Cecilia gave him a wry, sad smile. “She’d eat you alive. Besides,any day nowthe Wisteria Society are going to make me a senior member. I’ll be presented with a black flag and given permission to fly my own house—”
“Given permission?” Ned repeated dryly. “Um, aren’t you a pirate? An unscrupulous lawbreaker?”
“Yes. And?”
He laughed. “You really don’t see the irony?”
“All I see is that I’ll at last be fully accepted by my family—er, my Society. But if I take up with a handsome and mysterious man, they will never trust me enough. It’s not you. It’s not even me. It’s my mother running away with my father and betraying the Society, and then him killing her, and no one ever quite recovering from that... It’s my inheritance.”
“I’m not planning to kill you, Cecilia.”
“I know. But I’m sorry, I can’t risk doing anything like her, not now, after waiting and working so long for this.” And yet, oh, she did secretly wish—
For tea. That is what she wished for. Tea. And a nice biscuit.
And maybe a cold bath.
She sighed. Ned sighed. He leaned back against the door. His breath was heavy and his eyes dark behind the fall of his hair. Glimmering dark. Hot dark.
Oh dear.
Cecilia swallowed dryly and smoothed her skirts. “The only conclusion one can make,” she said in a cool voice, “is that we must pretend none of this ever happened.”
“Falsify evidence?” he said, giving her a wry, half-wild smile. “Rewrite the story?”
Excellent, he understood both possible sides of her heritage. That was going to make this easier. “Yes.”
He laughed, and she realized he understood nothing at all.
Or perhaps just didn’t care. It was clear from his expression that the only reason he was not kissing her again was because he fearedwhat she might do to him if he tried. And yet—violence was not his worry, she realized with a strange clenching sensation. It seemed to her he feared rather how she would soften him, disarm him, hurt him in ways deeper than any knife might. She remembered how he’d looked only two hours before—the vulnerability in his eyes as he lay down with her. But now he grinned, a swaggering gesture, and he blithely brushed back his hair. She watched unbreathing as it fell strand by strand again.
“Cecilia, you’re a pirate,” he said. “Your entire job description involves naughty behavior.”
“For a man, maybe,” she replied. “But we ladies must adhere to social codes.”
“Even while robbing and cheating?”
“Especially while robbing and cheating.”
“I see.” He tipped his head, regarded her quietly. “You are a conundrum.”
“And you are endangering my reputation.”
“I suspect it’s already extinct, madam.”
“Well, I—”
“—never. Of course.”
They stared at each other. To continue the paleo-archeological simile, it was like the Yellowstone Caldera eruption, only with embroidered clothing. Eventually, Ned sighed. “I can’t just walk away from you, Cecilia.”
“And I can’t walk away with you. Besides, you are an agent of the Crown. I am a pirate. Sooner or later, you’d have to arrest me.”
“I’m not really an agent of the Crown, you know,” he confessed. “I merely stole Queen Victoria’s trust. (And certain other small items of value, not worth mentioning at this moment.) I’ve been a pirate since the day my mother died and yours rescued me.”
“A pirate without a premises,” she teased.
“A premises is easy to steal. Your heart, it seems, is harder.”
