Page 14 of By Any Other Name

Eleanor McIntyre clearly did not want him to find her. A gentleman would not continue to pursue her against her wishes. But Gregory had no intention of stopping. He could not.

“I’m fine,” he told Sir Andrew. “Just regretting that I was not here to meet the lady.”

“You really are taken with Miss McIntyre, aren’t you?” Andrew stared at him in some astonishment.

“Yes, I am.”

His cousin let out a martyred sigh. “She told me she was going to some lecture tomorrow evening. About the culture and customs of the Highlands. She said she thought I might want to attend. I ask you. As if I hadn’t spent my life trying to get away from the dashed culture and customs of the Highlands!”

“Now, Andrew, laddie, dinna say you dinna want some Lowlander telling you all about yourself.” Gregory grinned. “I think this lecture would be the perfect place to introduce me to Miss McIntyre.”

“Perfect place to nap, you mean. Very well. I will take you to the bloody thing and introduce you. But I’m warning you: you better not take to your heels again.”

Gregory had another restless night, followed by a seemingly unending day, but his spirits were high the next evening when he set forth with Andrew for the lecture. Sir Andrew sent a frown in his direction as they strolled along. Gregory realized he had been whistling under his breath. He swallowed a smile and discontinued his whistling, contenting himself with imagining the look on Eleanor’s face when he walked in with Andrew.

Only a few people had gathered for the lecture, and Gregory could see instantly that none of them was the woman he sought. Andrew started purposefully toward a small blond woman who stood near the front. Gregory trailed after him, glancing around in the hopes Eleanor would appear.

The blond woman turned, and her eyes widened. “Sir Andrew. I am surprised to see you.”

“Always a student of history,” Andrew replied airily. “Pray allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Gregory Rose. He has been most anxious to meet you. Gregory . . . Miss Eleanor McIntyre.”

For a long moment, Gregory simply stood, staring at the woman. Color flared along his cheekbones and his eyes flashed in a way that made Miss McIntyre’s brows rise. She had done it to him again!

“Miss McIntyre. Pleasure to meet you,” he said tightly. “Pardon me.” He swung on his heel and stalked off, leaving Eleanor and Andrew goggling after him.

♦ ♦ ♦

Gregory strode blindly down the street. He knew he had been abrupt and rude, not normal behavior for him. No doubt his cousin, as well as the perfectly blameless Miss McIntyre, would never forgive him. But he could not bring himself to care. All he could think about was that she—whoever she was, blast it—had once more slipped out of his grasp.

She had deceived him. Lied to him. Well, to be fair about it, she had not actually told him she was Eleanor McIntyre. Indeed, she had said she was not Eleanor McIntyre. But still, his belief that she was Miss McIntyre was based upon the tissue of lies she had told him. The daughter of a clergyman—hah! He should have known that was a falsehood. A woman who visited gambling clubs dressed up as a male, who looked as she did, acted as she did, who, dammit all, kissed as she did, was no minister’s daughter.

It was frustrating. Infuriating. Unbearable.

Why had she lied to him? Why did she want so much for him not to know who she was? He had helped her. He had not scolded or been censorious. He had not told anyone what had gone on between them. Yet she refused to give him even so much as her name.

The answer, of course, was obvious, and it was enough to drop him right where he stood. She simply did not want to see him again. She had no feelings for him.

It began to snow, but Gregory was oblivious to it. He continued to tramp along, mired in his thoughts. His best course of action would be to forget her. He should find some party or other to attend this evening—one where he did not spend his time searching for her. The idea had little appeal. But the thought of going back to his rooms and sitting in front of the fire drinking brandy was even grimmer.

Eventually his aimless wandering brought him to Faraday’s. Irritated, he swung around to leave, but he reconsidered. Perhaps a convivial night at a club was the best way to get one’s mind off a woman. Unlike at a party, there would be little chance of running into her at Faraday’s. She would not visit a club in disguise now that she knew the risks involved. Cardsharps, footpads, drunken youths looking for a fight. What might have happened if anyone discovered she was actually a woman was enough to chill his blood.

A quick look around Faraday’s told him “Rolly” was not there. Just what he wanted. But the place seemed flat, and before long he moved on. Despite the falling snow, he tromped from one gambling den to another. The woman he had known as first Rolly, then Eleanor, was in none of them. Perversely, instead of bringing him relief, that fact only put him more on edge. He should, he thought, go home. At that moment, he glanced up and saw a young man walk into the club. The collar of his greatcoat was turned up, his hat pulled low on his forehead, so that only a narrow slice of his face showed.

Gregory shot forward and clamped his hand around the young man’s narrow wrist. “You are coming with me.”

Not waiting for an answer, he strode out the door, pulling the youngster after him.

Chapter Seven

“Let go of me!” Rylla tugged uselessly against the manacle hold of Gregory’s hand. “Stop! You have no right.”

He paid no attention. She tried to plant her feet, but they skidded along on the cobblestones, made slick by snow. Realizing that her efforts were useless, Rylla finally went along with him, keeping what she hoped was a disdainful silence. By the time he had hauled her up the hill at his rapid pace, she didn’t have enough air to rail at him, anyway.

Gregory clearly didn’t have that problem, for as soon as he whisked her into his parlor, he rounded on her, thundering, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Have you gone mad?”

Rylla lifted her chin, too out of breath to speak.

“Do you not remember you were attacked the last time you went masquerading? Robbed? Knocked down? Are you trying to get injured?”