My Pleasure (3 page)

Munro looked amused. “And you think that a woman dressed like you are would have to do something more in order to incite or…provoke hot-blooded young men to…violence?”

“No.” She blushed hotly. “Yes. I meant I am not unaccustomed to fending off unwanted advances.”

“Forgive me for doubting your discretion. I had no idea I was in the company of such a level-headed…woman?”

The way he said “woman” made it a question. He was attempting to gauge her position in society. A lady looking for an adventure? A married woman searching for her paramour? Or even a ladybird?

This last shocking idea didn’t shock her nearly as much as she supposed it ought to have done. After all, her presence here, unescorted and in boy’s attire, was highly suggestive.

And she found that the idea of being something other than the paid companion of one of society’s most venomous old ladies was unexpectedly appealing. Although she had never considered prostitution a viable alternative. Not—God save her for her impiety—because of the immorality of it as much as because she was already at the beck and call of another, acquiescing to demands for money.

“What were you going to say to them to convince them to let you pass unharassed?” Munro asked curiously when she neither denied nor confirmed his assumption.

“That I was on my way to an assignation with a person of royal blood,” she answered.

She had the distinct impression she’d surprised him, though nothing in his expression changed. He only tilted his head. “And were you?”

“Not unless the young man I was attempting to meet suddenly discovered he owned a completely different set of parents than those he’d been led to believe were his.”

“It’s happened before.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Not this time, more’s the pity.”

If only Oswald Goodwin did have a royal connection, he mightn’t be so miserably poor, and she wouldn’t have to be sneaking about meeting him in disguise.

His eyes narrowed. “I would think a woman such as yourself would be more careful about selecting her companions.”

As the secrets she kept were not hers, she could no more reveal her reasons for being here than tell him her name.

“I am careful. Usually, I am quite confident of a man’s situation and character before I…. The man I was seeking means nothing to me beyond—” She broke off, warmth seeping into her cheeks. This would never do. To have him think her an adventurous lady was one thing, but to have him think she was a prostitute was quite another. “I’m not a…” She searched for the proper term and decided to use the one he had. “…the woman you think. I am not”—she leaned forward earnestly—“the woman I appear to be.”

“Really?” Humor danced in his eyes. “But your depiction is extraordinary! Why, right down to the yielding softness of your—”

His lips curved into a wolfish smile. “Well now, I confess myself utterly taken in.” He leaned forward and continued confidingly, “I do hope you won’t bandy about the heatedness of my response to you, will you? I should hate having to call people out over it. Quite ruins a dinner party.”

“What?” she stammered.

“You are nonplussed.” He stepped away. “But no more than I. I am in awe of your skill. I had heard there were clubs in the East End where gentlemen such as yourself practiced amazing transformations from one gender to another, but I never—”

“I am not a gentleman!”

“One would never know that, either,” he said consolingly. “Perhaps you are not by birth, but in speech and manner you are the equal of any peer,” he frowned, “or peeress, of my acquaint—”

“In no way whatsoever am I a man!” she declared, aghast. “I am entirely female. I am just not
that
sort of woman!”

“Oh?” He tipped his head, studying her form and face with every evidence of doubt. And with her femininity being questioned for the first time in her life, Helena could not refrain from puffing her chest out and tilting her chin at an angle that would display to advantage the long, graceful neck many, many men had declared flawless.

“Well?” she demanded haughtily.

His sudden smile declared his delight. “I believe you. You are female. Which is excellent, as I confess I was concerned for my powers of discrimination. Not to mention my hopes for future heirs.”

She should have been insulted. Mortified. At the very least, shocked. Instead, she laughed.

And Munro, in the process of turning, checked, regarding her with a lazy smile that did not quite match the sharpening interest in his eyes.

He hadn’t expected her to laugh, she realized. Just as she realized that she liked catching him off guard. She suspected it was a rare enough occurrence for him. For she had no doubt that even as she’d received any number of propositions from gentlemen, he had received more from ladies. The difference being that while she had always demurred, rumor strongly suggested that he’d often accepted.

“If I offended you back there with those boys,” he said, “I am sorry. I thought it best to risk insulting you rather than your reputation.”

“I wasn’t insulted,” she said. “I am grateful as well as indebted to you. Thank you.”

The night had closed in around them as they spoke, and now the mellow warmth of an evening breeze brought with it the heady fragrance of night-blooming flowers. They were alone in the umber-steeped dusk, and he was standing too close. Or was she? She couldn’t tell.

“My, but it is warm. It will be cooler by the river.” She looked around and, seeing brighter lights at the far end of the path, hastened toward them.

He caught up and escorted her silently to where the South Walk intersected with the Cross Walk. Here it was brighter and more crowded, with people arriving to see the fireworks. She started into the throng, but he stopped her on its edge.

“That kiss—” he began.

“Just a kiss,” she lied.

“You are most understanding.” He covered her hand, his thumb sweeping lightly back and forth against the tender surface of her inner wrist, leaving a tingling trail of electricity along her flesh, a tingling heat that pooled in her core and melted her thoughts.

With a mental snap, she rallied her concentration. She had never swooned in her life. She was not going to start now. She might look as sweet and fragile as French pastry, but she wasn’t. She never had been. Discovering that had disconcerted more than a few suitors. “Your kissing me was a most expedient way of extraditing me from an unfortunate situation.”

She smiled, retreating behind the mantle of her much-vaunted composure while she still had the chance. He regarded her with an oblique expression. How could someone wicked be so handsome, she wondered. How could someone so handsome be anything but wicked?

“I am impressed you regard that kiss so clinically,” he said in an odd tone, releasing her hand. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you are really doing here?”

“I told you. I came to meet a young man.”

“For what purpose?”

“Do you suppose that is any of your affair?”

“As your champion, I claim the right to know.”

He would not leave it alone until he had an answer. “For the usual purposes, I suspect,” she answered stiltedly.

“And you come here often. For the
usual
reasons?”

“Often enough.”

“Liar,” he said with something that sounded oddly like fondness. “You are not a habitué. I’d stake my sword on it.”

“Why? Because you have already been so successful in your wagers this evening?” she asked dryly.

He laughed. “Touché. Still, this wager I would win. You don’t even know the direction of the river.”

“How do you know I don’t?”

“Because you stated you wanted to go toward the river, and yet you are now heading directly away from it.” He bent his head down nearer hers. “Now. Again. What are you doing here?”

She could not tell him. She had sworn to keep Flora’s secret. There was, she had learned long ago, one way to stop a line of questioning, and that was to divert it.

“All right. If you must have an answer. I met a young man who is not welcome in the house where I…” she hesitated, “where I live. So, we arranged to meet here.” It was close to the truth, with a few notable exceptions.

“He is married?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Did a shadow cross the handsome face? “And are you?”

“No!”

“Then why would you waste your time on a married man?” He sounded just the slightest bit amused, and she realized that her shocked denial had seriously undermined her chances of appearing carefree and insouciant. But she was an excellent actress. She had spent years, day in, day out, playing a role contrary to her nature. So she would don another mask and make him believe it.

Brazenly, she regarded him from beneath her lashes. “Because I am tired of being virtuous and dutiful. I am determined to have…an adventure.”

His eyes narrowed and a tiny muscle leapt at the corner of his mouth. Did he believe her? She could not tell. She held his gaze boldly. A heartbeat. Five. Ten.

“Then what happened to your married swain?”

She shrugged. “Apparently he was more parochial than either of us anticipated.”

“So,” he leaned forward, and his gaze swept over her mouth with the impact of a caress, “you’ve not yet fulfilled your goal?” His mood had abruptly changed from playful to intense.

She drew back, trying to stifle her alarm. “As much as I care to.”

As though her answer released him from some role he had no desire to play, he stepped away, taking her hand and returning it to his sleeve, once more casual. He inclined his head. “Then let me see you to the gate. It should be easy to find a carriage for hire this early in the evening.”

Leave? She stepped back. She couldn’t leave. Oswald might yet be waiting. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

“You already have a carriage?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I will have to hire one. Later.” She doubted she would find Oswald now, but at least she had to try.

“Then may I offer you my escort for the evening? I am deemed by some a right”—his voice hardened ever so slightly—“prime adventure.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

He did not like being denied. “Do you have any concept of the sort of attentions a young, unescorted woman invites in a place like this?”

Of course she didn’t. She hadn’t ever been to a place like this. Not unaccompanied. “I think I had a fairly representative taste earlier this evening, did I not?” she asked, investing all her formidable poise into the query.

“No,” he replied flatly. “Those were boys. There are
men
here who do not play at acting like animals, they
are
animals. So, if you must stay, allow me to be your guide for the duration of your…adventure.” His beautifully molded lips curled on the last word. “I can guarantee you of my expertise.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

“Thank you, but no.” Oswald Goodwin would never approach her if he saw her in the company of another man. Besides which, her intuitions—which had always stood her in good stead—told her that it would be far more dangerous to remain with Ramsey Munro.

Because electricity seemed to arc in the very air between them. Because she couldn’t look at him, his face, his chest, his throat, his mouth, without feeling unnerved and fascinated. But most of all because she wanted to stay with him. More than she had wanted anything in a very, very long time.

“Hey!” A demanding tug on her sleeve broke the tension. She looked down into the dirty, upturned face of an urchin. “Here.” Without fanfare, the boy shoved a blood-red rose at her, the bloom open and blowsy atop a long, thornless stem.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Some cove give me a groat to give it you,” the boy said. “And now I done it. Ta!” With a cocky flick of his hand, the boy darted back into the crowd, leaving Helena clasping the rose.

It must be from Oswald. A sign that he was nearby, watching and waiting for her to be alone. She looked up to find Ramsey regarding her with an odd expression.

“There. He is come,” she said with far more pleasure than she felt. “You needn’t sacrifice your evening after all. So, once again, thank you, Mr. Munro. Good night.”

She began to turn, but he stepped in front of her. “It hardly seems fair that you should know my name when I do not know yours.”

She hesitated, bemused with the notion of naming herself. It must be something easy and happy and tough and courageous. Something unlike who she was and more like what she wanted to be. “You can call me Corie.”

And before he could reply or detain her, she slipped past him and hurried off down the path.

Who would have thought the hesitant eagerness of a young woman’s kiss could affect him so viscerally? To the point where he had forgotten, for one singular moment, everything but her? He must not be as jaded as he’d thought. He supposed he ought to remedy that, Ramsey Munro thought sardonically.

Thoughtfully, he watched Helena Nash go. And Helena Nash she was, in spite of her claim to the contrary and the London veneer that hid her Yorkish accent. He’d almost challenged her a half-dozen times in their short interval together. But if she wanted to pretend to be somebody else, well, she wouldn’t be the first lady to do so, and he certainly had no right to unmask her.

His gaze followed her amongst the crowd. Dressed in knee breeches, and what with the way she filled them out, it would not be hard to follow her. He’d only have to mark the direction in which the men’s heads swiveled.

He tossed a few coins to the vendor of the nearby kiosk selling cheap dominos, took one, and flung the cloak about his shoulders. He let the hood fall well over his brow, shadowing his face. Then he followed Helena into the throng. He contented himself with staying back amidst the revelers and watching. Over the years he had grown very good at keeping his distance from Helena Nash.

For nearly four years he had been faithful to his promise to lend his body and his talents to the care of the Nash sisters. His obligation to the middle sister, Kate, had ended with her marriage to Christian MacNeill, his boon childhood companion. And Charlotte was still a relative child living under the protection of a wealthy, well-connected if slightly ramshackle family. Only Helena had required any concerted attention. And while at first that attention had been perfunctory, over the years it had changed, become a personal hobby. The thought brought a grim smile to his face.