Page 5 of Some Like It Wild
She frowned. How did he know she wasn’t in the habit of kissing? Was it because she was a dreadful kisser? Was he secretly horrified by her lack of restraint? Was she supposed to keep her lips pressed tightly together when he sought to part them with the silky heat of his tongue?
Determined to seize the remaining shreds of her dignity before they could completely unravel, she said, “I suppose it’s a bit late for formal introductions, sir, but my name is Pamela Darby and this is my sister, Sophie.”
Well-schooled by years of helping their mother practice stage cues, Sophie stepped forward and executed a flawless curtsy. As she straightened, she tossed back her buttery curls and gave her silky golden lashes an extra flutter. Sophie was just like their mother in that respect. She couldn’t help preening in the presence of any male—even a villainous cutthroat. As anenfant terrible, she’d kept every man in the theater—from the loftiest actor to the lowliest stagehand—wrapped around her pudgy little pinkie.
Pamela sighed, waiting for the highwayman to succumb to her sister’s spell. It had felled far mightier men than he. Pamela knew all of the signs—the leaden clumsiness of the limbs, the dazed look in the eye, the awkward stammering of the tongue. Once a man was blinded by the glamour of Sophie’s beauty, Pamela knew that she would fade into the backdrop, no more substantial or interesting than a potted palm painted on a stretch of canvas.
To her surprise, the highwayman barely flicked a gaze in her sister’s direction. His glittering eyes remained locked on her as he sketched them a bow that was surprisingly graceful given his imposing size. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you and your bonny sister, Miss Darby. I’m the man who’s goin’ to relieve you of your valuables and be on my way.”
As if to remind them all of the highwayman’s nefarious goal, the coachman groaned and struggled to a sitting position on the edge of the road, blood trickling from a shallow cut above his eyebrow. Without batting an eyelash, the highwayman tugged the pistol from the waist of his breeches and swung the muzzle toward him. The grizzled old man’s hands shot into the air.
“And that’s where I’ll thank you to keep them until I’ve finished my business with the ladies,” the highwayman said smoothly.
Keenly aware that they now had an audience for their little drama—Or was it a farce?—Pamela relaxed her arm so that the reticule still dangling from her wrist would sink into the folds of her skirt.
As she watched the highwayman cow the coachman with little more than a look, her thoughts veered into oddly philosophical territory.
Who really determined a man’s destiny? Must it always be an accident of birth? A spin on the fickle wheel of fate? Was it not possible for chance and opportunity to collide and forever alter a man’s course in this life?
Pamela didn’t even realize her lips had curved in a thoughtful smile until she caught Sophie’s bewildered glance. She clapped a hand over her mouth, struggling to look suitably terrorized as the highwayman tugged a burlap bag from his belt and marched back over to her, tucking the pistol in its place.
“Why don’t we start with that ermine tippet, lass?” he suggested, holding out his hand.
Pamela reluctantly unwound the fur scarf from her throat, shivering at the sharp bite of the night wind, and laid it across his palm. He ran his hand over it, an avaricious glint in his eye. But when he reached the end, a fat clump of fur clung to his fingers.
“What in the devil is this?” he demanded, glowering down at the offending stuff with palpable revulsion. “Rat?”
Pamela sniffed. “Of course not. I’ll have you know it’s prime Hertfordshire squirrel.”
Still scowling, he gave the garment an experimental shake. Fur flew everywhere, including up Pamela’s nose. She made no attempt to stifle her sneeze.
Tossing the rapidly balding stole over a nearby bush, he growled, “Let’s have a look at those ruby earbobs, shall we?”
“If you insist,” she replied, tugging the earbobs from her delicate lobes and surrendering them to his hand. The gemstones glowed like drops of fresh blood against his broad palm.
As he studied them, the appreciative gleam in his eyes slowly faded. He lifted his gaze to hers. “These are paste, aren’t they? Nothin’ but worthless paste.”
She shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. Unscrupulous jewelers have been known to take advantage of their more naïve customers.”
He did not wait for her to hand over the diamond brooch adorning the lapel of her pelisse. Closing the distance between them with one step, he tucked his hand beneath her collar to hold the fabric steady while he deftly unfastened the brooch’s pin with his nimble fingers. She shivered as his warm knuckles lingered against the vulnerable skin of her throat. Their gazes met and held for the space of a ragged heartbeat before he secured his prize and stepped away.
He didn’t waste a precious second ogling the brooch. He simply tucked it between his lips and dug his teeth into it before hurling it away in disgust. “What sort of dangerous game are you and your sister playin’, Miss Darby?”
“One we’re determined to win,” she replied, her hand inching toward her reticule.
He studied her through narrowed eyes for a moment, then held out his hand. “Give me your drawers.”
Pamela’s own hand froze. Behind her, she heard Sophie gasp.
“Pardon me?” Pamela asked, eyeing him with fresh suspicion.
During their years in the theater, she’d encountered several actors who delighted in donning feminine garb and playing the female roles in the pantomime. But this strapping Highlander hardly seemed the sort to drape himself in ruffles and lace and prance across a stage warbling a suggestive ditty.
“You heard me, lass. Drop your drawers and hand them over.”
She gave him a withering glare. “How could I deny such a romantic request? With that quicksilver tongue of yours, you must be quite irresistible to the ladies.”
This time the deepening of his dimple was unmistakable. “Oh, I’ve other tricks for gettin’ them off you, but I don’t you think you want me to show you those.” He cut his eyes toward Sophie. “At least not right now.”
