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the number of times he’d said ilk .
    “Meanwhile”—he came closer, lifting her chin—“I’d like to find out what an indignant maiden’s lips taste like. Scones? Sugar? Or scorn?”
    She attempted to swat his hand away smartly, but he caught it.
    “I’m not one of your London playthings,” she said boldly, and yanked her wrist free.
    He couldn’t help but be impressed.
    She took a small cracked china bowl off a marble-topped side table and thrust the container at him. “Please put it out.”
    She angled her chin at the cheroot.
    He studied her pouting lips and took another drag of smoke. He wanted to kiss her more than ever now.
    “Did you hear me?” she asked in that honey-bee voice of hers and pushed the bowl at him once more. “We’ve just washed the drapes. My stepmother wouldn’t care for the smell of smoke in them. We get enough from the chimneys.”
    He narrowed his eyes even further and reluctantly complied, smashing the smoking stick into the bowl while her arm remained steady, her too-thin wrist strong, her demeanor unshaken.
    Charlie was impressed again. Or irritated. It was too much trouble to discern which.
    Plain though she was, she piqued his temper, which was a good thing as he had no desire ever to be happy again. His head hurt too much. He didn’t have his lucky penny. And he didn’t have anyone to love.
    Not that he wanted someone to love.
    Blast it all, he did need that poultice. And a rum punch. And a warm bed in which he wouldn’t fear for his life as he slept. He was getting maudlin, perhaps hallucinating, imagining himself one of those men who suddenly found the bachelor lifestyle unpalatable.
    She put the bowl back down on the table, and he noticed above her head a charming stained-glass window depicting a solemn man and woman, in medieval garb, holding hands.
    “You’re playing with another sort of fire,” he told her. “You’re brazen in your requests and your demands. Your behavior has been as outrageous as my own would have been—had I given you that kiss.” He hooked her waist and pulled her close. “In short, you Highland girls are a handful.”
    Something hummed between them, but she didn’t even blink. “You’re in Scotland now, my lord. Not England. Highland girls speak their minds.”
    “And London boys, dammit all, steal kisses. It’s what we do. For good reason.”
    So he did. He stole a kiss and was surprised at how perfectly soft her lips were—
    At how perfectly naturally their mouths and bodies fit together.
    “Dai- seee !” A shrill voice interrupted the suddenly cozy tête-à-tête Charlie was having with Miss Montgomery.
    She drew back.
    He allowed his hand to slide off her waist.
    “Well,” she said. “I see your point about London boys.”
    Which was a perfectly amusing remark to make. It made it easier for him to forget the primal beat of the blood in his veins. He could focus on the fact that the girl before him had a certain wit and aplomb.
    Never mind about the fire he’d sensed beneath that proper exterior. That was not to be an issue. He’d already been wayward enough. Grandmother wouldn’t approve of his taking advantage of her charge.
    Not that Miss Montgomery appeared easy to take advantage of … she was rather like a small battleship, the sneaky kind that can render great destruction if it so chooses—all cannon and harpoons and diabolical strategies and worn sails that needed replacing.
    The worn sails … that came from the fact that she could use a decent gown. It had character, but it didn’t do her justice. Not that he admired her particularly and wanted to see her in a nicer gown.
    No, he didn’t. He was wary of her more than anything.
    Of course, he wouldn’t mind seeing her out of a gown, just for curiosity’s sake.
    Now Miss Montgomery looked over her shoulder, and when her gaze returned to his, her eyes were blue-black. “We’ll have to make something up. At least until we get our plan solidly under way.