Page 7 of By Any Other Name

“Gregory . . .”

“Why are you being so unreasonable? What is wrong with me seeing you home?”

“I am determined to keep what I have done tonight a secret.”

“But—”

“My father is a very strict man.” That was not entirely true. He was no more rigid than most, certainly not as stuffy as Eleanor’s father. Inspired, she added, “He is a minister.” It would do no harm to borrow a bit of Eleanor’s life story as long as she did not give him Eleanor’s name. “He would be disgraced if word of my escapade got out.”

“I told you, I won’t reveal anything. I want only to see you again.”

“I cannot count on that. I scarcely know you. And how would you see me again? You can’t simply come to the house unknown.”

“I will think of a way.” He grinned. “I can be quite inventive.”

She ignored the appeal of his smile. “In any case, there is no point. I will soon be gone.” She might as well continue with her adoption of Eleanor’s background.

“Gone? You do not live in Edinburgh?”

“No, I live in a small village.”

“Really? I do as well. Obviously we have a great deal in common.”

“Many people come from the country.”

“True. But how many of them frequent the same club? On the same night?”

She laughed. “You are absurd.”

“So I’ve been told. If you do not live here, then I suppose your family must be renting a house?” She shook her head, and he ventured, “Staying at an inn?”

“I am staying with a friend.” That was almost true, only a bit reversed. “We went to a ladies’ academy together.”

“Really? Which one?” When she merely sent him a repressive look, he sighed. “You are as secretive as the grave.” They walked on in silence for a moment, then he said, “I’m from the Highlands. I’m visiting my cousin Andrew.”

“Sir Andrew Rose?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Do you know him?”

She shook her head. “No. How could I? I do not live in Edinburgh.”

“I remember.” His voice was dry. “You see how freely I have told you about me. It seems only fair that you reciprocate.”

Her laughter tumbled out, and she turned toward him. The look in Gregory’s eyes took her breath away.

“Your laughter bewitches a man,” he told her, his voice husky.

Rylla stopped, astonished. “What?”

“I heard you laugh tonight, and it sent shivers through me. I can tell you, it gave me a peculiar feeling to think you were a man.” He curved his hand along her cheek. “Tell me your name.” He bent and brushed his lips against hers.

A quiver ran through Rylla, and she had a sudden, urgent desire to wrap her arms around him and burrow into his warmth, to raise her lips to his. He dug his fingers into the sides of her coat, holding her in place without touching her. He did not need to; Rylla was certain she could not move. She did not want to. Slowly he lowered his head.

Then his lips were on hers, soft and seeking, drawing vivid, unfamiliar sensations from her. He did not press, did not seize, but beckoned her to further pleasures. His tongue slipped along the line separating her lips, startling a gasp from her. He apparently took this as an invitation, for his tongue stole into her mouth, exploring and awakening an absolute maelstrom of feelings.

Rylla was intensely aware of her body—of the pounding of her heart, the heat that flickered along her skin, the bizarrely melting, shivery state of her insides. Gregory cupped her face between his hands. She felt the touch of his ring, cool against her cheek, and remembered how the look of it had drawn her earlier tonight.

He lifted his mouth from hers. His breath shuddered out against her cheek. “I have to know you.”