had wounded her when she had been at her most vulnerable.

Caro had been brave enough to offer him her heart. And what had he done but hand it back to her with a muttered mumble about a “mistake.”

She had misunderstood his meaning. How could she not, when he had been too proud to reveal the truth.

Could she—would she—ever forgive him?

As he threaded his way through the crowd gathered around the refreshment tables, Alec surveyed the laughing faces, trying to spot Caro. But there was no sign of her, nor could he see Andover and Isobel. Deciding that they must have chosen a spot closer to the river for viewing the fireworks, he shouldered his way to the nearest side path and headed off, his boots stirring a staccato crunch, crunch across the gravel.

The champagne prickled sharply against her tongue—whether it was a good or bad portent, Caro wasn’t sure. Her pulse had unaccountably quickened, and for some reason, her nerves were on edge. Perhaps it was the masks everyone was wearing that added to the aura of devil-may-care mischief swirling through the dark shrubbery.

A branch snapped somewhere close by, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked around, surprised to find Isobel had disappeared from the circle of light under the hanging oil lanterns. Andover had gone to fetch more drinks after admonishing them not to wander off. It was odd that her friend would disregard his warning.

Unlike me, Isobel is very good about staying out of trouble.

Quelling a flutter of unease, Caro took a few steps down the darkened path and cocked an ear. The sound of voices rose from behind a cluster of nearby bushes, but she couldn’t identify the low murmurings.

She hesitated, loath to interrupt an intimate assignation.

Then came a louder exclamation—definitely Isobel. “Sir, I must ask you to cease.”

Caro quickly made her way around the leafy branches.