Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“I—”

“Please humor me,” interrupted Alec. “Isobel nearly perished from a fever caused by exposure to the cold and rain of a mountain storm.” He forced a smile, trying to make light of his fear. “Given how noxious the Bath mineral water tastes, I am sure you do not wish to undergo the same cure.”

“Well, since you put it like that…” She waved him away. “But hurry, the storm looks to be turning worse.

A clap of thunder reverberated within the cave. Caro pulled the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders, though the warmth suffusing her body was coming mostly from within.

Alec.

As a flash of lightning illuminated the hills, she searched for his silhouette within the wind-carved shapes of the rugged terrain. Like the surrounding stone, he possessed an immutable strength. And a sense of honor which gave that strength heart and soul.

Heart. Dared she think that the walls around his heart might have cracked just a little? A ripple within the depths of his storm-blue eyes seemed to hint that his defenses might be softening.

Yes, he cares for me, she mused. But that wasn’t the same as love.

She stared at the glowing coals, letting her thoughts wander to some of the poetry she had memorized on the mysteries of the heart. Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love. Lord Byron, for all his cynicism could be profoundly lyrical…

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Looking up with a start, Caro met Alec’s pensive gaze. She hadn’t heard him come in. “I’m not sure they are worth a farthing.” Eyeing his windblown hair and rain-drenched clothing, she added, “Put down that wood and let me help build up a blaze, so you can warm yourself.”

“No need,” he replied, kneeling beside her and expertly coaxing the coals into new flames with the damp sticks. He added some small stones to the ring he had built around the fire, then set a fresh pot of water to come to a boil.

“You are very adept at taking care of yourself under primitive conditions,” she observed. Not many aristocrats would know the first thing about surviving in the wilds.

“I’m not a fancy London lord who needs a valet’s help to put on my coat,” responded Alec. “I’ve spent a lot of time on the moors in Scotland, which taught me from an early age to be self-reliant.” The coals crackled and sparked as another branch fed the flames. “I suppose I’ve always enjoyed challenging myself, both physically and mentally.”

“My father was much the same way. He found exploration endlessly interesting for just those reasons.” She paused to reflect, feeling a fond smile play over her lips. “Papa told us that seeing other lands, other cultures, made him look at himself in new ways. I think he passed on that curiosity and sense of adventure to me and my sisters.”

“He sounds like a very extraordinary man,” said Alec. “Exotic travels with him must have been very exciting.”

“Indeed they were. My first trip was to Crete…” Caro began to recount some of the memorable moments from her family’s stay in the remote mountain village.

“Anna once nearly set our whole camp on fire when she decided to try cooking a wild boar stew.” She looked up from her reveries, suddenly aware that steam rising from Alec’s clothing. “Oh, here I am rattling on while you are sitting there suffering stoically in wet boots and breeches. You, too, must take off your wet garments and let them dry by the fire.”

Turning away, she gathered up the second blanket and tossed it over her shoulder. “Put this on, Alec. I won’t peek.”

But as “wet” and “Alec” suddenly stirred the memory of seeing him rise naked as a newborn from the copper wash kettle, she couldn’t hold back a mischievous laugh. Talk about daring to experience new things! And what a magnificent sight he had been, standing dripping wet in all his magnificent masculine glory.

“How very lowering to think that the idea of me out of my clothes is cause for naught but amusement,” murmured Alec over the sounds of rumpling linen and buckskin.

“You were far more mesmerizing than Venus rising on her clamshell,” she said softly.

“Ah, well that’s a trifle reassuring.” The thud of his soggy boots hitting the stone echoed off the walls. “You may turn around now. I am decent—or as decent as a man can be, wrapped in a blanket that smells suspiciously of horseflesh.”

After smoothing out his damp garments, he took up the provisions sack. “Along with oats, there is a half a loaf and some cheddar left. It’s hardly a fancy repast, but it will keep our stomachs from growling like wolves.

They sat together by the blazing fire, bundled in scratchy wool and a comfortable camaraderie, eating stale bread and cheese as they shared stories of their lives, their experiences.

“And you, what caused you to become so passionate about politics?” she asked.

Alec made a rueful face. “At university, I was foolish enough to believe that abstract ideals like freedom and justice could become reality if one were willing to fight for them.”

“That’s not foolish,” said Caro. “That’s wonderfully courageous and admirable. Only those who dare to try can achieve their dreams.”

“Your example has taught me much about that.”

The glow in his eyes made her feel hot all over.