Break some rules

ball. "I must do no such thing," the older woman scoffed. "You do realize that, if it were discovered, I could lose my position!" "You know that I would never allow that t

I might be the one to patronize the Dog and Dove." Anne snorted in disbelief. "The man must be something of a dunderhead then, Callie, because anyone with a brain can see through your fibs." Callie resolutely ignored her. "Either way, I'm in for an adventure, don't you think? Do you imagine there will be a ruddy-cheeked barkeep with a missing tooth or two? Or a tired, winsome barmaid, working to keep her children fed and clothed? Or a group of young workmen eager for a pint of ale to chase away their tiring day?" Anne spoke dryly. "The only thing I imagine there will be in that tavern is an overly romantic lady doomed to be disappointed by reality." "Oh, Anne. Where is your sense of adventure?" "I think you have more than enough of that for both of us." When Callie ignored her, she pressed on. "Promise me one thing?" "Yes?" "If you become uncomfortable in any way, you will leave immediately. Perhaps I should send Michael with you," she said, referring to her son, one of the Allendale coachmen. "He would make certain that you were safe." The idea set Callie on edge. She whirled around to face the maid, clutching the loosened gown to her breast, urgency on her face. "Anne, no one aside from you must ever know that I've done this. Not even Michael. I cannot risk discovery. Surely, you understand that." Anne paused, considering her next move. With a firm nod, the maid spoke matter-of-factly, "A plain brown wool should do. And you'll need acloak to hide your face." Callie smiled broadly. "I defer to your superior understanding of disguise." "Well, I don't know about disguise, but I should think I'd be rather an expert on dressing you as a commoner." Anne pointed to the dressing screen nearby before continuing. "I shall go to fetch you a frock and cloak. You remove that gown while I am gone." "And I'll need a cap." Anne sighed. "I thought

back. Callie sighed, the exhaled breath clouding the window, turning the light beyond into a hazy yellow fog. She could just go home and drink scotch in Benedick's study. With Benedick. After all, he'd offered before. At Allendale House, where she would not risk her reputation. At Allendale House, there would be no adventure. Callie winced at the thought, clutching the square sheet in her gloved hand, feeling the rich, thick paper crinkle in her palm as doubt assailed her. She should have let Anne come with her. Solitary adventure was fast becoming overrated. She couldn't go home now, however. Not after she'd gone through the trouble of asking Ralston for the name of a tavern and securing anappropriate disguise. She fidgeted under the rough wool of the gown, which irritated her skin despite the linen chemise she wore. With the hood of her cloak up, no one would even look twice at the plain young woman who entered, ordered a tumbler of whiskey and sat quietly at a table at the back of the taproom. She'd begged Anne for information about the inside of taverns as well. She was fully prepared. All she had to do was exit the hack. Unfortunately, her legs did not seem to be willing to cooperate. To list? Or not to list? The door opened. And she no longer had a choice. The driver spoke, exasperation filling his tone. "Miss? Ye did say The Dog and Dove, did ye not?" Callie crushe

ty that stood between her and the sanctuary of the empty table within her sights. She seated herself withoutlooking at the people nearby, in an obviously desperate attempt to regain some semblance of calm. She sat with her back to him, but the hood of her plain woolen cloak had fallen back, and he watched as she collected herself and waited for a barmaid to approach. Her hair was up, tucked into a horrid lace cap, but a few auburn curls had escaped and were brushing against the nape of her neck, drawing his attention to the lovely, straight column, flushed with excitement. For a fleeting moment, he considered what it would be like to kiss the skin there. The scene at the Allendale ball earlier in the evening had confirmed his suspicions that Lady Calpurnia Hartwell was an eager and passionate woman. Her responses were irresistibly uninhibited-so different from those of the women he usually partnered-he couldn't help but wonder how she would react to his touch in other, more scandalous places. What was she doing here? She could be discovered at any moment, by any number of people with connections to London society-she was in St. James, for God's sake! If that weren't enough, she had also entered the tavern alone, without protection; were she discovered by the wrong sort of man, she could find herself in a very serious and unpleasant situation. He noticed she held a square of paper firmly in both hands, as if it were a talisman. Could it be a love letter? Was it possible she was meeting a man here? Of all the irresponsible things she could have done, this might well be the most rash. She tucked the parchment into the pocket of her cloak as a barmaid approached. "I shall have a whiskey please. A scotch whiskey." Had he heard her correctly? Had she just calmly, from her position alone at a darkened table in a London tavern at an ungodly hour, ordered a scotch as though it were the most normal thing in the world? Had the woman taken leave of her senses? One thing was certain. He had entirely misjudged little Callie Hartwell. She was most definitely not the appropriate sponsor for Juliana. He'd been looking for a woman of impeccable character and, instead, he had found Callie, who calmly ordered whiskey in London taverns. Except- Except there was nothing calm about her. His eyes narrowed as he watched her carefully. She was as stiff as a board. Her breathing, which hemeasured by the rise and f

see that you are not a scotch drinker, Lady Calpurnia." "It's true," she repeated. He gave an irritated sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Really," he said, as though it was nothing of the sort. "Yes!" She grew indignant. "Why is that so difficult to believe?" "Well, first, I can assure you that the scotch at Allendale House is likely legions better than whatever swill they've given you here. So why not simply have a drink there?" "I want to drink here. I find the atmosphere...engaging." "You didn't even know here existed until two hours ago," he pointed out. She was silent. Realizing she was not going to respond, he continued. "Secondly, you seem to b

hand to her lace cap, nervously. "No one recognized me." "I recognized you." "You're different." He paused, watching her. "You are right. I am different. Unlike most of the men an unchaperoned female would meet in an establishment such as this, I have a marked interest in preserving your honor." "Thank you, Lord Ralston," she scoffed, "but I do not need your protection." "It appears that you need precisely that. Or, shall I remind you that you and your family are about to be linked to my sister? She has enough against her. She doesn't need you ruining your reputation and her chances at success in one

down, watchinga droplet of whiskey make its slow, meandering way down the inside of the glass to settle at the bottom. She traced its path on the outside of the glass and waited for him to speak. When he didn't, she was flooded with a desire to escape the now-toosmall space. "I am sorry to have spoiled your evening, my lord. As I have completed the task for which I came, I believe I shall leave you in peace." She stood, replacing her hood and pulling her cloak around her. He stood with her, immediately swinging his cloak around his shoulders and taking his hat and walking stick in hand. She offered him a direct look, and said, "I do not need a chaperone." "I would not be much of a gentleman if I did not escort you home, my lady." She noted a slight emphasis on the last two words, as if he was reminding her of her position. She refused to argue with him, refused to let him further ruin an evening that should have been bright with possibility-after all, she had succeeded in crossing yet another item off her list. Instead, she turned and began the long journey through the crowded taproom to the door, eager to exit the tavern ahead of him, certain that, if she could only reach the street first, she could hail a hackney and leave him-and this horrid interlude-behind. This time, however, she seemed less able to avoid being jostled by the crowd; her balance seemed somehow off, her thoughts slightly fuzzy. Was it possible that that small amount of scotch had gone to her head? She exited the room into the cool spring evening beyond and marched to the street, head high, to search for a cab. Behind her, she was aware of Ralston calling up to the driver of his coach, who was waiting for him. Excellent, she thought to herself, perhaps he has decided to leave me alone after all. Ignoring the pang of disappointment that came with the thought, Callie stepped off the edge of the sidewalk to peer around another parked carriage. At the last minute, she recalled the puddle that she had met with earlier in the evening, and she increased the length of her stride, avoiding the muck. She landed off-balance and felt herself pitching forward onto the cobblestones. Flinging her hands out to catch herself, she prepared for impact. An impact that never

ward to Juliana's coming out, my lord. I have every hope that she will find a love match." "I hope she finds no such thing." Her eyes flew to him in surprise. "I beg your pardon?" "Love does not bode well for the Ralston family. I do not wish it upon any of us." "Surely you cannot believe that." He responded matter-of-factly, "Why would I not? My mother left a trail of broken hearts through Europe, cuckolding two husbands and deserting three children-all of whom she claimed to love-along the way. And you suggest that a love match should be the standard by which I measure my sister's success in society? No. I shall measure Juliana's success by her marriage to a man of character and kindness-two qualities with far higher value th

s simple attraction." The words faded into silence, and he watched her intently for a long moment before leaning in, stopping mere inches from her. "There is nothing simple about attraction." "Nevertheless-" She stopped, unable to remember what it was she was trying to say. He was so close. "Shall I show you how complicated attraction can be?" The words were deep and velvety, the sound of temptation. His lips were nearly on hers, she could feel their movement as he spoke, barely brushing against her. He waited, hovering just above her, for her to respond. She was consumed with an unbearable need to touch him. She tried to speak, but no words came. She couldn't form thoughts. He had invaded her senses, leaving her with no other choice but to close th

gainst her shoulder, just as the taut wool of her bodice came loose, and her breasts spilled into his hands. She opened her eyes at the sudden freedom, at the cool air rushing across her chafed skin, and she met his searing gaze for an instant before he pulled back to look at her bare breasts. Her skin shimmered in the flickering light from the streets beyond, and when he set one hand to her, she found herself unable to tear her gaze from the image of his fingers, stark against her paleness. The picture was more erotic than she could have imagined. She watched as he soothed the abraded skin and rubbed a thumb across her bare nipple, circling it gently, causing it to harden. She shifted in his lap at the sensation, and he let out a low hiss as her hip pressed against the firm length of him. She was consumed by a feeling of

f Allendale. She was half-undressed, and they were mere minutes from her home. How had he so lost control? He began to set Callie to rights, straightening the bodice of her dress as she sat, confused, on his lap, watching him with wide, searching eyes. "We are almost at Allendale House," he said. The words spurred Callie into motion. She leapt from his lap onto the seat across from him, yanking at her bodice. Her gloves made dexterity impossible and she clawed at them, freeing her hands to tighten her laces. She scrambled to collect her hairpins, which were scattered across the coach, to restore her hair to its former state. He watched as she did it, trying not to notice the swell of her breasts straining against the rough wool of her dress. He resisted the urge to stop her from taming her mane of hair, instead reaching down to collect several more pins from the floor and offer them to her. She took them, brushing her fingers across his, releasing more of the searing heat that had built between them. "Thank you," she said quietly, flustered. She secured the last of he