Dangerous Gifts by Mary Jo Putney Page A

drove expertly through the crowded London streets. Heavens, she would enjoy watching him groom a horse or weed a garden. By the light of day he was every bit as handsome as he had seemed last night. More so.
    Yet she was even more struck by the quality that Lady Wheaton had mentioned the night before. Beneath the facade of a bold and dangerous-looking hero was a disposition of surprising sweetness. The expression in his golden eyes when he’d called for her had been almost shy.
    Duncan had come at an unfashionably early hour so they would not be constantly interrupted by acquaintances. When they reached the park and the traffic no longer required his complete attention, he glanced at her and said, mirroring her own earlier thoughts, “You are even lovelier than I thought last night. Helen of Troy could not have surpassed you.”
    “That is a very pretty compliment,” Leah said seriously. “But I would not want to launch a thousand ships. So much suffering! Not that I think it was Helen’s fault. Surely Menelaus and Paris could have resolved their differences in a more civilized fashion.”
    Duncan grinned. “I’ve often thought the same. A duel would have been far more efficient. But the truth is that the Greeks simply liked to fight. I expect that any excuse would have done as well.”
    “Then they shouldn’t have blamed the Trojan War on Helen,” she said firmly. “It’s the same as Adam blaming Eve for his own weakness. Most reprehensible.”
    He gave her a smile that made her knees weak. “I see that you are a radical.”
    “Not really, but I’ve read Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin and agree with much of what she said.” Leah smiled ruefully. “I promised Lady Wheaton that I would not reveal my bluestocking tendencies, but with you, I forgot my promise.”
    “I’m glad. Women with ideas are far more interesting than those who haven’t two thoughts to rub together.”
    Leah glowed at his words. The compliment seemed to belong to her more than his praise for her beauty.
    He continued, “Tell me about your family. Parents? Brothers and sisters?”
    “No brothers and sisters,” she said with regret. “I came late, when my parents had long since given up all thoughts of having a family.”
    “And . . . ?” he said, perhaps hearing something in her voice.
    She hesitated, then said aloud what she seldom admitted even to herself. “My parents had little patience or interest in a child. They did their duty, of course, but . . .” Her voice trailed off before she continued, “Though my childhood was a quiet one, I always had my books and music. I was . . . content.”
    “I see,” he said quietly, and she suspected that he did see.
    “What of your family, Captain Townley?” she asked.
    “Call me Duncan,” he said with a warm look that reached deep inside her.
    She seemed to be having trouble with her breathing. “Ver y well, Duncan. But . . . but you must call me Leah.”
    His answering smile was like a touch. How could the simple exchange of names feel so intimate?
    “I was fortunate, for my parents were unfashionably interested in their offspring. I have two older sisters who alternately spoiled and tormented me.” He grinned. “That’s normal for families, from what I’ve seen. Jane and Caroline are both married now. At last count I had five delightful nieces and nephews.”
    Trying not to sound too envious of his family, she asked, “Did you always wish to grow up and join the army?”
    “Actually, my inclinations were scholarly rather than military.” He concentrated rather more than necessary on steering around two stopped carriages. “But shortly after I finished at Cambridge, my parents died within a month of each other. I felt the need for a change.” He smiled with wry sel-mockery. “I also had romantic notions about serving my country, so I went into the army and was sent to the Peninsula just before the big push into France.”
    He’d had a baptism of fire. She did a swift