Page 4 of By Any Other Name

“So I’ve been told.” He moved, no longer sitting back on his heels, but coming up so that he was once again kneeling at the edge of the sofa, unnervingly close. “Still, I need to check your wound.”

He reached out to grasp the sides of her shirt, and Rylla jerked back, squeezing into the sofa cushion as far as she could go. She clutched the garment even more tightly to her. “You don’t need to do any such thing! I’m perfectly all right.”

His hands dropped. “You don’t know that. The knife went through your clothes.”

Holding her shirt together at the top with one hand, Rylla carefully lifted the bottom of her shirt. She peered at her stomach. “It’s only a scratch.”

“ ’Tis a pity to mar such beauty.” Gregory was studying her skin as if it held great secrets. His face was flushed, his blue eyes glittering, his mouth soft and full. She had never seen such a look on a man’s face before. It shot a strange leaping excitement all through her. He had lowered his hands, but now they rested on her thighs, warm and heavy. It was thoroughly indecent—and even more indecently, Rylla liked the way they felt on her.

He smiled at her, more with invitation than amusement. “What were you doing at that gambling den, I wonder? A romantic assignation?”

Rylla’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon!”

“But surely no man is so foolish as to leave you waiting. He would arrive early and wait any length of time.” He went on musingly, “No, I think more likely you were spying on a lover.”

“A lover!” Indignation surged through her. “You think I am a . . . a hussy!”

“Nae, I would never use such a term for you.”

“Oh!” Rylla jumped up, shoving him back with both hands. Irritatingly, he only laughed and rose lithely to his feet. “You are rude! Insufferable!” She rushed to refasten her clothes, her fingers trembling and clumsy with fury. In her agitation, she fumbled at both shirt and waistcoat, succeeding with neither.

“Wait, here, you are doing them up all wrong.” Gregory’s expression was indulgent as he reached out to help her. His action only served to fuel the fires of her anger.

Rylla slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch me! You are no gentleman. You’re a . . . a perfect beast. A scoundrel.” She drew herself up to her fullest height and lifted her chin haughtily. The pose was somewhat spoiled by the fact that she wobbled and Gregory had to grab her elbow to steady her.

“I did come to your rescue,” he pointed out mildly.

“My rescue! Hah!” She shrugged off his hand. “You were probably in league with him.”

Gregory’s brows popped up. “I like that. I chase off a thief who is attacking you, and now I’m a villain.”

“You took advantage of me.” Rylla had managed to get her shirt fastened, even if the buttons were a trifle askew. She decided to abandon the attempt on her waistcoat.

“Took advantage of you! You are drunk as a wheelbarrow and running about dressed in men’s clothes, visiting gambling hells. And I took advantage of you?”

“I am not drunk as a wheelbarrow! Nor am I a woman of loose morals.” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I, Mr. Rose, am a lady.”

He stared at her for a moment, then let out a long breath. “Devil take it. You really are a blushing virgin, aren’t you?”

Chapter Three

“Yes, if you must put it in such a crude manner.”

“I believe I must.” Gregory shoved one hand back into his hair and sighed. “What am I to do with you?”

“You don’t have to ‘do’ anything with me,” Rylla said loftily. “I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

“Indeed. And what is it you are so capable of doing?”

Rylla scowled. “Of . . . of whatever needs to be done.” She swept her hand out in a vague, all-encompassing gesture and lost her balance.

Gregory grabbed her arm again to keep her from falling. His lips twitched. “I think you better sit down.” When Rylla tried to pull away, he gave her a sharp tug—rather more forcefully than necessary, Rylla thought—and put her back down on the sofa. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere. Stay there. I’ll make you some coffee.”

He strode off. Rylla sent a baleful glance at his back before she flopped back against the couch and closed her eyes. Everything tilted, then settled back into place. Maybe she was a trifle foxed, at that. How else could she explain the peculiar sensations she’d she felt this evening? The way her stomach flip-flopped when she looked into Gregory’s blue eyes. Or the warmth that had blossomed deep inside her when she saw him kneeling between her legs. The way her pulse speeded up every time his hand closed around her arm—even though she hadn’t wanted him to touch her. She hadn’t wanted it at all. She listened to Gregory clattering about and muttering curses. Rylla had the suspicion that he was not entirely sober himself. She smiled faintly, thinking of the blank astonishment on his face when he realized she was a woman. He’d been nice, really, coming to her rescue like that, helping her to safety. And his concern that she might have been cut was rather touching.

“I can only hope that smile is for me.”

Rylla scowled at Gregory. She had no intention of telling him any of the things she’d just been thinking. “It isn’t.”