It quickly became clear that she was not pursuing a "who" but a "what." The furry, slithery body of a ferret came loping along the hallway with a frilly object clamped in his mouth. Most hotel guests would no doubt be disconcerted by the sight of a small carnivorous mammal streaking toward them. However, Leo had lived for years with Beatrix's creatures: mice appearing in his pockets, baby rabbits in his shoes, hedgehogs wandering casually past the dining table. Smiling, he watched the ferret hurry past him.

The woman came soon after, a mass of rustling gray skirts as she ran full bore after the creature. But if there was one thing ladies' clothing was not designed to do, it was to facilitate ease of movement. Weighted by layers and layers of fabric, she stumbled and fell a few yards away from Leo. A pair of spectacles went flying to the side.

Leo was at her side in an instant, crouching on the floor as he sorted through the hissing tangle of limbs and skirts. "Are you hurt? I feel certain there's a woman in here somewhere… Ah, there you are. Easy, now. Let me-"

"Don't touch me," she snapped, batting at him with her fists.

"I'm not touching you. That is, I'm only touching you with the-ow, damn it-with the intention of helping." Her hat, a little scrap of wool felt with cheap corded trim, had fallen over her face. Leo managed to push it back to the top of her head, narrowly missing a sharp blow to his jaw. "Christ. Would you stop flailing for a moment?"

Straggling to a sitting position, she glared at him.

Leo crawled to retrieve the spectacles and returned to hand them to her. She snatched them from him without a word of thanks.

She was a lean, anxious-looking woman. A young woman with narrowed eyes, from which bad temper flashed out. Her light brown hair was pulled back with a gallows-rope tightness that made Leo wince just to see it. One would have hoped for some compensating feature-a soft pair of lips, perhaps, or a pretty bosom. But no, there was only a stern mouth, a flat chest, and gaunt cheeks. If Leo were compelled to spend any time with her-which, thankfully, he wasn't-he would have started by feeding her.

"If you want to help," she said coldly, hooking the spectacles around her ears, "retrieve that blasted ferret for me. Perhaps I've tired him enough that you may be able to run him to ground."

Still crouching on the floor, Leo glanced at the ferret, which had paused ten yards away and was watching them both with bright, beady eyes. "What is his name?"

"Dodger."

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Leo gave a low whistle and a few clicks of his tongue. "Come here, Dodger. You've caused enough trouble for the morning. Though I can't fault your taste in… ladies' garters? Is that what you're holding?"

The woman watched, stupefied, as the ferret's long, slender body wriggled toward Leo. Chattering busily, Dodger crawled onto Leo's thigh. "Good fellow," Leo said, stroking the sleek fur.

"How did you do that?" the woman asked in annoyance.

"I have a way with animals. They tend to acknowledge me as one of their own." Leo gently pried a frilly bit of lace and ribbon from the long front teeth. It was definitely a garter, deliciously feminine and impractical. He gave the woman a mocking smile as he handed it to her. "No doubt this is yours."

He hadn't really thought that, of course. He had assumed the garter belonged to someone else. It was impossible to fathom this stern female wearing something so frivolous. But as he saw a blush spreading across the young woman's cheeks, he realized it actually was hers. Intriguing.

He gestured with the ferret hanging relaxed in his hand and said, "I take it this animal doesn't belong to you?"

"No, to one of my charges."

"Are you by chance a governess?"

"That is no concern of yours."

"Because if you are, then one of your charges is most definitely Miss Beatrix Hathaway."

She scowled. "How do you know that?"

"My sister is the only person I know of who would bring a garter-stealing ferret to the Rutledge Hotel."

"Your sister?”

He smiled into her astonished face. "Lord Ramsay, at your service. And you are Miss Marks, the governess?"

"Yes," she muttered, ignoring the hand he reached down for her. She rose to her feet unassisted.

Leo felt an irresistible urge to provoke her. "How gratifying. I've always wanted a family governess to harass."

The comment seemed to incense her beyond all expectation. "I am aware of your reputation as a skirt-chaser, my lord. I find no cause for humor in it."

Leo didn't think she found cause for humor in much of anything. "My reputation has lasted in spite of a two-year absence?" he asked, affecting a tone of pleased surprise.

"You're proud of it?"

"Well, of course. It's easy to have a good reputation- you merely have to do nothing. But earning a bad reputation… well, that takes some effort."

A contemptuous stare burned through the spectacle lenses. "I despise you," she announced. Turning on her heel, she walked away from him.

Leo followed, carrying the ferret. "We've only just met. You can't despise me until you really get to know me."

She ignored him as he followed her to the Hathaway suite. She ignored him as he knocked at the door, and she ignored him as they were welcomed inside by the maid.

There was some kind of commotion going on in the suite, which shouldn't have been a surprise considering it was his family's suite. The air was filled with cursing, exclamations, and grunts of physical combat.

"Leo?" Beatrix appeared from the main receiving room and hurried over to them.

"Beatrix, darling!" Leo was amazed by the difference the past two and a half years had made in his youngest sister. "How you've grown-"

"Yes, never mind that," she said impatiently, snatching the ferret from him. "Go in there and help Mr. Rohan!"

"Help him with what?"

"He's trying to stop Merripen from killing Dr. Harrow."

"Already?" Leo asked blankly, and rushed into the receiving room.

Chapter Nine

After attempting to sleep on a bed that had turned into a torture rack, Kev had awoken with a heavy heart. And other, more urgent discomforts.

He'd been plagued with stimulating dreams in which Win's na*ed body had been writhing against him, beneath him. All the desires he kept at bay in the daylight hours had expressed themselves in those dreams.… He had been holding Win, thrusting inside her, and taking her cries into his mouth… kissing her from head to toe and back again. And in those same dreams she had behaved in a most un-Win-like manner, delicately feasting on him with a wanton mouth, exploring him with inquisitive little hands.

Washing in frigid water had helped his condition marginally, but Kev was still aware of the heat burning far too close to the surface.

He was going to have to face Win today and converse with her in front of everyone, as if everything were ordinary. He was going to have to look at her and not think about the softness between her thighs, and how she had cradled him as he had thrust against her, and how he had felt her warmth even through the layers of their clothes. And how he had lied to her and made her cry.

Feeling wretched and explosive, Kev dressed in the town clothes that the family insisted he wear when in London. "You know how much value gadje place on appearance," Rohan had told him, dragging him to Savile Row. "You have to look respectable, or it will reflect badly on your sisters to be seen with you."

Rohan's former employer, Lord St. Vincent, had recommended a shop that specialized in bespoke tailoring. You won't get anything decent in made-to-measure, St. Vincent had said, flicking an assessing glance over Kev. No pattern would fit him.

Kev had submitted to the indignity of having measurements taken, being draped with countless fabrics, and going for endless fittings. Rohan and the Hathaway sisters had all seemed pleased with the results, but Kev couldn't see any difference between his new attire and the old. Clothes were clothes, something that covered the body to protect it from the elements.

Scowling, Kev donned a white pleated shirt and black cravat, a vest with a notched collar, and narrow-legged trousers. He pulled on a wool town coat with front flap pockets and a split at the back. (Despite his disdain for gadjo clothing, he had to admit it was a fine, comfortable coat.)

As was his habit, Kev went to the Hathaway suite for breakfast. He kept his face expressionless, even though his gut was twisting and his pulse was rampaging. All at the thought of seeing Win. But he would manage the situation adeptly. He would be calm and quiet, and Win would be her usual composed self, and they would get past this first unholy awkward meeting.

All his intentions, however, vanished as he entered the suite, went to the receiving room, and saw Win on the floor. In her underclothes.

She was lying prostrate on her stomach, trying to push upward, while a man leaned over her. Touching her.

The sight exploded inside Kev.

With a bloodthirsty roar, he reached Win in a flash, snatching her up in possessive arms.

"Wait," she gasped. "What are you-oh, don't! Let me expl-no!"

He deposited her unceremoniously on a sofa behind him, and turned to face the other man. The only thought in Kev's mind was swift and effective dismemberment, starting by ripping the bastard's head off.

Prudently the man had rushed behind a heavy chair, placing it between them. "You must be Merripen," he said. "And I'm-"

"A dead man," Kev growled, starting for him.

"He's my doctor!" Win cried. "He's Dr. Harrow, and-Merripen, don't you dare hurt him!"

Ignoring her, Kev went forward about two strides before he felt a leg hook around his, sending him hurtling to the floor. It was Cam Rohan, who pounced on him, knelt on his arms, and gripped the back of his neck.

"Merripen, you idiot," Rohan said, struggling to keep him down, "he's the damned doctor. What do you think you're doing?"

"Killing… him Kev grunted, lurching upward despite Rohan's restraining weight.

"Bloody hell!" Rohan exclaimed. "Leo, help me hold him! Now."

Leo rushed over to help. It took both of them to keep Merripen down.

"I love our family gatherings," he heard Leo say. "Merripen, what the devil is your problem?"

"Win is in her underclothes, and that man-"

"These are not my underclothes," came Win's exasperated voice. "This is an exercise costume!"

Merripen twisted to look in her direction. Since Rohan and Leo were still pinning him down, he couldn't look all the way up. But he saw that Win was clad in loose-fitting drawers and a bodice with bare arms. "I know underclothes when I see them," he snapped.

"These are Turkish trousers, and a perfectly respectable bodice. Every woman at the clinic wears this same costume. Exercising is necessary for my health, and I am certainly not going to do it in a gown and cors-"

"He was touching you!" Kev interrupted harshly.

"He was making certain that I had the correct form."

The doctor approached with caution. There was a flicker of humor in his alert gray eyes. "It's a Hindu exercise, actually. It's part of a strength-training system I've developed. All my patients have incorporated it into their daily schedules. Please believe that my attentions to Miss Hathaway were entirely respectful." He paused and asked wryly, "Am I safe now?"

Leo and Cam, still struggling with Kev, both answered simultaneously, "No."

By this time, Poppy, Beatrix, and Miss Marks had hurried into the room.

"Merripen," Poppy said, "Dr. Harrow wasn't hurting Win a bit, and-"

"He's really very nice, Merripen," Beatrix chimed in. "Even my animals like him."

"Easy," Rohan said quietly to Kev, speaking in Romany so that no one else could understand. "This is no good for anyone."

Kev went still. "He was touching her," he replied in the old language, even though he hated using it.

And he knew Rohan understood that a Rom found it difficult, even impossible, to tolerate any other man putting a hand on his woman, for any reason.

"She's not yours, phral" Rohan said in Romany, not without sympathy.

Slowly Kev forced himself to relax.

"May I get off him now?" Leo asked. "There's only one kind of exertion I enjoy before breakfast. And this is not it."

Rohan allowed Kev to stand but kept one arm twisted behind his back.

Win went to stand beside Harrow. The sight of her wearing so little, being so near another man, caused muscles to twitch all over Kev's body. He could see the shape of her h*ps and legs. The entire family had gone insane, letting her dress that way in front of an outsider and acting as though it were appropriate. Turkish trousers… as if giving them such a name made them anything but underdrawers.

"I insist that you apologize," Win said. "You've been very rude to my guest, Merripen."

Her guest? Kev stared at her in outrage.

"No need," Harrow said hastily. "I know how it must have appeared."

Win glared at Kev. "He has made me well again, and this is the way you repay him?" she demanded.

"You made yourself well," Harrow said. "It was a result of your own efforts, Miss Hathaway."

Win's expression softened as she glanced at the doctor. "Thank you." But when she looked back at Kev, the frown returned. "Are you going to apologize, Merripen?"

Rohan twisted his arm a bit more tighdy. "Do it, damn you," Rohan muttered. "For the sake of the family."

Glaring at the doctor, Kev spoke in Romany. "Ka xlia ma pe tute." (I'm going to shit on you.)

"Which means," Rohan said hastily, " 'Please forgive the misunderstanding; let's part as friends.'"

"Te malavel les i menkiva," Kev added for good measure. (May you die of a malignant wasting disease.)

"Roughly translated," Rohan said, "that means, 'May your garden be filled with fine, fat hedgehogs.' Which, I may add, is considered quite a blessing among the Rom. "

Harrow looked skeptical. But he murmured, "I accept your apology. No harm done."

"Excuse us," Rohan said pleasantly, still twisting Kev's arm. "Go on with breakfast, please… We have some errands to accomplish. Please tell Amelia when she rises that I'll return at approximately midday." And he steered Kev from the room, with Leo at their heels.




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