pursuing our own interests."
"Yours merely being sketching insects," Wylde said.
Lissa nodded quickly. "That, and—and writing in my nature journal."
"I see."
She wondered if he did.
"So that is the whole of it, a purely happenstance meeting?" Wylde asked.
Lissa nodded again. "Yes," she said, having to coax the word to form on her lips. "That is the whole of it." In truth, it wasn't a total lie. She'd not immediately been thinking of her desire for a pretend liaison with Wylde when she'd struck her bold bargain with him, but had been thinking instead of Lord Langford's locket and the trout that had eaten it.
"I simply wish to retrieve my property, sir," she continued. "Since you own an angling rod and appear adept at casting a fly, and seeing as how I know a thing or two about the insects in this region, it seems only proper that the two of us combine our talents."
"Proper?" The word came lowly, succinctly. "Hardly that, Lady Lissa. You've no abigail in attendance. Too, I should wonder that your household is not in an uproar at this very moment, fretting over your whereabouts."
"I told you, sir, the absence of a chaperone does not signify—not here, in the country. As for my household, those in my employ are entirely accustomed to my penchant to go off on my own."
He did not appear convinced. "Even if that means being in the company of someone such as myself?"
"Such as yourself, my lord?"
"Aye, that is what I said."
"I—I do not understand your meaning."
"Come now. Surely you've heard rumors."
Lissa shifted uncomfortably. "Rumors?"
"Do not pretend with me. Your abigail ran from the river because of my presence. Even you hesitated a moment when first meeting me."
"D-do not be absurd, sir."
"Don't you," Wylde replied.
Lissa swallowed heavily as he closed the small distance between them, his face now inches from hers.
"I have to wonder what you truly know about me," he said. "I had the distinct impression you'd formed an opinion of my character prior to our meeting at the river's edge this morning. Though you painted a perfect smile on those lovely lips of yours, I could tell by the look in your eyes you were thinking of all you thought you knew of me. Or rather, what you'd overheard about my character."
Lissa felt her cheeks burn hot. "I will admit, Lord Wylde, that I... I have heard some gossip affixed to your name, but—"
"I'd wager you've heard more than that," he cut in.
He was too close, his black gaze too scrutinizing. "You are overlooking one thing," Lissa pointed out, albeit rather weakly.
"Which is?"
"I do not hold much faith in stories bandied about below stairs."
He lifted one dark brow. "Oh? What of those whispered above stairs, Lady Lissa?"
"I give no credence to poker-talk. Besides, gossip is gossip," Lissa insisted. "I've no time for it, no matter of its origins. I do not make it a habit of repeating or even listening overly much to fantastic tales." Not unless I want to, that is, she thought.
Wylde's gaze narrowed. "Even if those same stories could damage your reputation?" he demanded.
Lissa had had enough. "Are you trying to intimidate me, sir?" she asked, stiffening, though that reaction served only to bring her face closer to his.
"Aye, "he answered. "I am."
Without further warning he reached up with his right hand, capturing the back of her neck with his palm. The touch of his hand against her bare skin was startling, electrifying. Lissa had a glimpse of his black, fathomless eyes blazing with a fierce intent just before he brought her mouth to his in a thoroughly breathtaking kiss.
The pressure and feel of his mouth slanting over hers was more than she'd ever encountered in all her life. She could not move, could not think. She knew only the feel of his lips over hers, the heat of his breath on her cheek.
Rather than intimidate her, his bold kiss served to ignite a fire storm of excitement in Lissa. As if her body had a will of its own, her lashes drifted shut, and she
"Yours merely being sketching insects," Wylde said.
Lissa nodded quickly. "That, and—and writing in my nature journal."
"I see."
She wondered if he did.
"So that is the whole of it, a purely happenstance meeting?" Wylde asked.
Lissa nodded again. "Yes," she said, having to coax the word to form on her lips. "That is the whole of it." In truth, it wasn't a total lie. She'd not immediately been thinking of her desire for a pretend liaison with Wylde when she'd struck her bold bargain with him, but had been thinking instead of Lord Langford's locket and the trout that had eaten it.
"I simply wish to retrieve my property, sir," she continued. "Since you own an angling rod and appear adept at casting a fly, and seeing as how I know a thing or two about the insects in this region, it seems only proper that the two of us combine our talents."
"Proper?" The word came lowly, succinctly. "Hardly that, Lady Lissa. You've no abigail in attendance. Too, I should wonder that your household is not in an uproar at this very moment, fretting over your whereabouts."
"I told you, sir, the absence of a chaperone does not signify—not here, in the country. As for my household, those in my employ are entirely accustomed to my penchant to go off on my own."
He did not appear convinced. "Even if that means being in the company of someone such as myself?"
"Such as yourself, my lord?"
"Aye, that is what I said."
"I—I do not understand your meaning."
"Come now. Surely you've heard rumors."
Lissa shifted uncomfortably. "Rumors?"
"Do not pretend with me. Your abigail ran from the river because of my presence. Even you hesitated a moment when first meeting me."
"D-do not be absurd, sir."
"Don't you," Wylde replied.
Lissa swallowed heavily as he closed the small distance between them, his face now inches from hers.
"I have to wonder what you truly know about me," he said. "I had the distinct impression you'd formed an opinion of my character prior to our meeting at the river's edge this morning. Though you painted a perfect smile on those lovely lips of yours, I could tell by the look in your eyes you were thinking of all you thought you knew of me. Or rather, what you'd overheard about my character."
Lissa felt her cheeks burn hot. "I will admit, Lord Wylde, that I... I have heard some gossip affixed to your name, but—"
"I'd wager you've heard more than that," he cut in.
He was too close, his black gaze too scrutinizing. "You are overlooking one thing," Lissa pointed out, albeit rather weakly.
"Which is?"
"I do not hold much faith in stories bandied about below stairs."
He lifted one dark brow. "Oh? What of those whispered above stairs, Lady Lissa?"
"I give no credence to poker-talk. Besides, gossip is gossip," Lissa insisted. "I've no time for it, no matter of its origins. I do not make it a habit of repeating or even listening overly much to fantastic tales." Not unless I want to, that is, she thought.
Wylde's gaze narrowed. "Even if those same stories could damage your reputation?" he demanded.
Lissa had had enough. "Are you trying to intimidate me, sir?" she asked, stiffening, though that reaction served only to bring her face closer to his.
"Aye, "he answered. "I am."
Without further warning he reached up with his right hand, capturing the back of her neck with his palm. The touch of his hand against her bare skin was startling, electrifying. Lissa had a glimpse of his black, fathomless eyes blazing with a fierce intent just before he brought her mouth to his in a thoroughly breathtaking kiss.
The pressure and feel of his mouth slanting over hers was more than she'd ever encountered in all her life. She could not move, could not think. She knew only the feel of his lips over hers, the heat of his breath on her cheek.
Rather than intimidate her, his bold kiss served to ignite a fire storm of excitement in Lissa. As if her body had a will of its own, her lashes drifted shut, and she
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