Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)
Her wits must be so addled that she was hallucinating. How else to explain why the voice sounded oddly familiar?
The man who had hit her scuttled like a crab across the road. “Billy!” he cried in a high-pitched squeal.
The only answer was a scrabbling in the bushes that quickly faded to silence.
“Vermin,” muttered her rescuer as he watched the man join his cohorts in beating a hasty retreat. Turning, he then gently lifted her to her feet. “Are you hurt, Miss?”
“I…”
I never swoon, she wanted to reply, if only her tongue would obey her brain. Only peagoose heroines in horrid novels swoon.
However, on catching sight of the chiseled lips, the too-long nose, and the shock of red-gold hair now looming just inches above her face, Caro promptly did just that.
Chapter Two
“There, that should revive her.”
The splash of chill water brought Caro none too gently back to consciousness.
“B-but are you sure she’s not badly injured?” Isobel leaned in a little closer. “She looks pale as a ghost.”
“It appears to be nothing more than an attack of maidenly nerves,” answered Al
ec McClellan—or, more formally, Lord Strathcona, though as a radical republican he wasn’t overly fond of using his hereditary title.
“Maidenly nerves!” sputtered Caro, as Alec cupped another handful of water and dumped it over her cheeks. “I’ll have you know that I’ve never had an attack of maidenly nerves in my life.”
“Apparently, there is a first time for everything,” he said dryly.
“Alec, don’t be so beastly. This is no time for teasing,” chided Isobel. “If not for my new friend’s heroics, those horrible men would have easily dragged us off to heaven knows where.” To Caro she added, “Please forgive my brother. At times, he has a very peculiar sense of humor.”
Caro slowly sat up. Folding back the broken brim of her bonnet she met his all-too-familiar sapphire gaze.
His eyes widened ever so slightly—whether in dismay or some other emotion was impossible to gauge. “You,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.
Yes, me.
The previous autumn, she and the baron had been among the guests at a Scottish castle. Sparks had flown between them, little flares of fire that had ignited a number of conflicting, confusing emotions.
What Alec had felt was impossible to tell. He kept his personal thoughts hidden behind a wall of reserve that was flintier and harder than Highland stone.
“Brother?” Caro repeated, breaking off eye contact. “But Isobel, I thought you told me your surname is Urquehart.”
“Half brother,” explained Alec tersely. He was no longer sounding quite so amused now that he had recognized her. “My mother remarried after my father perished in a hunting accident.”
“Ah.” Caro winced as she started to undo the muddied ribbons of her bonnet. The chipstraw was squashed beyond repair and, though it was barely heavier than a feather, the weight was making her head ache. However, the knot seemed hopelessly snagged…
Alec brushed aside her fingers and with surprising gentleness quickly removed the offending headgear. “I take it you don’t mind if I feed this to the neighboring sheep?” Without waiting for an answer he flung it over the hedgerow that marked the end of the woods.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Strangely enough, his hand lingered on the curls just above her ear. “You’ve a lump forming here.”
“Yes, well, that tends to happen when one gets punched by a miscreant with knuckles like granite.”
His hand stiffened. “The fellow punched you?”
“I hit him first,” replied Caro, allowing a smile of grim satisfaction. “And bloodied his lip.”