Chapter 27
I’m never sorry for much. And I abhor admitting when I’m wrong about something. I’m not saying I was, of course, just that I hate to admit it.
––––––––
Responding to the urgency in his voice, Fiona thankfully didn’t think to question him but sprang into a sprint, lifting her skirts high as she went, but with her parasol also clutched in one hand, her petticoats kept slipping from her grasp. “Drop the bloody parasol!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
Aylesbury snorted and quickened his step. She kept pace with him as he accelerated, testing her limits. “Good girl.”
She didn’t speak but merely tossed him a dry look before she leapt ahead like a gazelle, daring him to keep up.
God bless that love of the outdoors, he thought, as they gained ground and distance.
Fiona’s natural athleticism and life on the Highlands outstripped the endurance of the Londoners who had done little more than breathe in the stale air of the city their entire lives.
A glance over his shoulder showed their pursuers losing ground. Still, despite her competitive spirit and the urgency of their situation, he could feel her energy flagging as their feet pounded against the cobbles.
“Can’t...breathe...” she panted, and he cursed the corset that bound her.
Grabbing her hand, he jerked her around the corner at the next street.
Choosing a door about halfway down the street, he pulled her to a halt and thrust her into the small shop.
With any luck, when their pursuers finally made the street, they would assume she’d already turned the next corner and continue on.
He drew her away from the windows, watching and waiting.
If luck were not on their side, they would need to keep moving.
Loosening the constricting tightness of his tie, he drew a deep breath and wished he could do the same for her.
Fiona’s hand was pressed against her narrow waist as she sucked in one slow breath after another as deeply as she could while she paced deeper into the store.
She was a true athlete, he thought proudly. A real goer. He couldn’t have loved her more than he did in that moment.
“What a lovely little shop,” she said between breaths. “Did you see these gloves here, Harry? Aren’t they just divine?”
“We’re running for our lives here,” he reminded but couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice.
“Nonsense.” Her wide grin flashed in bright contrast to her flushed cheeks. “I’m running for my life. You’re simply tagging along.”
“Can I help you, my lord? My lady?” a sales clerk asked from behind them.
Even in their sweaty, bedraggled state, the clerk saw them for what they were.
He eyed Fiona with perhaps more appreciation than the marquis, but Aylesbury thought that was understandable.
Dewy with a light sweat, she fairly glowed, and the clerk flushed when she turned to him, blessing him with a bright smile.
“I beg your pardon, but is there a back door perhaps?”
“Of course, my lady, it’s in the back.” The clerk pointed to the rear of the building without taking his eyes from her.
“Of course, it is.” She smiled ironically but produced a dimple for the besotted clerk as she unpinned her hat and smoothed her hair. “You have a darling shop, and I would love to come back another time, but we’re in a bit of a rush. Do you mind?”
“No, no,” he hurried to assure her. Moving a stack of crates to the side, the clerk cleared a path for her. “This way, my lady. Right this way.”
“Thank you...?”
“Thomas, my lady.”
The dimple flashed again, and the clerk nearly tripped over his feet.
“Thomas, thank you,” Fiona cooed so flirtatiously that Aylesbury wanted nothing more than to knock Thomas’ teeth through the back of his skull...after he throttled his lady for flirting so. “You are so kind to help.”
“Not at all, my lady!” Thomas stammered, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“And if I might ask, if you would be so kind to...shall we say, misdirect anyone who might come in looking for us?” she continued, batting her lashes as they reached the door. “Oh, and would you mind holding back those darling blue kid leather gloves as well?”
“I shall be happy to, my lady.”
“You’re very sweet,” she added, patting the young man’s cheek as she passed.
“And you’re a veritable minx,” Aylesbury whispered in her ear as he took her hand in his and led her down the alley behind the shop.
“I said nothing that wasn’t true.” She protested with a grin, clearly pleased with his jealous pique. “It was a lovely shop, the gloves would match one of my habits perfectly, and I would like to come back another time.”
“If you’re alive,” he pointed out.
“Well, it would be difficult otherwise, wouldn’t it?”
She looked remarkably cheerful as she said it and he was hard put to recall the seriousness of their position. “Show a little respect for the peril we’re in, won’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said penitently.
He pulled off his hat and slapped it against his thigh in a move she was beginning to understand signaled the outer periphery of his patience. Funny that seeing him hovering on the brink of intolerance had somehow become rather endearing.
“My God, you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Of course not.”
Fiona eyed him from head to toe, loving how his usually neat hair was tousled from their mad dash. His blue eyes were as bright as beacons, and she could see the pulse pounding at the base of his neck through his open collar. Involuntarily, she reached out and ran a finger down the pulsing line.
“Well, not the bit that prompted us to flee in any case but...Well, I haven’t run in an age. It’s quite rousing, isn’t it?” she whispered, surprised at the huskiness of her voice.
He must have been as well, though he recovered quickly enough. His eyes darkened, focusing on her parted lips. Her tongue darted out to moisten them, drawing a low groan from him.
“Now you look at me like that?” he asked throatily, taking her hat from her hand and tossing it aside.
Shoving his fingers into the thick mass of her hair, he grasped her head in his hand and pulled her forcibly to him. He lifted her against him and bent his head to take her lips in a hard kiss. She parted her lips, inviting him in as she wound her arms around his neck.
“Oh my, Harry,” she gasped against his lips when his hand closed over her breast, kneading fervidly.
Trembling with the force of the hot lust that streaked through her, she knew that she wouldn’t have cared a bit if he tossed up her skirts right there in the alley and took her up against the brick wall.
Primal satisfaction pounded through her veins.
She had never felt so alive, so victorious. ..so ready to surrender.
Harry must have sensed it as well. He growled triumphantly low in his throat, the turgid evidence of his arousal pulsating at the apex of her thighs as he lifted her against him.
“God, I want you, Fiona,” he whispered gruffly. “You have no idea how desperately.”
If her own desire was any indication, she rather thought she did. Kissing her again more tenderly, He eased her away with a long-suffering groan.
“This is not the time.”
She nodded with a blush. “I know.”
Stroking her cheek tenderly, he brushed one last kiss across her lips. “Don’t be self-conscious with me, darling girl. Ever. I love your passion. And in a time of danger, it’s normal. It’s exciting. You feel incredibly alive, yes? It feels good, doesn’t it?”
He smiled down at her as she nodded, brushing back the hair at her temples. “Now you know exactly what I feel each time I look at you.”
She gaped at him, a poignant ache seizing her heart. “Oh...”
“Take heart,” he rushed on with a roguish grin. “At least you aren’t left sporting the evidence of your ardor for all the world to see.”
She glanced down involuntarily, noting the bulge straining against the front of his trousers. She blushed again, this time from resisting the overwhelming urge to touch him.
He must have guessed her thoughts for Aylesbury exhaled shakily. “You’ll drive me to Bedlam one day, mark my words.”
Amusement returned, and Fiona grinned up at him. “I promise to visit you.”
He groaned and joined in her laughter. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“Home, ye say?” a thick Cockneyed voice said. “But I was jus’ beginnin’ to enjoy the show.”