hat and something brown and grotesque—resembling a flattened dead squirrel—fell off his head and onto the floor, revealing a crown of tightly pinned Titian-colored curls.
Chapter Four
Dear God, it was Pippa! Pippa in man’s clothes! A surge of shock traveled the length of Gregory’s body, and he cursed like the veriest sailor. What was she doing dressed as a man and walking through a rainstorm so far away from home? How had she gotten this far? What in the world had happened to her?
Her slender legs, encased in buff breeches and Hessian boots, and slanted across the edge of the seat, were completely immobile, but she was breathing evenly, thank God.
He tried not to notice whether her breasts were evident, but he couldn’t help seeing that she’d managed to disguise her feminine figure completely.
The flask. He needed it now . For both of them.
With a sweep of his hand, he located it in the folds of a lap blanket and pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a quick swig.
Soaked as her clothes were, they gave the impression she was a successful secretary or accountant—or even an upper servant with the day off. Her brown-and-tan-striped cravat was a bit uncommon, but Gregory wasn’t surprised she’d gone that route. She always wore at least one thing on her person that was eye-catching. The brown tailcoat and tan waistcoat, on the other hand, were perfectly unexceptional.
Gently, he touched her temple and brushed a tendril of hair back. “Pippa, wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered and opened. “Gregory,” she said softly.
His name had never sounded so sweet. But a black fury rose in him, choking out the gratitude he felt that she was safe. “What kind of foolish game are you playing?”
She merely stared at him, water pooling under her cheek.
“Answer me, Pippa.” Threat laced his words, but inside, his heart knocked against his ribs. She looked so forlorn. A waif of a girl. And there she’d been, battling the elements on her own. Who knew what kind of stranger would have stopped to pick her up if he hadn’t?
“Don’t make me go back.” Her voice cracked. “I beg of you.”
Any man with three sisters and a loving mother knew the power of soothing words to a woman in distress. But he’d not reward her folly. He’d keep her alive—that was enough.
“How the hell did you get this far from home?”
“A farmer’s wagon. But he dropped me off when he got where he needed to go.”
“Here.” Gregory’s voice was gruff. “Let me help you sit up.”
She made a move herself, but he took the burden off her by lifting her under her arms. She was like a rag doll, and his wrath increased.
“I suppose you’re angry—” Her voice was thin.
“You guessed right.”
They were close. And private. Like two lovers running away. But they weren’t. Not by a long shot.
“Here.” He handed her the flask. “Drink this. It will prevent another faint, and it will warm your bones.”
Without hesitation, she took the vessel from him, lifted it high, and poured some in her mouth. Instantly, her cheeks grew round and she waved a hand in front of her face.
“Swallow it,” he urged her.
Her eyes, already made large by the elfin hairstyle, widened further.
“Pippa.”
She stared at him as if she were ingesting poison, swallowed loudly, and sputtered, her fingers clenching her throat.
Ah, she was such a girl! But he’d not pity her. No, indeed. “Dress like a man—expect to act like one.” His brogue came out along with his temper.
“Good heavens.” She inhaled a great breath through her nose and wiped her hand across her mouth. “I pity the brute creatures who enjoy such vile stuff.”
She reached for the door, and he caught her by the wrist.
“Oh, no you won’t.” He pivoted her unyielding arm onto her lap. The straight line of her back and her narrowed eyes spoke volumes, but that was her problem, not his. “You’ll have more.” His tone brooked no argument. “You’re
Chapter Four
Dear God, it was Pippa! Pippa in man’s clothes! A surge of shock traveled the length of Gregory’s body, and he cursed like the veriest sailor. What was she doing dressed as a man and walking through a rainstorm so far away from home? How had she gotten this far? What in the world had happened to her?
Her slender legs, encased in buff breeches and Hessian boots, and slanted across the edge of the seat, were completely immobile, but she was breathing evenly, thank God.
He tried not to notice whether her breasts were evident, but he couldn’t help seeing that she’d managed to disguise her feminine figure completely.
The flask. He needed it now . For both of them.
With a sweep of his hand, he located it in the folds of a lap blanket and pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a quick swig.
Soaked as her clothes were, they gave the impression she was a successful secretary or accountant—or even an upper servant with the day off. Her brown-and-tan-striped cravat was a bit uncommon, but Gregory wasn’t surprised she’d gone that route. She always wore at least one thing on her person that was eye-catching. The brown tailcoat and tan waistcoat, on the other hand, were perfectly unexceptional.
Gently, he touched her temple and brushed a tendril of hair back. “Pippa, wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered and opened. “Gregory,” she said softly.
His name had never sounded so sweet. But a black fury rose in him, choking out the gratitude he felt that she was safe. “What kind of foolish game are you playing?”
She merely stared at him, water pooling under her cheek.
“Answer me, Pippa.” Threat laced his words, but inside, his heart knocked against his ribs. She looked so forlorn. A waif of a girl. And there she’d been, battling the elements on her own. Who knew what kind of stranger would have stopped to pick her up if he hadn’t?
“Don’t make me go back.” Her voice cracked. “I beg of you.”
Any man with three sisters and a loving mother knew the power of soothing words to a woman in distress. But he’d not reward her folly. He’d keep her alive—that was enough.
“How the hell did you get this far from home?”
“A farmer’s wagon. But he dropped me off when he got where he needed to go.”
“Here.” Gregory’s voice was gruff. “Let me help you sit up.”
She made a move herself, but he took the burden off her by lifting her under her arms. She was like a rag doll, and his wrath increased.
“I suppose you’re angry—” Her voice was thin.
“You guessed right.”
They were close. And private. Like two lovers running away. But they weren’t. Not by a long shot.
“Here.” He handed her the flask. “Drink this. It will prevent another faint, and it will warm your bones.”
Without hesitation, she took the vessel from him, lifted it high, and poured some in her mouth. Instantly, her cheeks grew round and she waved a hand in front of her face.
“Swallow it,” he urged her.
Her eyes, already made large by the elfin hairstyle, widened further.
“Pippa.”
She stared at him as if she were ingesting poison, swallowed loudly, and sputtered, her fingers clenching her throat.
Ah, she was such a girl! But he’d not pity her. No, indeed. “Dress like a man—expect to act like one.” His brogue came out along with his temper.
“Good heavens.” She inhaled a great breath through her nose and wiped her hand across her mouth. “I pity the brute creatures who enjoy such vile stuff.”
She reached for the door, and he caught her by the wrist.
“Oh, no you won’t.” He pivoted her unyielding arm onto her lap. The straight line of her back and her narrowed eyes spoke volumes, but that was her problem, not his. “You’ll have more.” His tone brooked no argument. “You’re
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