Page 5 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
“What the hell are you doing up here?” he asked. His nose wrinkled further. “And why have you brought a stench with you?” His eyes flicked to the baby. “Oh. Hello, Daniel, you tiny skunk.” His dark-blue eyes were imperious. And annoyed. And a bit curious. And…
“Why are you scared?” she asked.
Those eyes widened, then a steel curtain slammed down over the emotions pooling in their depths. “Scared?”
“Oh, yes. I see it all the time.” Mostly in the wide eyes of her nine-year-old twin cousins. She waved her hand at his face. “The false bravado. Hiding fear of”—she tilted her head to one side—“being caught.”
He blushed. Then he straightened a cuff and arched a brow at her. “Areyouafraid of being caught, Miss Cavendish?”
“Me? I’m not doing anything wrong.” Except speaking with a strange man. Who knew her name. Alone. Yet it didn’t feel wrong. It felt thrilling, exactly the adventure she’d desired.
He took a step toward her. “And I am doing something wrong?” His voice balanced on a sword’s edge. If it fell one way—curiosity. If it fell the other way—indignation.
Ada would not be cowed. “I hardly know. You may be up to something nefarious. Or you may be entirely innocent. But youareskulking. You cannot deny that.”
“And skulking is wrong?” A half smile pulled at his lips.
She repressed the urge to return it. “Not in and of itself. But in my experience, it is certainly indicative of wrongdoing. It is a symptom, if you will.” She turned to Daniel and booped his nose. “Remember, little one, no skulking.”
“Your experience? Hm. Which is?”
She pulled herself up tall. “You are a stranger.”
That half smile again. “A skulking stranger.”
“I should not speak to you.” She could at least let him know she knew the way of the world and the good and scandalous behaviors therein. “And I certainly will not share intimate details of my life with you.” She did have her limits, it seemed. Good to know.
“Intimate?” The way he said the single word alarmed her, as if it were the most delectable cup of hot chocolate.
Her spine tingled. And it felt dangerous. It feltgood. If she stepped closer to him, would another tingle run up and down her back, shoot outward to other places? Perhaps…
Perhaps this had been a bad idea. She did know what society considered proper and what would end in social ruination, and those tingles… not proper at all. Sure indicators of an approaching ruination, they were. She turned to leave, to run. Adventures were well and good, but even better was knowing when to abandon them.
“Leaving so soon?” His lips hardened, his gaze swung back to the window. “For the best.”
“As you can smell, I must find the nursery.” But she hesitated. She recognized his grumbly tone—slightly sad, slightly recalcitrant. The twins used it often when apologizing to her for some misdemeanor or another. The man sounded like a little boy, sorry for his mistakes, but slightly put out at having to admit to it.
She faced him once more. “Who are you?”
The half smile that had played about his lips during their entire exchange died. “No one you should know or be conversing with.” He shooed her toward the door. “You were leaving, I believe. The sooner the better so I can breathe deeply again.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at Daniel.
She studied his face, intrigued. He was all elegant lines and unforgiving planes, cold eyes and hard angles. A marble statue but alive in a raw sort of a way. A marble statue with a scream trapped inside.
She stepped closer to him, gently rubbing circles into Daniel’s back. “You do not answer my question. Instead, you turn hard and distant. You do not wish me to know who you are.”
“But at least I know what I want, or rather don’t want. You can’t make up your mind if you’re leaving or not, marching back and forth, spinning about this way then that. Coming or going, love? Which is it?”
Ada bristled. She reared back from him a bit. “You should not use endearments to address women you do not know. Especially when you refuse to give your own name. Additionally, you should not speak unless you have kind things to say. Mocking a lady, or anyone for that matter, is simply not… it’s not nice!”
“I’m not nice.” The words dropped like playing cards onto a table, calculated and soft.
“I see.” She turned to leave.
“I’m a villain, Miss Cavendish.”
She stopped. These words were fevered, desperate. Intriguing, though he likely meant them to terrify her. Well, she did not terrify easily. She turned slowly, careful not to give any hint of emotion away.
His eyes glinted hard and cold. He pulled up to his full height and thrust his shoulders back, revealing a strong physique—big, powerful, dangerous. His full, sensuous lips quirked in a way that could speak of humor, haughtier, or malice, and his dark brows slashed like razors over his eyes, shadowing any insight into the intent of those lips.
