Did he agree? He would have once, when he’d still believed risk led to reward. Now, he wasn’t so certain. So, he said nothing and stared at her instead, trying to make her out.
She was an odd lass, to be sure.
She was younger than he’d first thought, with a dainty jaw, creamy skin, and coppery red hair drifting around her temples. He might have called her delicate, but that kick she’d dealt him earlier said otherwise. She couldn’t be any older than nineteen or so, yet here she was, this tiny little lass, seizing her chances as they came, despite what anyone might think of it.
She made him ashamed of himself.
He should be grateful to her for it—for forcing him to see himself so clearly, but he wasn’t. Instead he felt exposed, and all at once he wanted to escape her. How had he come to be standing about on the beach in wet breeches, arguing with some troublesome chit who was chasing scandal, anyway? His nose ached like the devil, and icy water was dripping down the back of his neck.
He wanted a bath, and his bed. “Come, I’ll escort you home.”
She didn’t move, but gazed up at him, her expression thoughtful. “Do you come to the beach every morning?”
“Why do you ask?” She wasn’t the only one who knew how to dodge a question.
“Well, since we’re friends now—”
“Friends! Beg your pardon, lass, but I hardly know you.”
She gave him an impatient look. “Notyet, no, but that’s easily remedied. You could come down here to the beach in the mornings, if you liked. It’s one way to reassure yourself I won’t drown.”
Ciaran gazed down into her dark, hopeful eyes, and some long-forgotten part of him struggled to the surface. What was the harm in accepting her invitation? It would give him something to do, anyway. But he smothered the impulse before he did something foolish, like agree to meet her here tomorrow. It wasn’t a good idea. It would be bad enough if she were caught out here alone, but far worse if she had a gentleman with her.
Especially one of his reputation.
He shook his head. “There’s only one way to make your morning swim even more scandalous, lass, and that’s by inviting me to join you.”
She shrugged, not in the least perturbed. “I already told you. Some things are worth the risk.”
Ciaran laughed, but there was a hard edge to it. “Maybe, but I’m not one of them.”
She stared at him for a long, quiet moment, but then she turned away to pluck up the cloak spread neatly across the rock. She laid it across her knees as she perched on the edge and took up the pair of shoes beside it. “I suppose we won’t be friends after all, then. It’s a pity. You would have been my only friend in Brighton.”
She didn’t speak again, but finished with her shoes and rose from the rock. Without asking, he took the cloak from her and brushed the sand off it. When she held out her arms, he helped her into it. It was a fine gray wool one, with a bright green satin lining.
“Thank you.” Her hair had dried a bit in the breeze, and she pulled the bright mass of curls into a haphazard knot at the back of her head. He’d never seen hair that color before, so bright even the weak morning sunlight was drawn to it, toying with the loose strands around her face and turning them one by one toward the light to study each color.
She drew up her hood to hide its dampness, and tugged the neck of the cloak tighter about her chin. Ciaran caught himself admiring the way it framed her features. She was a pretty thing, with those deep, velvety brown eyes.
He cupped her elbow and began to guide her across the sand. “Where are your lodgings?”
She pulled her arm gently from his grasp. “I don’t need an escort, sir. You’re very kind, and I’m, ah…grateful for your heroic efforts on my behalf, but I’d just as soon make my own way home.”
Ciaran drew back, strangely stung by this rejection, though he hadn’t any right to be. If he had any sense at all he’d be relieved to be rid of her, but instead uneasiness rolled over him, as if he’d never see her again if he let her walk away now.
“Wait!” He took a few halting steps after her. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“No, I didn’t.” She didn’t offer it now, but only lifted her hand in a wave. “I’m sorry I nearly broke your nose. Goodbye.”
She turned without another word and began to pick her way daintily across the beach, leaving Ciaran standing there alone. The cool breeze blowing off the water sliced through his damp shirt, chilling his skin. His nose was still burning, and he could taste blood on the back of his tongue.
None of these things were at all pleasant, but as he turned to walk back to his lodgings, he wondered—for the first time in a long time—if it wasn’t better than feeling nothing at all.
Chapter Three
Brighton Racetrack
Two days later
