Nowhere Near Respectable

by Mary J. Putney

  As he listed names, Kiri listened intently and Mac jotted them down. After mentioning a dozen or so, the perfumer closed the ledger. “That’s the lot, milady. As you said, there are only a handful of men who use Alejandro, and fewer still who might be the gentleman you seek.”

  “You have been so very kind!” Kiri leaned forward and brushed a light kiss on his cheek through her veil. “You have my deepest gratitude.”

  Mr. Woodhull beamed, but there was a rueful light in his eyes. A perfumer must be glad for a swift kiss, while the mystery man, if Kiri found him, would receive much more of her attention and person. “I am glad to be of service, milady.”

  Giving one last radiant smile, Kiri turned and headed for the door of the shop. Mac held it open, then followed her into the street, every inch the proper footman.

  Kirkland’s carriage waited only a short distance down the street. When they reached it, Mac helped Kiri into the carriage. Then properness vanished as he told the coachman, “Exeter Street, please,” and climbed inside to sit opposite her.

  Kiri grinned at him as she tossed the veil back from her face. “That went rather well. But shouldn’t you be on the outside of the carriage?”

  “Having spent a couple of hours being respectable, I feel the need to revert to my usual behavior.” He glanced out the window, afraid to look at her in such close quarters. Unfortunately, not looking at her ravishing person made him intensely aware of the delicious rainbow of scents that wafted around her. He took a deep, slow breath. “Why were those perfumes so insanely expensive?”

  “The ingredients are very costly, but it’s also necessary to pay the rent and ensure the perfumers a fine profit,” she replied. “Les Heures caters to people who think the more expensive a perfume is, the better it must be. The Alejandro isn’t bad, but the Royal Violets is rather boring. I’ll play with it to make it better.”

  “Why did you buy them?” It was conspicuous to be staring out the window when they were talking, so he tried to gaze in her general direction without looking at her. “Apart from the fact that spending lots of money makes a shopkeeper happy.”

  “That was part of it, but I thought it would be useful if everyone involved in this hunt had a chance to learn what Alejandro smells like.” She rustled in her reticule and produced the bottle, then handed it across the carriage. “It’s distinctive enough that most people should be able to recognize the scent even if they don’t notice the subtle variations on different wearers.”

  He unstopped the bottle and took a whiff. “It seems like a combination of musk and something sharp. Can’t say as I like it.” He put the stopper back and returned it.

  “You have a good nose.” She returned it to her reticule. “But it’s distinctive, masculine, and smells expensive, which pleases some men. Did you recognize any of the names he listed?”

  “Most of them have visited Damian’s at one time or another.” He frowned. “I wish I’d had a closer look at the fellow. I saw enough to confirm your general description, but not enough to recognize which of my customers he might be.”

  “Perhaps Kirkland will have some thoughts when he sees the list.” Humor sounded in her voice. “Why won’t you look at me? Are you appalled at my flirtatiousness? It’s my job to get information, after all.”

  Mac felt like grinding his teeth together. “I half expected you to pull Woodhull down behind the counter and give him an experience he’d never forget.”

  “It was rather fun to flirt without consequences,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Without consequences?” He finally allowed himself to look at her, darkly alluring as Lilith, every inch of her lush body an incentive to sin. He yanked down the shades on both windows, then turned and pulled Kiri into a fierce, carnal kiss.

  He had been prepared for the enticing taste of her mouth and the soft pressure of her lips. He was not prepared for her to flow forward into his arms as she kissed him back. Her mouth opened in invitation and her arms slid around his neck. Mac’s pulse began to hammer, driving out all rational thought.

  Somehow she was on his lap, her knees bracketing his. They ground together, their bodies as urgent as their mouths. Common sense wasn’t even a distant memory. All he could think of was Kiri—brave and irresistible, and more than a little wicked.

  His hand slid up her left leg under her skirt, cupping the perfect curve of her derriere. “Dear God,” he groaned. “Kiri . . .”

  He crushed her in his arms as he convulsed into shattering pleasure, and the horrified recognition of his madness. Dear God. He loosened his grip enough for her to breathe and buried his face in her silky, scented hair. The black bonnet and her hairpins had gone astray. His powdered wig had fallen off at some point, too.

  Panting, she said, “Was that what I think it was?”

  He made an effort to collect himself. “I’m afraid so. My deepest apologies, Lady Kiri. I haven’t behaved so badly since I was a boy.”

  “Not half as sorry as I am!” Wild-eyed, she lifted her head and bit him on the shoulder. Hard. “You are driving me mad, Mackenzie!”

  “That’s entirely mutual.” Her feverish expression showed that she was as aroused as he was, and it was his damned fault for starting something he shouldn’t have done. “Let me make amends.”

  Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he shifted her onto the seat beside him and bent into another kiss while his hand slid up the curve of her calf, over her knee, to the smooth, firm flesh of her thigh. Her mouth was hungry and her knees opened invitingly. He took his time, caressing ever higher as her breathing roughened. Sweet, silky moisture and heat, her gasp when he first touched her intimately . . .

  She cried out, the sound lost in his mouth as he brought her to culmination with only a few gentle strokes. When her body stilled, he held her close, soothing and silently cursing himself for being a dishonorable fool.

  They clung to each other, bodies damp and entangled. There was utter silence within the carriage, leaving space for the sounds of the city. Carriages, a street vendor calling the price of his oysters, a dray driver shouting filthy insults. But inside the coach was silence, except for gradually slowing breath.

  Having Kiri in his arms was happiness greater than any he’d ever dreamed. He understood now what she’d said about each person having an individual scent, because even under the layers of perfume and sweat, he was aware of an essence of Kiri that in the future he’d never forget. She smelled of strength and humor and mischief.

  Yet twined with happiness was despair. He never should have allowed such intimacy between them. It made him long for more while bitterly aware that he’d already taken too much.

  Voice husky, Kiri whispered, “Explain to me why something that feels so right is supposed to be wrong.”

  “Passion lies outside of right and wrong. It exists to keep the human race going.” He sighed and stroked his fingers through the darkly shining cascade of her hair, which fell almost to her waist. “But society had reasons why passion can’t be freely indulged. Good reasons, most of which have to do with the protection of women and children. Since we live in society, those rules can’t be disregarded.”

  “And here I thought you broke rules all the time,” she said wryly.

  “Some rules. Not the ones that cause harm to others.” He brushed her hair back, revealing the fine curve of her cheek. “Especially not others whom I care about.”

  “So you care about me?”

  Her wistfulness went to his heart. “How could I not? You’re as remarkable as you are beautiful.” His lips twisted. “If I didn’t care, I would have behaved much better.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t behave.” She raised her head from his shoulder, and even in the dim carriage, he could see the green burn of her eyes. “You’re right that social laws are ignored at one’s peril. But we have this moment in time when we are both outside our lives, and I intend to take advantage of it.” Her eyes turned mischievous. “And of you.”

  He laughed, even more
enchanted by her mixture of worldliness and naïveté. Growing up in the middle of an army and having a curious mind had given her experience far beyond that of most young ladies of her class. She had the pure fire of youth that had not yet been seriously tarnished by injustice and regret.

  She also had the arrogance that came with high birth and the belief that she was above consequences if she broke society’s rules. That could . . . cause problems. They came from different worlds that touched now only by chance.

  Reminding himself of that, he said, “This time is precious, but I’m determined not to take advantage of you, and I’ll do my damnedest not to let you take advantage of me.”

  He caught her around the waist and moved her to the seat on the other side of the carriage, where he should have left her in the first place. “We’d better make ourselves as presentable as possible since we must be nearing Exeter Street.”

  She raised the blinds. “Lord, we both look disgraceful. As if we’ve been doing exactly what we’ve been doing. Do you see any of my hairpins on the floor?”

  She looked magnificent, not disgraceful, but even in the irregular world of Exeter Street, they must maintain some decorum. He scrounged on the floor and managed to find several hairpins. “Is this enough? I know you had more, but I can’t find them.”

  “These will suffice.” She expertly pinned back her heavy hair, smoothed down her wrinkled gown, then donned her bonnet and drew the veil across her face. One would have to look closely to see the subtle signs of disorder.

  Wishing he had a veil himself, he retrieved the powdered wig from the floor and settled it down again. “Do I look like a proper footman, or a tipsy gentleman of an earlier generation?”

  “Not much can be done about the fact that livery is old-fashioned. But the wig can be fixed.” She leaned across the carriage and straightened the hairpiece with meticulous care. Her face was only inches from his. “There. Much better.”

  Their gazes met, and he wondered if he showed as much yearning as she did. Very gently he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers in a sweet, regretful kiss. “It would be better if we’d never met,” he murmured, savoring her warmth and delicacy. “But I can’t be sorry we have, selfish though that is.”

  “I’m not sorry, either.” She sat back against the seat with a sigh. “Unlike you, I don’t regret my selfishness. Sometimes selfishness is exactly the right thing to do.”

  He blinked, then burst into laughter. “My brother Will says that Ashton is both Christian and Hindu, but you, my warrior maid, are pure pagan.”

  She gave him a slow, wicked smile. “And all the better for it.”

  Chapter 20

  By the time they reached Exeter Street, Mackenzie had transformed himself into the perfect blank-faced footman. Kiri hoped her acting was equally good as he handed her out of the carriage and escorted her into the house.

  As soon as they were inside, Mackenzie pulled off the powdered wig, and formality with it. “I hate this thing. It’s like wearing a dead animal on my head.”

  Kiri’s tension eased with a smile. “A rabbit? Or perhaps a ferret?”

  “More like a badger. Coarse.” Turning serious, he said, “Now that we have those names, I’ll send a note to Kirkland to set up a meeting with him and Cassie.”

  Kiri concentrated on removing her bonnet, which gave her an excuse to look away from Mackenzie. He’d always been damnably attractive, and the more intimate they became, the more irresistible she found him. “What is Cassie’s part in this?”

  “She’s half French and spends much of her time in France, so she’ll visit some of the clubs and taverns that cater to French émigrés.”

  “She’ll go alone?” Kiri was willing to frequent dens of iniquity, but even with her fighting skills, she wouldn’t go to such places on her own without a life-or-death reason.

  “She’ll have a male companion, probably Rob Carmichael. He’s mainly a Bow Street Runner, but he also works with Kirkland and his French is excellent.”

  “Another student from the Westerfield Academy, no doubt.”

  Though Kiri meant the comment as a joke, Mackenzie chuckled. “Yes, in fact. We’re a far-flung lot. Even if we weren’t particular friends while in school, there’s a general level of trust among Lady Agnes’s Lost Lords.”

  Kiri moved toward the stairs. “And trust is vital for this particular mission.”

  “Even more vital than usual.” He frowned. “Under other circumstances, my club manager, Baptiste, would be a good escort for Cassie because he really is French, with many connections in the émigré community. I’ve trusted him with my business for years. But given the attempted kidnapping, I don’t dare trust anyone who works at Damian’s.”

  “I saw Baptiste at the masquerade.” Kiri had been looking for Mackenzie without success, but it was easy to spot the well-dressed manager who kept a watchful eye on the activities. “He must be upset by your death.”

  “Kirkland said he was so shocked he became sick.” Mackenzie’s expression lightened. “As soon as he started to recover, Baptiste told Kirkland that if the club is sold, he wanted a chance to make an offer. A practical race, the French.”

  Kiri paused with her hand on the newel post at the base of the stairs. “Could he be a secret Bonapartist who helped the kidnappers?”

  “I thought of that,” Mackenzie said slowly. “But if so, he’s one of London’s great actors. He’s always despised the revolution and the emperor. Half his family died during the Reign of Terror, and he barely got out alive.”

  Her brow furrowed. “If you find Damian’s a fertile place for collecting indiscreet conversation, he might also.”

  Mackenzie frowned as he thought. She liked that he considered what she said instead of dismissing her as a mere female. “In theory, yes, but I know Baptiste very well. When Bonaparte is mentioned, his hatred is visceral. You can see it in his body.”

  Since he knew the Frenchman and Kiri didn’t, she accepted his opinion. In his business, Mackenzie had to be a keen judge of people. “Let me know the time of our strategy session. If you give me the list of names, I’ll make copies.”

  “That’s a good idea.” He returned her pencil and the paper he’d written the names on. She headed up the staircase, refusing to look back at him. If she did, she wouldn’t want to leave.

  As she neared her room, she saw that she was being shadowed by a shy-looking tabby cat. The tabby was sleek and well fed, so she must be the kitchen cat. Kiri liked cats, so she held her door open and stood back.

  Watching Kiri warily, the cat darted past her into the bedroom, then leaped onto the bed and proceeded to turn several times before settling down at the foot. “I see I won’t have to sleep alone,” Kiri said. “Thanks for that, Puss.”

  Green eyes opened in a flat stare, then closed. Kiri got the impression that the cat was a habitué of the room, and not about to let a human disturb her routine.

  Drained by the events of the morning, Kiri folded onto the wooden chair. She didn’t want to think of what she’d felt in Mackenzie’s arms, but she could think of nothing else. His touch, his warmth, his strength. A shiver burned through her, overwhelming her determination to be wise.

  Mackenzie was right that passion existed apart from social rules. She had a rebellious streak, but her family would not welcome a gambler of dubious reputation as a member. In particular, the general would be appalled that she would even talk to a man who’d been cashiered from the army.

  She might be willing to fight her family over an unsuitable man, but she couldn’t do anything that might reflect badly on them. Particularly not something that would diminish the choices for her younger, shyer, better behaved sister. She and Lucia teased each other regularly, but they were close. Kiri had adored her younger sister from the day she was born. She adored Thomas, too, though she’d never embarrass them both by saying such a thing aloud.

  Lucia and Thomas were both Stillwells, sane and practical. But Adam was her full brother, and ev
en though they’d been raised on opposite sides of the world, they shared a streak of romanticism that must come from their father, who had briefly been the Duke of Ashton. He’d hated the idea so much that he’d died of a fever so he wouldn’t have to leave India. At least, that was Adam’s theory.

  If she would be the only person to suffer consequences, she’d hurl herself into Mackenzie’s arms. Which was exactly what she’d done when he kissed her in the carriage. If she’d shown a grain of sense, they would have gone no further than the kiss.

  But her yearning hunger for him had overwhelmed her and pushed them into a deeper layer of involvement. A pity she didn’t have only herself to think of.

  But she had a family she loved and didn’t want to disgrace. Even so, control would be hard. It helped that Mackenzie didn’t seem the marrying kind. She believed that he did care for her. But she also believed that he’d cared for many women in his life. That didn’t mean he’d wanted to marry any of them, or he would have done so.

  For a man like Damian Mackenzie, marriage would just be an unwelcome, not to mention unnecessary, distraction. When he wanted a woman, he had no shortage to choose from. If he ever did take a wife, he’d probably choose an actress who was as flamboyant and unrespectable as he was.

  But Kiri had been serious about taking advantage of this brief time out of time. For a few days or weeks, they were joined in a mutual mission and living under the same roof. She’d be no worse off if a few more rules were broken.

  If she had only a few weeks, she would make the best of them.

  “Kirkland said he might be late, and we should start eating without him,” Mackenzie informed Kiri, Cass, and Rob Carmichael, the Bow Street Runner. The Runner was tall, lean, and contained, a little like Kirkland but with more visible edges. Kiri decided that if they met in a dark alley, she wanted him to be on her side.