Page 17 of By Any Other Name

He snorted. “As if you would pay attention.”

“Of course I would.” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “I’m not shatter-brained, Gregory, however low an opinion you have of me.”

“I do not have a low opinion of you,” he said through gritted teeth. “How many times must I tell you?”

“You asked if I was insane!”

“Given what you’ve been up to, it was a legitimate question.”

“That’s unfair. I couldn’t help being robbed. Besides, he didn’t see through my disguise. You did not realize I was a woman until you tried to take off my shirt.”

“I thought you were injured,” he said stiffly.

“Mm. The point is, you thought I was a man. I am tall, and my voice is low and—”

“I know what your voice is like.” He stopped pacing and faced her, his eyes glittering. “I hear it every night in my—”

“What does that mean?” She put her hands on her hips pugnaciously.

“Never mind. The point is, your voice does not sound like that of a man.”

“No? What does it sound like, then? Sandpaper?”

“No.” His eyes drifted down to her lips, and his own mouth softened. “It sounds like smoke.” He moved closer. “Brandy.” He raised his hand to her jaw, thumb catching beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his. His lips hovered above hers. “A warm bed on a long, cold night.”

Rylla found it suddenly hard to breathe. She should step back. If she did, Gregory would act like a gentleman. But that was the last thing she wanted.

Chapter Eight

Rylla stretched up to kiss him. A shudder went through Gregory. His mouth turned hot and avid. He kissed her again and again, his hands slipping beneath her jacket to explore her body. He fumbled to undo her waistcoat and shirt.

“You have entirely too many fastenings,” he murmured against her lips.

He kissed along the line of her jaw and down to her throat, stopping at the obstruction of the neckcloth. Letting out a low noise of frustration, he tugged at the cravat, pulling it free and dropping it at their feet. Rylla’s shirt hung open now, and Gregory’s gaze fastened on her exposed breasts. Like a man exploring a treasure, he curved his hands over her, hungrily watching as he stroked her flesh.

Embarrassed by her nakedness before him, yet even more aroused by it, she let her eyes flutter closed. Gregory bent to place his lips against the soft curve of her breast, and she shivered, heat flowering between her legs. He moved to the taut rosebud of her nipple, his tongue teasing. Rylla dug her fingers into his hair, the coil of sensation tightening deep within her.

His fingers slipped over her stomach and into the crevice between her legs. She jerked in surprise at the touch, but she could not keep from moving against his agile fingers, the ache inside her growing. His breath was hot against her skin, and he mumbled something unintelligible as his mouth came up to take hers again. A staccato rapping at the door broke through the haze of desire. Gregory’s head snapped up.

The door behind them opened and Andrew stepped into the room, saying, “Why the hell did you—” His jaw dropped, the words dying on his lips.

Gregory cursed, instinctively curling his hand up over Rylla’s head, pressing her face into his chest, and he wrapped his other arm around her. “Devil take it, Andy!”

In the next instant, Gregory remembered that the woman he cradled to him was dressed in men’s clothing. He froze, staring at his cousin, who gaped back at him.

Andrew’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I say . . . dreadfully sorry . . . um . . .”

“Stay here,” Gregory murmured to Rylla and stepped around her, blocking her from Andrew’s vision. He strode forward. “Out.”

“Wha— Oh . . . yes, of course.” Andrew backed out and moved down the hall. “Sorry. I didn’t realize . . . I, uh . . .”

Gregory swept his hands over his face, struggling to make his brain work. “I know this looks . . . odd.”

“No. No.” Andrew waved his hand. “Just gave me a bit of a start. I perfectly understand.”

“You do?” Gregory gaped at him.

“Yes, yes. Did it myself a few times at Oxford.”