10 A FALLEN WOMAN—IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE—A REMEDY FOR PNEUMONIA—ALEX IS SWEPT OFF HIS FEET—THEY AGREE TO DISAGREE—SAVAGE SLIPPERS—A FISHY STRANGER—THEY DO NOT RACE FOR IT Falling off a roof hundreds of feet above the ground is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disputatious lust. As Charlotte plummeted toward the ground, still locked in Alex’s arms, she recollected Miss Plim’s warning that kissing a man was bad for one’s health. Terror flashed through her entire body. But her mind, well trained for messes like spilled tea, conservative governments, and tumbling toward one’s death, reacted calmly. She was speaking the incantation before she even realized it. At once, their descent slowed. Adding the momentum automatica, Charlotte was able to settle her pulse (and appreciate just how convenient trousers were in an updraft). “You might have spoken quicker,” Alex said. “I’m dizzy now.” “I can always let you go,” she replied. “Smashing into the ground would undoubtedly cure your vertigo.” “No, that’s fine, thanks. Besides, better late than never, I suppose.” “You’re welcome.” “We’re still going a little fast, though.” “Any slower and a blackbird will nest in your hair.” “And be careful of gusts.” “I know what I’m doing.” She winced as a speck of rain fell on her eyelid. “Women of sense, whatever you may choose to say, do not want men thinking them silly.” “The last word I would use for you, Miss Pettifer, is ‘silly.’ ” “Besides, this is all your fault. If you hadn’t tried to seduce me, we would have been prepared for the collision.” “Tried?” he repeated, scoffing. “Madam, considering how passionately you were kissing me back, I think I succeeded quite well in seducing you.” She gasped. “Rude man! If we weren’t airborne, I would kick you in the—er, I cannot mention where, but you may be sure it would hurt.” His eyes blazed hungrily. His face, freckling with raindrops, seemed to sparkle. “If we weren’t airborne, the things I’d be doing to you would be very rude indeed.” “Upon my word, you are the worst kind of scoundrel!” “Being called a scoundrel by a termagant is a rather comfortable compliment.” “Termagant?!” “Better than ‘silly,’ yes? Watch out for the lake.” “We’re nowhere near the lake.” “It’s right beneath us.” “Nonsense.” “Veer starboard!” “What?” “Right! No, other right. That way!” Splash.
In vain Charlotte struggled, but it would not do. Her efforts to swim out of the lake were repressed by the weight of her coat. She came toward Alex in an agitated manner, kicking legs that, booted as they were, did more to drag her down than keep her swimming. “You must allow me to help you,” he insisted ardently, and at last secured her agreement—and her person, which he pulled ashore. As he brought her to safety, Alex felt a rush of pleasure. Not often did a pirate get the chance to be heroic. That he had saved this stubborn, irritating woman from drowning made him happier than he’d have guessed it would. Granted, she had just saved him from falling to his death, so they were infuriatingly equal. But he was not the most notorious buccaneer in all of Eire, half of England, and two southwestern provinces of France for nothing, and he felt sure he’d get the better of her soon. He’d rescue her even more, or arouse her further, or steal the bloody amulet first just so he could triumphantly give it to her. Maybe then she’d be dislodged from his traitorous heart. How she’d even got in there was a complete mystery. One day he was cursing her for stealing his briefcase and the next he wanted her under him in bed. Or on top of him. Or rolling around with him. Really, any position would do. But more than that, he wanted her to insult him, argue with him, provoke him fearlessly as no other woman had ever dared. Even Cecilia, who wasn’t scared of him, didn’t go out of her way to cause tension between them. But Charlotte Pettifer seemed to find tension as thrilling as he did. She utterly disrespected his reputation, and he liked her for it. A week ago, he’d have thought such a thing impossible. A week ago, a witch was to him the sort of woman who’d steal a husband, smirk at a wife’s funeral, and thrash a child with such regularity that even years later he kept at least one weapon to hand in case it might be needed for defense. He’d always supposed he’d drown a witch if he had her in his hands within proximity of a lake. To not only have saved this one, but even now, crouching beside her on the rain-washed shore, to be wanting his mouth on hers again, his fingers pressing into the lush softness of her skin—it bewildered him. And Alex did not like bewilderment. He liked smug certainty and hitting things with his sword. He glanced at Charlotte. Even on her knees in the mud and drizzling rain, coughing up lake water, she looked entirely proper, as if there was only one right way to recover from near-drowning and she had mastered it. God, but he wanted to make her messy in the most licentious manner. With a sigh, he got to his feet and held out a hand to her. She looked at it darkly. “You do realize my amulet is getting even farther away while we waste time with shenanigans?” she said. “You do realize my house has made an emergency landing I don’t know where?” he answered. Her expression sobered. She reached for his hand. “I hope Bixby will be all right.” “I’m sure he’s fine.” Alex hauled her to her feet. She stumbled against him, and as their eyes met, it was as if they fell all over again. He caught her with an arm around her back and was kissing her hard, even before she could force him to. The rain, a mere sprinkle until now, tapping shyly on the lake, burst forth suddenly like a diva in a feather boa bursting through stage curtains, as if inspired by their passion. It poured from their hair and eyelashes and slicked their kiss. A shadowed wind gasped cold between them, but they were burning inside. They were a dangerous storm that promised mutual electrocution if they did not stop. Finally, Charlotte pulled away, pressing the back of her wrist against her mouth. “What atrocious behavior!” she said, although it wasn’t clear exactly to whose behavior she referred. “It was medicinal,” Alex replied. “Your lips were turning blue. I thought it wise to warm you rapidly.” She almost huffed, but he watched her stop herself in time, settling dignity over her face and standing taller for all the world, as if she were in a reception room, dressed in silk and pearls, rather than on the dirty, rain-beaten shore of a lake, wearing a man’s shirt that had turned so transparent the delicate lace of her camisole could be seen, and beneath that— He hauled his gaze upward and found her glaring at him. “I have never met a more aggravating man,” she said. “If I didn’t need to abduct you in order to recover my amulet, I would gladly never see you again.” Alex laughed in astonishment. “Abduct me? Madam, I assure you, I am not abducted. I would leave at this very moment if you weren’t a fragile female lost God knows where in a downpour, vulnerable to—” She yanked his arm suddenly, tucked her leg around his, and flung him to the ground. It would have been a great triumph for her—except he grabbed her coat as he tumbled, and she went down too, smacking against him. He rolled them over so he was lying atop her, heavy against her softness. Instantly his body reacted. He could see she felt it, but that she did not understand exactly what it meant. Strange that such a competent woman could be so innocent. The thought aroused him even more, and he decided for safety’s sake to get off her. But suddenly, without warning, she lifted her head and kissed him. He inhaled sharply, nerves flashing. It was only a brief, soft kiss, making him think of a kitten lashing out with claws so tiny they barely tickled. Alex had never before experienced such an intoxicating mix of lust and sweetness. “You are a tyrant, Charlotte Pettifer,” he said against her mouth. “You are a fiend.” He kissed her back, although neither soft nor sweet. Their tongues tangled. Their ankles tangled. She twisted hers, and in the scuffle managed to tip him off her. With a leap, she was on her feet again and drawing forth the vicious little multipurpose device. Alex lay on the ground and grinned up at her. “Do it,” he said. “Go on, do it.” She flicked the device and there was a sharp click as an implement sprung out. Alex considered the teaspoon a moment, then laughed. Flushing, Charlotte snapped it shut and brought forth the rapier. He licked his lips. Getting up slowly, he held her gaze. She swallowed—for he really was very big and scary. He drew his sword from its scabbard. Her eyes widened. “I suggest you give up and let me take you to safety,” he said, raising the sword. She followed it up with her gaze, then looked back at him. He realized then it wasn’t fear in her eyes, but exhilaration. “Aereo,” she said. The incantated word levitated her several feet off the ground. “I suggest you give up and let me steal your house.” “That’s not going to happen, sweetheart.” She kicked toward his head. He ducked, and moving behind her, thumped the pommel of his sword against her booted ankle. Sparks shot out from the back of her heel. Alex laughed, delighted. (And also winced as a spark burned into his breastbone.) Charlotte somersaulted midair then spun about, rapier sweeping toward him. But he met it with his sword, and as metal cried out, the rapier fell from her hand. “Ow,” she said, shaking her hand and glaring at him in indignation. He tossed his sword aside, grasped her shirt, and pulled her down toward him. She was still floating as their mouths met. They kissed with such force, Charlotte’s magic flared, and in the next moment Alex was rising off the ground along with her. He clutched her head; she dug fingernails into his back. Their coats billowed as the rain around them sizzled from magical energy. “Just surrender,” Alex growled between kisses. “You first.” Tipping her head back, she offered her throat. He dragged his tongue up it, pressed lips against her pulse—tasting soap, rain, the heat of aroused blood. He very nearly spoke then to yield all his heart and will to her, but old, barbed instincts stopped him in the nick of time. He could almost hear a voice, still sharp despite being two decades past, calling him a bloody fool. He flinched as if a fist boxed his ear. At his sudden movement, the magic unbalanced, and they dropped to the ground. Charlotte immediately turned away but he caught her, pulling her back against him, trapping her within the compass of his arm. Although he couldn’t see the expression on her face, he could imagine its fury, and he grinned. “I dare you,” he said in her ear, hot and tempting. “Step on me with those vicious boots of yours.” She tried to tug herself free. “Brigand!” “Virago.” “Excuse me.” They turned their heads in surprise. “I beg your pardon,” said a gentleman standing placidly in the rain. He wore enormous galoshes, and on his head a cap bristled with hooks. A fishing rod lay propped against one shoulder. As Alex and Charlotte stared at him, he smiled beneath his thin, crooked mustache. “I say, have you by any chance spotted a pike gudgeon?” Charlotte blinked dumbly. Alex narrowed his eyes. “Is that some kind of weapon?” he asked. The man laughed. “Good heavens no, my dear chap. Fish.” He waved at the lake as if this explained all. Charlotte and Alex turned their heads toward the lake, then back to the man. “Can’t say I have,” Alex said. “You, darling?” “No,” Charlotte replied. “And if you call me darling again, I’ll bite you.” He grinned. “Promise?” “Well, bother,” the newcomer continued in a blithe tone, despite the rain and the two strangers paused mid-struggle before him. “I’m sure it’s in there. Only one in the whole district, you see, imported especially for our little contest, and it’d be a dratted shame if Peddick got it before me. And will you look at this! Someone’s left a sword just lying around. Not safe, that. A person could stub their toe on it.” Alex shifted slightly, adjusting his hold on Charlotte. “Can I ask, sir—” “Hooper.” He offered a hand to shake and then—noticing the knives strapped to Alex’s thigh, and the long dagger extending out of his boot, not to mention the sword scabbard—made a little wave instead. “Arthur Hooper, three times Dagenham district champion angler (bait form) and butler to Sir Rufus over at Rothbury House, at your service. Well, at Sir Rufus’s service, but you know what I mean.” “Mr. Smith,” Alex replied. “And this is my sister, Miss Smith.” The man’s eyebrows raised with astonishment. “I’m guessing you are northerners, for I’ve never seen anyone around here kiss their sister quite so vigorously. It almost looked like you were jumping off the ground, ha ha.” “Did I say sister?” Alex shook his head. “I meant wife. She’s my wife. Mrs. Smith. On account of me being Mr.—” “Shut up,” Charlotte said. “Mr. Hooper, would you kindly direct us toward some shelter, please?” “Shelter?” “From the rain.” He blinked up at the gray deluge. “Oh, you mean this mizzle? You could go to the Angler’s Retreat. Local pub. Just on the other side of the lake there.” He pointed with his fishing rod. “Thank you.” “Right you are,” he said, smiling and rocking on his heels as if intending to stay and watch whatever remained of their show. They stared at him with expressions like drawn swords, and an awkward laugh fell from his mouth. “Well then. No pike gudgeon. Right ho, I’ll be just on my . . . um . . . tah-rah, then.” “Tah-rah,” Alex said. “Good-bye,” Charlotte added. The man scurried away. “I’ll give you three seconds to let me go,” Charlotte said, “before I demonstrate my technique for killing a man using one elbow and the anchoring phrase of the incantation.” Alex sighed. “Are you always like this?” “You bring out the worst in me.” “I meant—” She pulled away. He thought she might run, but instead she placed her hands on her hips and glared at the scenery as if it were making an effort to personally annoy her. “We should try to locate your house.” Alex considered the distant trees. “It’s too far. Bixby knows how to land in a hurry. He’ll be fine. We’ll wait in the Angler’s Retreat and make a search when the rain clears.” “That’s a long walk.” “Hardly.” “You’ve crippled me, hitting my leg with your sword’s pommel as you did.” His heart swooped with dismay. Taking a step toward her, he glanced at the leg in question, its shape explicit within the soaked trousers, then blinked hurriedly and looked at her face instead. “I’m sorry, does it very much hurt?” “I am in agonizing pain,” she lied calmly. Hearing her tone, he rolled his eyes. “I’m walking,” he said, bending to pick up his sword. “You can come or not, as you choose. If not, I wish you all the best in your efforts to steal the amulet. Good afternoon, madam.” She gave him a vicious look and muttered beneath her breath. The little besom flew up from the grass into her hand. With a snap, a long thin metal broom shot out. Its bristles flared like a bare-bones umbrella. “Don’t tell me you’re going to sit on that and fly,” Alex said incredulously. “Certainly not! Don’t be ridiculous!” She shook back her wet hair. “I am going to hold on to it and fly.” “That’s daft.” “It’s quicker than walking.” “Aren’t you afraid of falling off in the middle of the lake?” “I am not afraid of anything, Captain.” “You really ought to rethink that attitude.” “Perhaps I shall, once inside, warm and dry, and drinking tea with a splash of sherry.” “Sherry?” He laughed. “That’s a drink for grandmothers in fluffy slippers and hairnets.” She gave him a cutting smile. “Sir, if I wore fluffy slippers, they would have poisoned darts hidden amongst their fluff.” His blood turned suddenly hot. He swayed a little toward her, and she swayed a little toward him, and thunder shook a warning that had them moving prudently back again. “I believe you,” he said. “But for God’s sake, drink a proper whiskey.” “It’s ungentlemanly for you to tell me what to do. Actually, no, I take that back. It’s entirely gentlemanly. You, sir, represent all that is wrong with our patriarchal society!” “And you, madam, are the most enticing creature I have ever known. I want to lick every inch of you.” She stared at him, open-mouthed. “Upon my word! Only two minutes ago you were asking, ‘Are you always like this?’ Such inconsistency is what gives pirates a bad name.” “And here I was thinking it was the pillaging, terrorizing, and rampant hooliganism. I beg your pardon, Miss Pettifer, but as I tried to tell you at the time, what I actually meant was, ‘Are you always this strong, fierce, gorgeous, brave?’ A question entirely consistent with my more recent statement.” “Oh.” She looked away, frowning. “Well. Hmph.” He grinned. “Daft woman.” “Poor communicator.” “Fair enough. I’ll get explicit, shall I? Are you afraid of premarital sex?” Her eyes narrowed as she considered this. At last she spoke, her tone cool. “I reiterate, I’m afraid of nothing.” His grin deepened. He felt its pleasure all the way down in a part of his anatomy that really could not sustain much more pleasure right now. “Race you to the inn?” “Certainly not!” she replied, indignant. “A lady never races. I shall merely make haste and await your presence.” And with that, she gave her broomstick a flick, muttered a word, and flew off through the storm. Then flew back again, picked up her sunglasses, which had fallen from her coat pocket earlier, and with a haughty expression flew off once more. Alex looked heavenward for patience, but only got an eyeful of rain. It was enough to make him believe God was a witch. He began to walk. And then, thinking of Charlotte Pettifer all warmed up with whiskey, he began to run.