Along Came a Rogue by Anna Harrington Page A

being a famous artist. I wanted to paint pictures to hang in museums and palaces.” She glanced down shyly at the belt of the robe tied loosely around her waist. A faint smile played at her lips. “I didn’t think you’d remember anything about me.”
    “Of course, I do,” he repeated, this time in a low murmur. “Why does that surprise you?”
    “Because you didn’t—” She censored herself and said instead, “Because it was a very long time ago.”
    He puzzled, wondering what she’d originally planned to say. But she turned away from him to grasp the fireplace poker and stir up the coals until the flames caught and brightened the room around them.
    A playful tone entered her voice. “And because you were an army captain, and I was just Thomas’s annoying little sister.”
    His lips curled. Yes, she had been that, all right.
    She hesitated, then admitted, “To be honest, I never thought I’d see you again.”
    “Nor I you.” But he was glad he had. Not only was he enjoying her company now that a truce had been established, but he also suspected she needed him far more than she let on. “You know, Thomas told me stories about when you two were children and all the trouble you caused together.”
    “It was always his fault.” At that, she set the poker aside and smiled conspiratorially at him. “ I was perfectly innocent in everything.”
    “Of course,” he agreed with mock earnestness. He swirled the brandy in the glass and asked casually, “So what happened that you two aren’t close anymore?”
    From the corner of his eye, he saw her body stiffen, her smile fade. Pained regret flashed over her face, then disappeared beneath a forced smile. “I got married.” She shrugged the question away. “A woman leaves her family and looks to her husband for support and love.”
    My God , she was the world’s worst liar. “But you two were so attached—”
    “I heard stories about you, too,” she interrupted, and none too smoothly, but he let her, even knowing full well how she’d purposefully changed topics. Apparently, she wasn’t good at subterfuge, either. “About your activities in Spain. All kinds of stories.”
    “All kinds?” He grimaced, remembering his exploits off the battlefield, the drunken fights in the local taverns, the relentless pursuit of the local wenches.
    “ All kinds,” she repeated pointedly, slowly approaching him.
    “Good Lord,” he muttered in embarrassment and gulped down the rest of the brandy.
    With another laugh—this one more relaxed than the first—she took the glass from him and refilled it. She arched a disapproving brow at him over her shoulder. “Did you and Thomas really shave a goat?”
    “That goat had it coming. He devoured a perfectly good pair of boots,” he defended shamelessly, although in retrospect, perhaps leaving the beast bald hadn’t been the best of reparations. “Besides, it was Thomas’s fault.”
    “Oh, undoubtedly.” Her eyes sparkled disbelievingly. “And the incidents with the hay cart, the casks of wine, the flamenco dancers—”
    “Lies, all of it,” he warned as he accepted the fresh glass, this time making her come to him. “Don’t believe a word. I was always a perfect gentleman.”
    Clucking her tongue softly, she shook her head. “What a shame, then. The image I had of you in my head as a rake has been shattered. I’ll never think of you the same way again.”
    “Good.” He blew out a hard breath.
    She laughed, and his chest filled with warmth. He could easily get used to that sound…soft and soothing, like falling rain.
    “And who are you these days, Grey?” Her eyes shined mischievously. “A gentleman or a rake?”
    “Both,” he answered earnestly. And she should be grateful for that. Because tonight, the gentleman was keeping the rake at bay.
    Her laughter faded. Her face grew serious, and she hesitated before saying quietly, “Thomas wrote that you’d been wounded.”
    His gut tightened, unprepared