Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“That you should find a dark-as-the-devil heart impossible to imagine is not surprising, Miss Caro. No young lady should have any concept of what evil may lurk inside a man.”

Caro was tempted to tell him that he had been reading too many horrid novels. But something in his eyes made her bite her tongue. It was just a fleeting spark, and it might only have been a quirk of candlelight refracted through the windowglass. However, in that instant, the red-gold flare seemed tinged with malice.

“I—I defer to your greater knowledge of such things,” she murmured softly.

His expression immediately softened, and his winsome smile made her question again whether she was overreacting.

As her sisters were wont to point out, a penchant for drama was one of her shortcomings.

“I am glad to think I have been able to offer a helpful warning,” responded Thayer. He said no more.

She nodded, glad to let the subject drop. Thayer might only be misguided, not malicious, but there was something about him that stirred the hairs at the nape of her neck to stand on end.

What motive would he have to blacken Alec’s name?

She walked on in silence, only half hearing Thayer’s description of his visit to the ancient Roman baths beneath the Pump House as she pondered the question, as well as an equally compelling one.

How many Scotsmen were currently visiting Bath?

As an aspiring poet, she considered herself attuned to the nuances of language, both written and spoken. And the more she heard his voice, the more it stirred misgivings. The man she had overheard had spoken too softly for her to be sure. But…

Thayer slowed his steps. “I fear I am boring you,” he said contritely.

“No, no, not at all.” Caro forced a laugh. “I was simply trying to recall the history lesson from my father about the Roman ruins here in town. I believe the baths were dedicated to the goddess Minerva.” That the ancient deity represented wisdom was, hoped Caro, a good omen.

“Correct,” replied Thayer. “But forgive me, you have come here to enjoy an evening of dancing, not to listen to me prose on about history. Shall we go back inside?”

“I suppose we ought to. I am promised to the dowager’s grandson for the cotillion,” she answered. As they passed through the open doors, she looked around and waved to the young man, who quickly left his friends to come claim her hand.

“Enjoy your dancing,” said Thayer with a polite bow. “I must take my leave from tonight’s festivities, but I look forward to continuing our interesting conversations, Miss Caro.”

“As do I, sir.” She batted her lashes. But not for the reasons he might think.

An attempted abduction, a suspicious meeting, a handsome stranger whispering dire warnings—there was something havey-cavey afoot in Bath, and all at once the questions needling at the back of her head sharpened to a sudden realization.

What better way to pursue both the adventure and the worldly experience she craved than to take on the challenge of discovering what was going on?

Alec tore his gaze away from the sight of Caro clearly enjoying Thayer’s company. Her face was flushed, her eyes were sparkling. With pleasure, no doubt. The man was a manipulative spider and knew just how to how to ensnare impressionable young ladies in a web of seductive charm.

He had thought that perhaps Caro was different. That she, of all people, would be perceptive enough to see through the superficial glitter to the heart of darkness…

His mouth quirked in a quick grimace.

And why was that?

Because she could pen poetry that seemed to understand the nuances of human emotion?

“Stop scowling, Alec.” Gliding into the recessed alcove, Isobel set a hand on his sleeve, and gave him a playful pinch. “You are supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

He responded with a wordless grunt.

“Is there a reason you are in a foul mood?”

“You know I do not care for these frivolous gatherings.”

“You are far too serious,” she chided. “You need to loosen your cravat and have…” Her gaze suddenly locked on a figure moving along the perimeter of the dance floor. “Is that Mr. Edward Thayer? How odd. I wonder what brings him to Bath?”

So do I, thought Alec.