By Any Other Name

by Candace Camp

  “No.” The low, harsh word seemed ripped from him. “I will not do this again.” He stepped back, holding her away from him. He was flushed, his breath rasping, but his face was set in determination. “I’ll not play the randy fool again for you. This time I will have answers.” He drew a steadying breath. “Who are you, and what mad game are you playing?”

  Rylla stared at him, rigid with frustration. Her body wanted nothing but to feel his hands and mouth on her again. Her spirit was equally bent on not bending to his demands. Her mind—well, she was not sure what her mind wanted, since it did not seem to be present at the moment. She sighed, finally giving in. “I am Amaryllis Campbell. I am ruined if you speak of this to anyone.”

  “I shall not.” He, too, visibly relaxed, his face softening. “Amaryllis . . .” He lingered over the name, savoring it. “A lovely name. Almost as lovely as you.”

  “It’s too long and flowery.” She made a face. “Everyone calls me Rylla.”

  “Rylla, then.” Gregory shrugged out of his coat and eased hers off as well. He led her to the sofa. Taking both her hands between his own, he said, “Now. Tell me what you are doing.”

  Rylla looked at his long, capable hands encasing hers. His fingers were slender, the bony knuckles prominent. The sight of them was somehow reassuring—and at the same time did peculiar things to her insides.

  “I am trying to find my brother.” She raised her eyes to his. Both anger and male hunger drained from his face, replaced by warmth and concern. Tears sprang into her eyes. “Oh, Gregory, Daniel has been gone for four days, and no one knows where he is.”

  He curled an arm around her shoulders, cradling her to him. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. You think something has happened to him?”

  “I don’t know!” She swallowed hard. “He had a terrible row with our father. Daniel chafes under Papa’s restrictions. He is at university now, and he regards himself a man. But he is only eighteen, and Papa controls his allowance. Daniel has taken to drinking and gambling. I am sure it is only high spirits. He is eager to kick over the traces. But it makes Papa tighten the reins. Papa dislikes his new companions.” She paused and looked earnestly at Gregory. “I fear our father is right; they are not nice men.”

  “You have met these friends?”

  “A man named Kerns came to the house looking for Daniel. He frightened me.”

  “Did he threaten you?” His fingers tightened on her shoulder.

  “No. It was Daniel that he threatened. He told me Daniel was getting himself into trouble and that he’d better pay his debts. He didn’t actually say something bad would happen to Daniel, but he implied it. Finally I gave him my brooch in payment.”

  “Your brooch! He took your jewelry?” Gregory scowled.

  “He said it would cancel Daniel’s debt. I didn’t really want to. My grandmother gave it to me. If she asks about it when I see her on Christmas, I shall have to say I lost it. But I couldn’t let Daniel be harmed.”

  “Kerns was a cur to put you in that position. What did your brother say?”

  She sighed. “I didn’t tell him. It was only a day or two before Daniel and Papa argued and Daniel left. The brooch is not the problem. What worries me is that Daniel stormed out of the house after their argument, and he has not returned. It’s been four days. I have no idea where he is.”

  “I know how your brother feels. I chafed for years under my father’s restrictions. More than once, I hared off after an argument. It didn’t mean I was in any danger.”

  “Without even telling your sister?”

  “I don’t have a sister. Nor a brother, either.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “My cousins knew—Andrew and Isobel.” He smiled faintly. “Of course, it was usually their house where I went after an argument with Father. Or Coll and Meg’s.”

  “More cousins?”

  He shook his head. “Not exactly. It’s complicated. Andrew’s nurse was Coll and Meg’s mother. They were raised with Andrew and Isobel at Baillannan, the Rose estate. My father was a military man, and when he was away, my mother and I lived at Baillannan as well. After she died, I continued to live there.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rylla slipped her hand into his. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your mother. With your father frequently gone, you must have felt quite alone.”

  “You’re kind.” He linked his fingers with hers and lifted her hand to press a brief kiss upon it. “I missed my mother. But it probably saved both my father and me much grief that we did not live together. I was happy at Baillannan. They were my family more than my father. Andrew and I went off to school, then London. It has only been in the last year or two that I’ve spent much time at home.”

  “Is your father there? Has he retired?”

  “Yes, he retired. He is . . . not entirely well.” Gregory’s open face grew shuttered. “But my point is that your brother’s being absent for a few days doesn’t mean something terrible befell him. He has probably gone to stay with a friend or another member of your family.”

  “But that’s just it. He might not think to write us, but any relative would have sent my mother a note saying he was there. His friends don’t know where he is, either. I must find Daniel and talk to him.”

  “Is that why you went to Faraday’s?”

  “Yes. It was all I could think to do. I can’t bear for him and Papa to be at odds. If he’s not home for Christmas, Papa will be furious. I dread to think how upset our mother will be.”

  “Surely his friends will tell him you’re looking for him.”

  “I fear he may not visit them either. It’s been so long now. It’s as if he is avoiding everyone. It’s not like Daniel to be so careless. He knows we would worry. What if he has been hurt?”

  “I’ll ask around, see if I can locate him for you.”

  “Would you? Truly?” Rylla beamed.

  “Yes, of course. But you must promise you won’t go searching for him yourself. Your brother would not want you to. It’s dangerous.”

  “I won’t go by myself.” She smiled. “I’ll go with you.”

  Gregory’s eyes widened. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but he shook his head. “No. I can’t take you with me. I’ll have to visit some rough places, and you can’t go to a gambling hell. There are other places that—” He paused, looking embarrassed. “Well, trust me, it would be impossible for you to go there.”

  Rylla studied him. “Do you mean bordellos?” It occurred to her that she did not want Gregory visiting a brothel even if he was looking for her brother.

  Gregory’s brows shot up. Something hot and dark flared in his eyes before he dropped his head and began to laugh. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk about such things?”

  “What fustian!” She rolled her eyes. “As if women weren’t aware of their existence. If it’s not too shocking for a man to visit such a place, how can it be shocking for a lady to have heard about them?”

  His laughter increased. Gregory leaned back and regarded her with gleaming eyes. “Amaryllis Campbell . . . you must be a sore trial to your mother.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I fear I am. No doubt you are appalled, too, and wish me at the devil.”

  Gregory gave her that slow, enticing smile. “Nae. I wish you no place else but here. With me.”

  “You do not find me scandalous? Shameful?”

  He reached out and took her hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss each finger. “I find you utterly beguiling.”

  “Then surely you would enjoy taking me with you to clubs and taverns and such.”

  “I would.” His eyes sparked with light. “Truth is, I would enjoy taking you anywhere. Or nowhere.” He sighed and laid her hand back on the sofa. “But I cannot. No doubt it would astound my family, but I am going to be mature and responsible. It would be wrong of me to expose you to such places.”

  “But you need me.” Gregory’s eyes flew to her face. Rylla felt the blood rushing up her throat. “To find Daniel, I m
ean.”

  “Rylla . . .” Gregory pushed up to his feet and began to pace the room. “I can find him.”

  “I know what Daniel looks like. You could be in the same room with him and not have any idea who he was. I can also recognize his friend Kerns.”

  “The lout who took your pin? I’d like to get my hands on him.” Gregory looked intrigued but shook his head. “No, it would put you too much at risk.”

  “You will be with me.” Rylla rose to face him. “What could happen to me?”

  “Pleasant as it is to know you think me invincible, I must point out that I am not.”

  “A robber would be less inclined to approach two men. And if I did something out of character, you could give me a nudge.”

  He snorted. “As if you would pay attention.”

  “Of course I would.” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “I’m not shatter-brained, Gregory, however low an opinion you have of me.”

  “I do not have a low opinion of you,” he said through gritted teeth. “How many times must I tell you?”

  “You asked if I was insane!”

  “Given what you’ve been up to, it was a legitimate question.”

  “That’s unfair. I couldn’t help being robbed. Besides, he didn’t see through my disguise. You did not realize I was a woman until you tried to take off my shirt.”

  “I thought you were injured,” he said stiffly.

  “Mm. The point is, you thought I was a man. I am tall, and my voice is low and—”

  “I know what your voice is like.” He stopped pacing and faced her, his eyes glittering. “I hear it every night in my—”

  “What does that mean?” She put her hands on her hips pugnaciously.

  “Never mind. The point is, your voice does not sound like that of a man.”

  “No? What does it sound like, then? Sandpaper?”

  “No.” His eyes drifted down to her lips, and his own mouth softened. “It sounds like smoke.” He moved closer. “Brandy.” He raised his hand to her jaw, thumb catching beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his. His lips hovered above hers. “A warm bed on a long, cold night.”

  Rylla found it suddenly hard to breathe. She should step back. If she did, Gregory would act like a gentleman. But that was the last thing she wanted.

  Chapter Eight

  Rylla stretched up to kiss him. A shudder went through Gregory. His mouth turned hot and avid. He kissed her again and again, his hands slipping beneath her jacket to explore her body. He fumbled to undo her waistcoat and shirt.

  “You have entirely too many fastenings,” he murmured against her lips.

  He kissed along the line of her jaw and down to her throat, stopping at the obstruction of the neckcloth. Letting out a low noise of frustration, he tugged at the cravat, pulling it free and dropping it at their feet. Rylla’s shirt hung open now, and Gregory’s gaze fastened on her exposed breasts. Like a man exploring a treasure, he curved his hands over her, hungrily watching as he stroked her flesh.

  Embarrassed by her nakedness before him, yet even more aroused by it, she let her eyes flutter closed. Gregory bent to place his lips against the soft curve of her breast, and she shivered, heat flowering between her legs. He moved to the taut rosebud of her nipple, his tongue teasing. Rylla dug her fingers into his hair, the coil of sensation tightening deep within her.

  His fingers slipped over her stomach and into the crevice between her legs. She jerked in surprise at the touch, but she could not keep from moving against his agile fingers, the ache inside her growing. His breath was hot against her skin, and he mumbled something unintelligible as his mouth came up to take hers again. A staccato rapping at the door broke through the haze of desire. Gregory’s head snapped up.

  The door behind them opened and Andrew stepped into the room, saying, “Why the hell did you—” His jaw dropped, the words dying on his lips.

  Gregory cursed, instinctively curling his hand up over Rylla’s head, pressing her face into his chest, and he wrapped his other arm around her. “Devil take it, Andy!”

  In the next instant, Gregory remembered that the woman he cradled to him was dressed in men’s clothing. He froze, staring at his cousin, who gaped back at him.

  Andrew’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I say . . . dreadfully sorry . . . um . . .”

  “Stay here,” Gregory murmured to Rylla and stepped around her, blocking her from Andrew’s vision. He strode forward. “Out.”

  “Wha— Oh . . . yes, of course.” Andrew backed out and moved down the hall. “Sorry. I didn’t realize . . . I, uh . . .”

  Gregory swept his hands over his face, struggling to make his brain work. “I know this looks . . . odd.”

  “No. No.” Andrew waved his hand. “Just gave me a bit of a start. I perfectly understand.”

  “You do?” Gregory gaped at him.

  “Yes, yes. Did it myself a few times at Oxford.”

  “You did?”

  “Don’t you remember when I got sent down? Don’t smuggle them in now, of course—no need. No headmaster. But I suppose your landlady might object, eh, to your having a doxy in your room.” He nodded sagely.

  “What? Oh!” It dawned on Gregory that Andrew had concluded that the “man” he had just seen in his cousin’s embrace was in reality a prostitute whom he had slipped into his rooms in disguise. “No!” Gregory started to hotly deny Andrew’s assumption, but at the last moment he retained enough sense to put a curb on his tongue. “I mean, well . . . yes. What the hell do you want, anyway?”

  “I must say, that’s the outside of enough! I apologize—didn’t mean to send your ladybird flying.” He gestured vaguely behind Gregory. “But after—”

  Gregory whirled. Rylla, coat wrapped around her and hat pulled low on her head, was slipping down the stairs behind him. “Blast!” He ran after her. “Ry—wait!”

  Pelting down the stairs, he burst out the front door just in time to see Rylla dart across the street and climb into a waiting hack. “No! Stop!” He watched in disgust as the carriage rattled off down the street.

  “I say. Your ladybird took my hack,” Andrew said as he strolled up behind Gregory.

  “She is the most damnably headstrong, stubborn . . .” Gregory stalked back into his building and up the stairs, Andrew following him. He turned at the top of the stairs and shot a dark look at his cousin. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I came to find out what you think you’re doing,” Andrew shot back. “Why did you run off this afternoon? First you tell me you have to meet Eleanor, then every time I try to introduce you, you take off like the hounds of hell are after you.”

  Gregory sighed. “I’m sorry, Andy. It was rude of me. I shall apologize profusely to your Miss McIntyre.”

  “She’s not my Miss McIntyre. And she thinks you’re mad as a hatter—which was no surprise to her, considering you’re my cousin. It’s me you should apologize to. I was the one who got trapped listening to that fellow drone on for hours.”

  “Drone on about what?”

  “How should I know? I wasn’t listening.”

  Gregory began to chuckle.

  “I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” Andrew said with considerable bitterness. “I had the devil of a time trying to stay awake.”

  “I am sorry, cuz. I promise I’ll not ask you again to introduce me to Miss McIntyre. As it turns out, she was not the one I was looking for.” He strolled into his apartment, Andrew on his heels.

  “I haven’t the faintest notion what you’re talking about. Who are you looking for? And why?”

  “The why is easy—she’s the most fascinating girl I’ve ever met.”

  “Who is?”

  “Miss Amaryllis Campbell.” Gregory saw that the neckcloth he had taken off her lay on the floor in front of the sofa. He swooped down to pick it up, crumpling it in his hand.

  “That girl Eleanor’s staying with? You want to meet Rylla?”

  “I have already met Rylla.�
�� Gregory brought the white stock up to his face, inhaling her scent. “I just haven’t been introduced.” He dropped his hand and turned to his cousin, a smile beginning on his lips. “You know, Andrew, I think that a formal apology to Miss McIntyre is required. You and I are going to pay them a call tomorrow.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Rylla kept a smile firmly plastered on her lips and wondered if their visitors would ever depart. They had been here the polite twenty-minute interval already—Rylla knew, for she had been keeping an eye on the clock—but they showed no sign of leaving. Mrs. Fraser was a gossip of the first order. Rylla had the uneasy feeling that the woman had some inkling of her brother Daniel’s disappearance and was here to nose out the news. Her companion, Lady Stewart, had come simply to soak up more praise for the elegance of her ball the other night.

  “Of course, there are some who will find fault with my little Christmas celebration,” Lady Stewart was now saying.

  “Oh, no, my dear, no,” Mrs. Fraser hastened to reassure her, as was Lady Stewart’s intent, Rylla was sure. “We are long past the time of banning Yule cakes, I should hope.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not the common thing here, of course. But being reared in England as I was”—she offered a smile of benign condescension—“I quite miss the charming customs.”

  “I am sure no one disapproves. Why, I have put up a mistletoe ball myself,” Rylla’s mother said soothingly, pointing to the decoration hanging in the doorway.

  Mrs. Fraser added, “Quite so. Perfectly suitable. And mistletoe adds just that little spice of naughtiness.” She tittered.

  Rylla glanced at Eleanor, seated beside her on the couch. Her friend’s face was perfectly straight, but laughter brimmed in her eyes. Rylla had to press her lips tightly together to keep from grinning back at her. Eleanor might have a strict moral standard, but thank heavens she also had a ready sense of humor.

  At that moment, the butler appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. The conversation paused as they turned toward him. “Sir Andrew Rose,” he intoned.