by Candace Camp
“Sir Andrew!” Eleanor murmured, an odd note in her voice that caused Rylla to turn toward her friend again. It struck her that Eleanor was in her best looks this afternoon, despite the tedium of the ladies’ visit. Her cheeks were tinged with a becoming pink.
“And Mr. Gregory Rose,” the butler went on.
Rylla snapped back around. Her chest was suddenly tight. She wished she had a fan to occupy her hands. She dared not look Gregory in the eyes, yet she could not keep from watching him, either, as he and Andrew crossed the room to bow to her mother.
Her mind was filled with visions of the night before. It struck her suddenly how very far she had deviated from what was normal and expected. At the time, it had been exciting. Daring. And oh, so pleasurable. Now it occurred to her that she must have been mad to do the things she had.
“Allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Miss Amaryllis Campbell,” her mother was saying. “Amaryllis, dear, Mr. Gregory Rose. He is Sir Andrew’s cousin, visiting him for Christmas. Isn’t that nice?”
Rylla had to look at him then. Gregory bowed to her, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. Her breath caught in her throat, and Rylla knew that, given the chance to do it all over, she would choose to do exactly what she had.
“Miss Campbell, it is a pleasure to meet you. Had I known Edinburgh offered such beauty, I would have come long before this.”
“And this is my daughter’s friend, who is staying with us for a few weeks, Miss Eleanor McIntyre,” Mrs. Campbell went on. Gregory turned to Eleanor, greeting her smoothly.
Given the arrival of new blood, it was clear that Lady Stewart and Mrs. Fraser had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Lady Stewart launched immediately into the subject dearest to her heart. “I do hope Sir Andrew brought you with him to my little party, Mr. Rose.”
“Indeed he did, and I was honored to attend. The hostesses of London could take lessons from you, my lady.” He turned to the sofa where Rylla and Eleanor sat. “My only regret is that I did not have the opportunity to dance with Miss Campbell or Miss McIntyre.”
Rylla’s heart tripped as he smiled into her eyes, and for once in her life, she was utterly tongue-tied.
Mrs. Fraser filled the silence, saying archly, “I am sure you will have the opportunity to dance with many young ladies on Twelfth Night, Mr. Rose.”
“I hope you are enjoying Edinburgh, Mr. Rose,” Rylla’s mother said. “But surely your parents must miss you at such a season.”
“My mother departed this world some years ago, I’m afraid. My father lives in seclusion in Orkney.”
“Ah, I see. I am sorry. Then you live alone?” Rylla’s mother continued her delicate probing, soon establishing that Gregory had no wife, fiancée, or any dependent, that his father was some sort of invalid, and that Gregory was in charge of all the man’s affairs.
As her mother turned to the subject of Gregory’s Edinburgh relatives, Rylla stifled a groan. Whatever was her mother doing? She was acting as if Gregory had come courting. What would Gregory think? And what was he doing here, anyway? It was irritating to be mired in this social chitchat, unable to ask a direct question about anything she actually wanted to know. It was also rather annoying that Gregory seemed perfectly at ease.
But as Gregory turned politely to reply to a comment from Lady Stewart, the frustrated glance he sent toward Rylla told her that he was chafing at the restrictions as much as she was. The knowledge made her inexplicably happier.
“Perhaps you will decide to stay in our fair city a little longer,” Mrs. Fraser told Gregory coyly.
“Yes, you should.” Lady Stewart nodded her head. “Edinburgh is lovely this time of year. Much more civilized than the Highlands.” She gave a little shudder.
“Yes, it is lovely.” Gregory smiled. “Sir Andrew and I were admiring the view as we walked over here. We intend to take a stroll through the park up the street.”
Andrew’s startled glance told Rylla that this intention was news to him.
“Perhaps Miss Campbell and Miss McIntyre would care to join us,” Gregory went on.
Andrew looked at his cousin as if he’d grown an extra head. “It’s snowing.”
“Exactly. So picturesque.” Gregory gave the other man a hard look. “The trees frosted with snow. Icicles dangling from tree limbs.”
Sir Andrew seemed momentarily bereft of speech. Before he could gather himself enough to reply, Rylla said brightly, “That sounds lovely! Doesn’t it, Eleanor?”
Eleanor, swifter of understanding than Sir Andrew, said, “Why, yes, I do love a walk in the snow.” She smiled at the two men. “I am so glad you thought of it, Sir Andrew. Mr. Rose.”
“Er, quite.” Sir Andrew adjusted his cuffs. “Wasn’t sure you’d like it, you see. Trudging through the damp. The cold and all.”
“Oh, no, we’d quite enjoy it.” Rylla sprang to her feet, followed by Eleanor.
The two girls escaped to don their boots and cloaks before Mrs. Campbell could decide to object to the outing. As they climbed the stairs, Eleanor commented, “I was rather surprised by Mr. Rose today. I had the impression he was shy.”
Rylla gaped at her. “Gregory? Shy?”
“He bolted yesterday as soon as Sir Andrew introduced us. Missed the entire lecture.”
“He was at a lecture? With Sir Andrew?”
“Yes. You can imagine my surprise.” Eleanor’s cheeks colored prettily. “Sir Andrew stayed for the talk.”
Rylla’s jaw dropped. “I would never have guessed that Sir Andrew had any interest in—well, in anything one might give a lecture on.”
“Oh, I don’t think he was interested in it.” Eleanor chuckled. “I suspect Andrew had trouble keeping his eyes open. Frankly, even I was a bit bored. But it was nice of him to stay to keep me company, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it was.” Rylla tilted her head a little, considering. “I am inclined to wonder if Sir Andrew has developed a tendre for you.”
“I would not think so.” Eleanor’s blush deepened. “I am sure he finds me terribly straitlaced. He is very undisciplined, so of course we should not suit.”
Rylla shrugged. “Unfortunately, it seems to me that what we should feel is not at all the same thing as what we do feel.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“Well, you certainly seem to have charmed my mother,” Rylla told Gregory as they set off down the street toward the small park. Andrew and Eleanor strolled a few feet ahead of them.
“I have a way with mothers. They are rarely as elusive as their daughters.” Rylla rolled her eyes in response, and Gregory grinned. “Though I was afraid she might balk at the idea of a stroll through the blizzard.”
Rylla laughed. “It’s not snowing that hard.”
“Fortunately, you look delightful with snowflakes on your lashes.”
“Flatterer. Well, I will not quibble. I am far too grateful to have escaped that drawing room.”
“I don’t know how you ladies bear it.”
“You seemed to manage well enough.”
“Yes, well . . .” He shrugged. “I wanted to see you.”
“Why? Do you have news about Daniel?”
“Not much,” Gregory admitted. “I wanted to see you because . . . I like looking at you. Talking to you.” He cut his eyes toward her. “But I find I much prefer being with you as we were last night.”
“With me wearing men’s clothes?”
He chuckled. “I don’t think it’s the clothes.” After a moment, he said more seriously, “It’s the freedom to actually be with you. I never realized before how bloody unsatisfying it is to talk to someone with four other ladies listening in.”
“It’s a dead bore,” Rylla agreed.
“I wish I could take your hand right now.” Rylla glanced up at him. Gregory was looking straight ahead, his jaw rigid. “I wish a lot more than that, truth be told. But it’s the very devil not even to be able to touch you or look at you or let my face show what I’m feeling. Society’s restrictions are”—he let ou
t an explosive sigh—“a dead bore.”
Rylla tucked her hand in his arm. “I’m glad you came to call.”
“I plan to go out tonight to visit a few gambling dens that are known to prey on gullible young men.”
“Really?” Rylla began to frame her argument to go along on the adventure.
“Yes.” He slanted a look down at her, a faint smile on his lips. “Would you care to join me?”
Chapter Nine
Gregory crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall, waiting for Rylla to emerge from the dark house across the street. He was on edge. On edge had, it seemed, become his permanent state.
They had spent the last two days trying to discover Daniel’s whereabouts. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Gregory still had not the slightest idea where Daniel Campbell had gone. He was beginning to acquire Rylla’s uneasy feeling about the young man.
Gregory was living on little sleep. He spent half the night tromping about the gambling haunts of Edinburgh and most of the day looking for Daniel. However, the search was not the real reason behind his weariness. No, both insomnia and frayed nerves were due to one thing: Rylla Campbell.
The woman tormented him. He had sworn not to take advantage of her. Each night she gave her safety and her reputation into his hands; he could not betray that trust by luring her into his bed. He had not kissed her or caressed her or taken her into his arms—even when they ended their evenings in front of his fireplace, discussing their investigation. But as a result of his chivalrous behavior, he spent all his time with her balanced on a knife-edge of desire.
He should not take her to his rooms to talk after they left the gambling dens. Being alone with her, only feet from his bedroom, was far too tempting. But he hadn’t the strength to deny himself. This slice of time was all he could have of her. During his afternoon calls at her house, they were in the company of Andrew and Eleanor and Rylla’s mother, unable to speak except in the most stilted and commonplace of ways.
Only alone in his rooms could he revel in talking to her, being with her, able to watch her smile and the animation in her face as she talked. During those quiet moments, everything inside him rushed out to her. He found himself telling her about himself, his father, his house, his family, his doubts and hopes, even his darkest secrets. He was even more eager to hear everything about her.
But those precious hours were also the most tantalizing, restless, unfulfilled, nerve-wracking times he could imagine. He seemed a stranger to himself. He was filled with conflicting desires to take Rylla to his bed and satisfy the profound lust that surged in him, yet at the same time he wanted to protect her and please her. To know her.
Gregory straightened now as he caught sight of Rylla slipping from the shadows around her house. Happiness and a certain pride of possession surged in him as she strode toward him, smiling. She was without equal. And she was his.
He went forward to meet her, careful not to touch her. Even offering her his arm would look odd, given her disguise. Gregory had discovered these past days how many small things could reveal that Rylla was a woman beneath those clothes. He had taken to keeping his hands thrust into his pockets whenever he was around her, just to make sure he did not touch her. The most difficult thing to control was the way he looked at her—to hide the delight, the desire, the affection that he suspected shone from his eyes.
They chatted as they walked, but Gregory kept alert. They had already made the rounds of the better places young men went to gamble. Tonight would be a long step down, one he was reluctant to make with Rylla along. He was glad she had brought her brother’s cane with her. It would at least give her a weapon should they run into trouble. Gregory had enough of the Highlander in him that he had shoved his sgian dubh into the top of his boot for their expedition.
They went from one club to another, each one seedier than the last, and Gregory grew increasingly more concerned. When they stepped into another smoke-filled room, Gregory took one look around and shook his head.
“We should leave.” He turned, but Rylla grabbed his arm.
“Gregory!” she hissed. “What are you doing? This is precisely the sort of place we should look.”
“If we want to get taken up by a press gang, perhaps.”
“You can’t expect to find sharps and ivory turners in the finest establishments.” Rylla adopted her young-man-about-town stance, feet planted sturdily apart and arms crossed. Deepening her voice and raising the volume, she tossed out cant in a bored, world-weary drawl. “I’ve a taste tonight for a bit of blue ruin.”
Looking at her, Gregory wanted to laugh, pull her into his arms for a kiss, and shake her, all at the same time. None of them would be a wise thing to do. “This isn’t even a club. It’s a tavern.”
“That may be, but I’d guess those chaps over there are casting dice.”
He leaned closer, whispering, “This is not the sort of place you should be.”
She sent him a flashing look. “Don’t tell me you’re going to become a prig now.”
“I’m not being a prig. But I am not certain I could adequately keep you safe. I’ll warrant that fellow just rode in from stopping mail coaches. And what about the one in that red cap? He looks like he’s sizing up where to put the knife in his companion.”
Rylla glanced over. “You might have a point. Look, there’s a little table in the corner. It’s dark and protected on two sides. We could easily sit there and watch without getting into any trouble. I promise I won’t even talk to anyone. You can get our drinks, and I’ll stay right there. Word of a gentleman.”
Gregory had to chuckle. “Oh, devil take it, very well. Follow me. And don’t look anyone in the face. You are far too pretty, even as a lad.”
He led her to the table in question, and Rylla sat down, wedging her stool into the corner. Gregory cast a look back at her, then made his way through the crowded room to the bar. He waited for his glasses of ale and pondered whether he should transfer his sgian dubh from his boot top to one of the pockets of his greatcoat. Just as he picked up the filled mugs, all hell broke loose behind him.
♦ ♦ ♦
Rylla had every intention of remaining quietly in the corner, observing the patrons of the tavern. She had enjoyed the past evenings far too much to endanger their easy camaraderie. Gregory was so pleasant and easy to be with, seemingly entertained by her independent attitude and unconventional ways instead of annoyed and restrictive. Even as worried as she was about her brother, she had thoroughly enjoyed their outings.
It would all have been almost perfect, really, if only Gregory had given the slightest indication that he wanted to kiss her again as he had the other night. Why, she wondered, did he not make even the slightest advances toward her? Had her free and easy ways killed his desire for her?
With a sigh, Rylla pulled her mind back from those unladylike thoughts and returned to studying the other patrons of the tavern. They were indeed a rough-looking lot. Even without Gregory’s insistence that she stay in the corner, she would not have wanted to venture from this sheltered spot. She liked a little adventure in her life, but she was no fool.
Rylla stiffened suddenly and peered through the smoky haze at a customer sitting a few tables over. He lifted a large mug to his mouth and drank deeply, then thunked it back down onto the table and wiped his mouth. She watched as he talked to the man across from him. When he laughed, Rylla was certain. It was Kerns, the man who had come to their house looking for Daniel.
She turned toward the long bar where Gregory stood. He was scanning the room, watching for possible dangers. She fixed her gaze on him, willing him to look at her, but he swung back to the barkeep, reaching into one of his pockets to pay the man.
Kerns stood up, shoving back his stool, and nodded to his companion. He started for the door. He was leaving!
Rylla jumped to her feet, picking up her cane, and hurried toward Gregory. Just as she edged around a table, a large man staggered into her, knocking her into one of the
men seated at the table. The top of the cane she carried struck the man smartly atop the head. He bellowed and jumped up, shoving Rylla away. She stumbled back, falling into another man behind her. Feeling rather like a ball that was being bounced around, Rylla straightened just as a meaty fist came flying at her nose.
She ducked, and the fist thudded into the face of the man behind her. With an inarticulate roar, the two men crashed together like two rams at mating season. They lurched about, flailing and striking, feet tangling up with chairs and other legs. Rylla, who had wound up on the floor, knew her best course was to get out of their path. She crawled speedily away on her hands and knees, still clutching her cane, and dove under the nearest table.
Amazingly, over the shouts and crashing of chairs and the squeals of table legs dragging across the floor, Rylla heard Gregory’s voice calling her name. She peered out from under her sheltering table and saw him shoving men aside, struggling toward the center of the fight.
“Gregory!” She leapt out, grabbing at the skirt of his greatcoat, and he whirled.
“Rylla! Thank God!” Gregory’s face was stark white. He wrapped his hand around her arm, nearly lifting her off the floor as he propelled her toward the door.
“It wasn’t my fault!” She told him as they made their way through the tumultuous crowd.
He pulled her behind a post as a man slammed into it from the other side. “Still, I’d prefer not to have to explain to your mother how you came by a black eye and bloodied nose.”
They kept moving toward the door, skirting a pair of combatants rolling around on the floor. Gregory dodged a fist and rammed a chair into another man who charged at them. He did not see the man come up behind him, wielding a thick-glassed bottle, but Rylla did. She brought her cane up sharply, the metal knob on top catching the attacker on the point of his chin. His teeth clacked together, and he wavered, the bottle tumbling out of his hand. It smashed into his foot.
Leaving the attacker hobbling and cursing and wiping his bloody chin, Gregory and Rylla ran for the exit. They were trapped for an instant in a clog at the doorway, then popped through into the street. Gregory took Rylla’s arm and pulled her up the street, but she hung back, looking all around her.