Dedicated Villain by Patricia Veryan

speak properly, and there was something about her that intrigued. He determined in fact, to visit her once this business with MacTavish was successfully concluded. It would not hurt, he thought, to lay a little groundwork.
    Miss Bradford had gone outside to empty the bowl, and now returned to refill it with fresh water from the pitcher. “Now, mighty Caesar,” she teased, “I have brought bandages in my basket. We will tend your hurts, if you please.”
    â€œBut—” he protested, looking to the child.
    Miss Bradford did not exactly smile. Rather, her entire face seemed to glow; almost, he thought, as though someone had lit a candle within her. “Of course,” she said softly. “You are so kind, and must think me quite heartless.” She went to bend over the pile of pillows, folded back the blanket and took up the other storm victim.
    Mathieson uttered a stunned exclamation.
    Miss Bradford held a small, scrawny, tabby cat, its fur all standing up in spikes, and its small pink mouth wide open as it yawned at him.

3

    â€œWhat—the—deuce?” snorted Mathieson, momentarily bewildered.
    â€œDo you see, sir, why I so admire you,” said Miss Bradford earnestly. “How many gentlemen would throw themselves into a raging torrent only to save a cat?” She glowed at him. “And not even a purebred!”
    â€œYou said,” he pointed out with increasing choler, “’twas a little girl!”
    â€œShe is a little girl cat, and—Oh! You never really thought—” For a moment she looked dismayed, then she laughed softly. “Oh, but you are funning, of course. As if I would have left a child untended after so frightful an experience!” She raised her hand as Mathieson attempted an impassioned denunciation. “No, ’tis no use disclaiming. It was the bravest thing I ever saw. Especially since many gentlemen do not particularly care for cats.”
    â€œYou may number me among them,” he said icily.
    â€œOh, yes. And next you will be saying you did not risk your life for her sake.” She held the purring kitten to her throat, bending her head above it, then raised twinkling eyes to meetMathieson’s scowl. “Come now, stop your teasing and make her acquaintance, sir.”
    It was on the tip of his tongue to tell this deceitful chit exactly what he thought of having been so diabolically used. Especially since his ankle hurt vilely, and his sword hand was out of commission just when he might have to face MacTavish’s steel—did he ever come up with the blasted Scot! But then he noticed that the revolting little cat was held against a particularly delectable bosom, and it came to him that he was not playing his cards well.
    He summoned his whimsical smile. “As you say, ma’am,” he murmured, and swinging the end of his blanket over his shoulder with a jaunty flourish, he advanced.
    The cat blinked at him.
    Mathieson’s eyes however were upon a different target, and he reached out eagerly.
    The cat spat and clawed the approaching hand. Mathieson jerked back.
    â€œOh, dear!” said Miss Bradford, her lips twitching suspiciously. “What a naughty girl! A fine way to show your gratitude, Picayune!”
    Mathieson had another name for that treacherous little feline, but he gritted his teeth and suggested gently that Miss Bradford might know of another way to repay him.
    â€œOf course I do, dear sir,” said she with a melting look, and dropped the small cat upon the cushions. “Come here.”
    He brightened and limped closer.
    Miss Bradford giggled, “Oh, you
are
a sight to see! Pray sit down.”
    Fuming, he glared at her.
    She threw a hand across her mouth but over it her eyes danced with merriment. That sparkling look was hard to resist and his vexation faded. With a reluctant grin, he said, “Lost my dignity, have I? I’m not surprised. Wretched