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 themomentum 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 hereven 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.
