Hero, Come Back (Cynster 9.50)

“I daresay you know why,” she said, brushing off her skirts in his direction. “How dare you!”

Jemmy swiped his fingers through his hair. Lord, he was out of practice.

“I’ll not be one of your…your…your conquests, Mr. Reyburn. Don’t think I don’t know who you are, and what you are.”

Well, demmit, it was just a kiss. Hardly a conquest.

Too bad his memory kept reliving the rare glimpse he’d gained of her long, tempting legs, and the way her round bottom and perfect breasts had felt pressed against him. If he didn’t shake off these lascivious thoughts, a conquest would be only the beginning.

“I only wanted to—” he started to protest against his better judgment.

She held up her hand. “Don’t even try to explain, sir. Your reputation precedes you.”

He dusted off his jacket and reached for his tumbled hat. “What would you know of my reputation?”

“I can read. And the Morning Post detailed any number of your, shall we say, more notable exploits about Town.” She at least had the courtesy to lean over and retrieve his cane. He thought for a moment she might use it like a governess and rap a lesson in manners into his thick skull.

But instead, like the lady he suspected she was, she offered it to him as if he had merely dropped it.

“The Post, you say. Lies, all of them.” He laughed as he struggled to his feet—this time without an offer of help from Miss Smythe.

She made no reply, only those delightful brows rising again in scathing disbelief.

“Oh, maybe one or two of those accounts had a bit of truth to them,” he offered, “though most were gross exaggerations.” He started to brush off his jacket, but realized he was covered in dust, something his father’s valet would have horrors over. But if there was any consolation, it would give the bored man something to do.

“I hardly doubt the report of you and Lady Alice…” she was saying.

Lady Alice? This Miss Smythe had a fine memory, for Jemmy had all but forgotten about that on dit. Not that he should have, his mother had rung a peal over his head for weeks over that momentary lapse.

“Fine. Perhaps I have had one or two wellreported dalliances, but I have always been a gentleman in my intentions,” he said. “And as a gentleman, I’ll apologize to you. I admit my manners are a bit rusty, and it was not the best form to try to take advantage of a lady who has sought my aid.” She started to open her mouth to say something, but he stopped her. “However, I will not apologize for wanting to kiss you. That is entirely your fault.”

“M-my fault?” she stammered.

“Yes. You are far too fetching, Miss Smythe, not to be kissed. And kissed often, I might add.” From the way her eyes opened wide and a soft blush stole over her cheeks, he decided that perhaps he wasn’t as rusty as he’d suspected. For good measure he winked at her.

She shook her head. “As incorrigible, as ever, sir. Now I see that exaggeration isn’t solely the domain of the Morning Post. My fault, indeed!”

He felt something oddly like a sense of accomplishment. “Now that you’ve witnessed the true nature of my depraved character,” he said, “do you still want a ride?”

Miss Smythe looked up at him, and after what seemed an interminable amount of time, she nodded. “Do you need help?”

His hand went to his chest. “Oh, you wound me, fair maiden. Here I am the one supposedly rescuing you and I’ve landed in the dust twice.” He glanced around the yard. “I daresay I’m not that much of an invalid. I’ll just move the cart over to the woodpile and use the block.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Why didn’t you do that the first time?”

Jemmy snapped his fingers. “Ah, feminine logic. I fear it was my own pride that prevented me from taking such steps. A man doesn’t like to look infirm in front of a lady.”

“You were worried about my good opinion?” Now it was Miss Smythe’s turn to laugh. “How useful for you that you possess a fair amount of pride, Mr. Reyburn, for it seemed to soften your landing. Both times.” She smiled again, then walked over to the horse, caught up its bridle, and led the docile animal over to the block. Without another word, she climbed into the seat and waited for him.

Capable, sensible, and possessing a sharp tongue. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Esme had found her just for him.

Now that was utter nonsense.

He was about to step up onto the block when a flash of blue caught his eye. There blooming around the foot of it was a cluster of flowers.

Without even thinking, he reached down and plucked a handful of them, then stepped up on the block, caught hold of the cart, and pulled himself into the seat beside her.

It didn’t occur to him that this time his leg never gave him even a twinge of pain.