Reckless in Pink by Lynne Connolly

she nodded and swallowed. Now she stood away from him, she could see him properly.
    This man appeared more like the man in the park than the one at the draper’s. He wore his own dark hair tightly tied back. His hat, which had tumbled off his head in their previous bout of passion, was undecorated. He wore no rings, had no embellishments at all on his person. His clothes were sober and respectable but not made of expensive material. Fancy lace didn’t decorate the sleeves, only a small ruffle of linen.
    He’d been a soldier, and not in an ornamental regiment, and now he looked every inch the man of action. This man understood danger, had probably seen death, and she was more than half afraid of him.
    “Don’t raise your voice,” he murmured, his tone far too intimate. “In this house, no room is safe, not even the ones with closed doors.”
    Taking her hand, he led her to the other side of the small space, to a spot by the begrimed window. “Please, don’t fear me, ever. I will never offer you violence. I swear it.”
    She believed him. “I was startled because you look so different.”
    He gave that lazy half smile that remained a constant, however he looked. “I’m the same person.”
    “Is this who you are? Not the man of fashion?”
    “I am both,” he said. “I find great amusement in my other appearance, but I have to confess to you that I allow my valet to select most of my clothes. I begin, and then I grow bored.”
    He touched her chin, so softly she hardly registered it.
    “I wanted to retire completely from the service, but I had the skills and they knew where to find me. Once I have done with the task, that life is over for me. My parents are aging and they worry about me. I left the army for them, and I will leave this, too.”
    No one showing that degree of consideration to his parents could be as severe as this man appeared. Moreover, he kissed like an angel. Or a devil. Already tingles rose up her arms, in the secret places of her body and he drew her so that she found herself leaning in to him. “What do we do now?”
    “We leave,” he said simply. “I’ll continue this another time. I know where he goes now, and I am learning more than we imagined about his habits. He’s visited London before, you know.”
    “In fifty-one.” It was supposed to be clandestine, but word had got out.
    “And after. He’s made quite a habit of it.”
    She stared at him, wide-eyed. “How does he get away with it?”
    He smiled, and then bent and kissed her, so swiftly she had no way of stopping him, even if he had wanted to.
    “I’m sorry. Don’t look at me that way,” he murmured against her lips.
    She smiled, her mouth caressing his. “Why not?”
    “Because it makes you irresistible. You are adorable like that.”
    She bridled. “Like a kitten?”
    “Exactly like,” he said, unabashed. “Not at all like the wild Lady Claudia Shaw”
    “People condemn where they don’t know. If I have done something slightly wrong, they exaggerate.”
    Leaning forward, he placed his hand on the wall behind her head. “They wouldn’t have to exaggerate this escapade. What were you thinking?” He frowned. “How did you do it?”
    “I went to the pleasure gardens, and then I told my brother I was joining my mother at Lady Colm’s.”
    He rolled his eyes. “You run rings around them all.”
    Before she could think of her actions, she reached out and grabbed his arm. She couldn’t get her hand half way around it, but she didn’t let that give her pause. “You won’t tell them, will you?”
    After regarding her for a fraught moment in silence, he said, “I have to. Because you’re here, in this house, at the same time as he is. The Pretender.”
    His words brushed her face, like an invisible caress. She arched up without conscious volition. “Kiss me again.” She could think of nothing else when he was this close.
    With a groan of surrender, he complied, but he did not embrace her as he had before.