“Why, how long have you been waylaid here already, my lady?” Mr. Cox inquired in surprise.

“A day,” Kitty said in the hazy grip of the effects of very little drink and a great deal of perplexing, enthralling man. “A single day.”

Leam smiled. Lady Katherine Savege was apparently unaccustomed to whiskey. So too her young friend. Yale was already disguised, although hiding it well as always. On the other side of the chamber, the inn’s proprietor whistled a jig, several fingers of the Welshman’s brew under his belt as well.

That left Cox, the man with gloves lined in brown cashmere who had shown up to join their little party in the midst of a snowstorm. Cox was drinking too; his eyes were bright. Far too often they rested on Kitty Savege.

He dressed like an agent in shipping insurance might, in a nattily tailored coat and waistcoat, expensive and flattering to his athletic build. He enjoyed the advantages of charming address and winning good looks, the sort of pleasing fellow an untried girl like Leam’s young sister Fiona would admire.

Cox turned to Lady Emily and offered her light flattery as though she gave a damn for that sort of thing, a smile of sheer earnestness on his face. Yale mumbled a comment and Cox chuckled, no doubt gratified to imagine himself privy to the joke. But every few moments he cast Lady Katherine another admiring glance. She returned his smiles, but her attention was scattered, occasionally on the others, occasionally on the glass in her hand, but most often on Leam.

He was having the devil of a time looking away.

Curse Yale. Drink had not been wise tonight, at least not for him.

He set his glass on a table.

“My lord, it is a great man who shares poetry with others,” Cox said with unexceptionable deference. “Tell me, who do you admire more greatly, Byron or Burns?”

And there it was again, the slightest hint of ey, the barely discernable ow. As a man who had struggled his entire youth to banish the rough borderlands from his speech, Leam could recognize a countryman within a phrase. Cox was a lowland Scot.

“Aeschylus.”

The fellow’s clear brow beetled. “That name is unknown to me. But I’ve been traveling in the Americas until quite recently. Those colonials never learn of the latest great writers until they are far out of date.” He chuckled.

Lady Emily blinked like a fish. “Aeschylus, the ancient Greek tragedian?”

Yale glanced up, a glimmer in his silver eyes.

Leam felt like a fool, showing off his erudition. A jealous fool who had absolutely no reason to feel jealous.

He didn’t like the fellow. And he didn’t like the way he was casting calf’s eyes at a lady far above his station. But now Leam was both feeling like a fool and thinking like a jackass. If he did not take care, the evening would proceed apace.

Dinner was served and enjoyed in good cheer and a measure of general hilarity. Leam participated when required. He took a glass of wine, leaving the whiskey untouched, and watched the tradesman.

Cox made himself agreeable to all, showing no sign of discomfort among his new acquaintances yet a suitable modesty. When Yale searched for a taper to light a cheroot, Cox produced a flame. When Lady Emily begged to be excused on account of the tobacco smoke making her ill, Cox opened a window and held a steady arm beneath hers while she inhaled fresh air and Yale doused his cigar.

When Lady Katherine applauded young Ned for his fine fiddling, Cox requested an encore.

After some time, Leam had seen enough. No man was that pleasing to everyone and all without good reason. He knew this from personal experience.

Throwing on his greatcoat, he announced that he would go outside for a smoke. Yale followed, leaving the ladies to Ned, Mr. Milch, and the coxcomb.

“Had enough of Tommy Tradesman, have you?” Yale brandished his cheroot and cupped his hand to encourage the spark. He took a long pull and puffed contentedly, staring out at the snow and the narrow river lit with indigo moonlight. The street was empty, a murmur of voices emanating from within the pub several doors away, echoing between the double row of modest buildings as sound always did upon snow.

As so often after such a storm, the sky had finally cleared. Ten thousand diamonds sparkled in the midnight canopy, an eternity of unfulfilled wishes. At one time, an infinitely foolish university student reading poetry had wished upon them all.

Leam moved along the path flanking the inn that he had shoveled earlier that afternoon while endeavoring to avoid the company of a female with wide, storm-tossed eyes.

“To where dost thou hasten, oh noble lord?” Yale called after him. “To thine balcony from which thou might cast forth petals of rose and lily for thy elusive lady’s dainty toes to tread upon?” Yale was fully in his cups now. Only then did he ever make such foolish mistakes.

Leam retraced his steps, pulled his arm back, and planted his fist on his friend’s jaw.

The lad hit the packed snow with a thud.

“Damn it, Blackwood, you villain,” he snuffled, cupping his cheek with one hand and casting about with the other in the snow. “You’ve made me lose my cigar.”

“I have discovered a stair at the rear of the house.” Leam glowered down at him. “If you weren’t so soaked in drink I would tell you to go up and investigate his belongings. As is, I suggest you step back inside and do your best to keep him entertained for as long as you are able.” He pivoted about and nearly lost his footing on the ice. “By God, would that I were in Scotland already.”

“Ah, but then you would not have made the acquaintance of the lovely Lady Katherine.” Yale had found his cigar and was wiping it free of snow on the lapel of his coat.

But Leam hadn’t made her acquaintance here. Three years ago he’d met her in a ballroom, and even then he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. But she had been with another man. A man who did not deserve her.

“I would hit you again, Wyn, but you’re still on the ground.”

“More than welcome to come down here and further impress me with your pugilistic talents, old man.” He smirked and bit the cheroot, his jaw red with the pattern of Leam’s knuckles. Yale wanted the beating, and much more. He wanted oblivion, and Leam didn’t blame him.

He turned on his heel and stormed away.

From within the kitchen door that let onto the alley not far from the rear foyer entrance, another staircase ascended. The inn’s proprietress had long since gone to bed; the kitchen was piled with clean dishes, occupied only by a pair of mice content with a minuscule floor scrap.

Leam passed through a remarkably well-stocked pantry to the narrow staircase behind. He was halfway to the first landing when a door creaked above. He halted, making himself invisible in the dark. The small panel to the floor above opened, and into the stairwell, candle in hand, came Kitty Savege.

Leam held his breath, a metallic taste filling his mouth. He stood in shadow. She might not see him if she were climbing up to the coxcomb’s attic chamber. Foolishly, Leam had imagined her above this. But he knew better of beautiful women. He had known better of this particular beautiful woman for three years.

She turned down the stair.

Air once more filled his lungs. There was nothing for it but to announce his presence; within a few steps she would collide with him. He ascended, making his boots heard.

With a soft yelp of surprise she halted and peered into the darkness beyond her candle. In the gold light of the flame her fine wide eyes glowed, her cheeks cast in a rosy hue, lashes like fans.

Leam moved two steps beneath her.

“My lord?”

“Maleddy.”

“I thought you out in the yard smoking with Mr. Yale.” Alcohol had rounded the edges of her voice, softening the hauteur. “What are you doing here?”

“A coud ask ye the same, lass.”

“I am going to the kitchen to find a basin of water. I have not bathed in—” She swayed toward him slightly. “Good heavens, here we are in a remarkably dark stairwell, and I upon the verge of informing you all about my bath. Whiskey is most remarkable at loosening one’s tongue.”

“Aye, ’tis.” That loose tongue was delectably pink, her lips dusky in the dim light. He should now turn and go back to the yard and pummel Yale. Any moment Cox would enter and see him here, on his way up in secret.

The image of Kitty Savege at her bath rooted him to the step.

“And now you must return the favor,” she said. “I have informed you of my program, so you must tell me where you are going. This sneaking up the back stairs makes you look like a spy.” Her generous lips curved into an impish grin, sparkling like her eyes and so entirely at odds with the crystalline town lady, Leam stared. “Are you a spy, Lord Blackwood?” Her smooth cheek dimpled like a girl’s.

“Nae ony mair.” His voice came forth hoarse. He stared at her mouth as her smile faded, as his groin pulsed with heat, as the candlelight wavered and she fumbled for the nonexistent rail, and as he began to wish that he had drunk more whiskey after all. Then at least in the morning he, like his friend, would have an excuse for the unwise behavior in which he was now about to engage.

Chapter 6

The earl reached to Kitty’s hand and drew from it her teetering candle.

“Hae a care, lass. Ye’ll drop it.”

Excellent. She hadn’t really needed it anyway. She hadn’t really needed a bath either; that could wait until morning. She probably most needed sleep, but her blood seemed to whoosh through her veins. No doubt this had something to do with the whiskey, and the fantasy replaying itself in her mind of the Earl of Blackwood kissing her. A fantasy she had been nursing for hours, just like the glass Mr. Yale continually refilled.