Regency: Rakes & Reputations. Gail Ranstrom

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      She collected her wits as he swung her in a wide circle. “I…reckless? I haven’t the faintest notion what you mean.”

      “Have you not?” Their progress around the dance floor had brought them close to an open terrace door and he waltzed her outside without missing a step. “Then allow me to enlighten you.”

      He stopped suddenly and released her in the dim glow of a hanging lantern, leaving her to catch her own balance. She had never seen him like this before—angry and challenging—and she did not like it. She lifted her chin and glared at him, daring him to berate her for anything.

      But that did not stop him. “There are people around who…who could wish you harm. And here you are, flaunting yourself for all the world to see. Are you daring Henley to come after you, Miss O’Rourke?”

      She blinked. He was right, of course, but she could hardly tell him that finding Henley had, in fact, been her goal. In his present mood, he was likely to throw her over his shoulder and carry her home. She lifted her chin a bit higher. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours, Mr. Hunter.”

      The expression on his face was stiff and brittle, as if it might crack at any moment and reveal his true feelings. “You don’t? Then allow me to count the ways. One—” he held up one finger “—you are my brother’s sister-in-law. Two—” another finger went up “—I have already pulled you from Henley’s reach once. Three, I am currently working to see that Henley is punished, and four…” His voice trailed off, as if he had thought better of continuing.

      “Four?” she challenged.

      He laughed, but there was not the slightest hint of humor in it. “You would not want to hear that one, Miss O’Rourke, believe me. Shall we say that my reasons are legion, and that your presence is a distraction and a deterrent?”

      What could be so dreadful she could not hear it? She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, regaining a small measure of composure. “Very well. But your reasons are not my concern. I am tired of being a prisoner in my home. I am tired of being punished for something that is not my fault. I have had enough of allowing fear to dictate my life. No more, Mr. Hunter. Do you hear me? No more.”

      He gripped her upper arms and leaned toward her. His scent weakened her knees and for a moment the possibility of a kiss hovered in the air between them. She was breathless, torn by hope and fear. Then, in a very low voice, he said, “I hear you clearly, Miss O’Rourke, and as much as I admire your courage and determination, I abhor your foolhardiness in taunting a dangerous man.”

      She finally inhaled, trying to find her voice. How could she tell him that she had doubts, too. At least a dozen times a day, and twice already tonight. “Nevertheless.”

      He looked completely flummoxed by her refusal to see the matter his way. And her promise of utter confidentiality prevented her from mentioning that she had gained courage and support from his own sister and several of the most important ladies in the ton, so she merely held her ground.

      He released her and stepped back. “Very well, Miss O’Rourke. Have it your way, then. But you cannot stop me from shadowing your footsteps.”

      “You shall soon become very bored,” she warned. “Unless you have a secret tendresse for one of the Thayer twins.”

      The hint of a smile twitched his lips. “Redheaded hoydens. Trouble, if ever there was any, and certainly incapable of keeping you out of it. That would be like setting the fox to guard the henhouse.”

      “I do not need anyone to keep me out of trouble. I am quite capable of that, myself.”

      His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Really?”

      A flash of heat washed through her. Was he thinking of that night in the catacombs beneath the chapel? He was right—she had gotten herself in trouble before.

      She drew herself up and spun on her heel to go back to the ballroom. He will not humiliate me into doing as he wants, and he will not intimidate me, either!

      Jamie watched her go, half wanting to go after her, and half wanting to lock her away in some safe place until this business with Henley was finished. Why had he never noticed that stubborn streak?

      He plucked a rose from a bush climbing the arbor he passed on his way to the stables and held it to his nose. Sweet and blossoming, like Miss Eugenia, herself. His body stirred with the thought of her soft heated flesh beneath him, her dark hair spread upon his pillow and those lush lips parted with a sigh as he entered her. He groaned and shook his head. He had no right to be thinking of her in that way. She’d made it plain that she disliked him.

      Happily, there were many who did, and he was not adverse to settling when his first choice was not available. He’d find Devlin, see if there was any news, and then go look for female companionship. Perhaps that would take the edge off his adolescent yearning for Miss O’Rourke. And Charlie? Well, Charlie would catch up when he could. Aye, Charlie always knew where to find him—some sort of brotherly instinct.

      He tossed a coin to the stable boy who brought his horse, then mounted, turning southeast toward Whitefriars and the Crown and Bear. If Devlin was not there, Jamie would have a drink or two and go find ease at Alice’s. Her girls were known for their enthusiasm and accommodating nature. God knows he could use a bit of that.

      Clouds had gathered, obscuring the moon and bringing a chill. This was a night made for chicanery and it was early yet in Whitefriars. Anyone who made an honest living was home abed, and the others…well, the others never slept. As he arrived at the Crown and Bear, the place was alive with noise and laughter. Somewhere down an alley, voices raised in a quarrel carried to him as he left his horse in the stable yard behind the tavern and tossed another coin to Cox, the toothless and bald man who tended the stock.

      A few faces turned to look when he entered, then went back to their tankards. A quick scan of the room told him that Farrell wasn’t there. He crossed to the bar and waited while Mick Haddon, the barkeeper, poured a measure of his favorite rye whiskey and brought it to him. Haddon was a good man fallen on hard times, and a cut above the usual trade in the Crown and Bear.

      “Farrell in back?” he asked.

      “Home. Rarely see him these days,” Haddon answered.

      Jamie raised his glass. “To domestic bliss,” he said before he swallowed the contents.

      Mick snorted in reply. “Anything I can do for you?”

      “What has Farrell told you?”

      “To keep an eye out for Henley, and an ear to the ground.”

      “And?”

      “Nothing, though this is the sort of place Henley would come if he were in a drinking mood. And had he not already crossed Farrell.”

      Silently, Jamie agreed. Henley wouldn’t go to his club or to any reputable tavern or gambling hell. He’d frequent only the dregs of London. Places where he’d be unlikely to run into any of his old friends or new enemies. But someone, somewhere, knew where he was and was helping him. Sooner or later, Jamie would find him. He was a very patient man.

      “Any unusual activity? Rumors?” he asked.

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