Reckless - By Anne Stuart Page 0,16

to do. Rohan was watching them, and she knew there was amusement in his eyes. She didn't know whether she ought to nod or shake her head, all she knew was she had to make her way back to Hensley Court, back to the safety of her rooms, before some other gentleman decided he was interested in shy young men.

Sir Reginald wandered off, mumbling to himself, and a moment later he disappeared back through the hedge, back the way she and Rohan had come. She heard a score of ragged cheers on the other side as he emerged, but she had more important things on her mind. Such as getting away from the too-beautiful Viscount Rohan.

She knew of no universal gesture to signal thank-you, so she hoped a gracious nod of her head would be sufficient. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, but there was no sign of confusion or doubt on his face. Just the usual courteous cynicism.

She started to turn, but he caught her hand. "I think not, young friar," he said softly.

She shook her head as she tried to pull her hand free, but he simply followed. "Didn't Lady Whitmore warn you about the Portal of Venus? Yes, I know you were with her. One of young lovers, I assume. Do you have any idea why she abandoned you to the tender mercies of the Mad Monks?"

She yanked harder, still backing away, but he simply followed her, his grip sure but not as painful as Sir Reginald's had been.

"No answer?" Rohan murmured. "Well, it doesn't matter. We're here now, and my cell is nearby."

She yanked her arm in earnest now, shaking her head, but he simply laughed. A charming, infuriating laugh. "Oh, no, young friar. Not a jail cell. I have no intention of imprisoning you, though I'd be more than happy to teach you other, more pleasurable forms of restraint. No, I'm speaking of my own personal monk's cell. I've paid very good money to ensure that it's a bit more luxurious than the usual, and blessedly private among this circus of sinners. You'll come to like it."

She managed to pull free, and he let her go, laughing, as she ran from him, racing toward the pseudotemple, her sandaled feet clumsy. She kicked off one of the sandals as she ran, then tried to kick off the second, but her foot caught and she went sprawling, flat out on the hard ground.

He was standing over her. She knew he was, even though the cowl had dropped around her head, obliterating everything. And thank God—if it had fallen back on her shoulders he'd know who she was. No one else had curly hair her particular color.

"No need to do penance," he said in that wicked, dancing voice. "You haven't sinned. Yet."

At the ominous, enticing sound of that single word she tried to scramble to her feet, but he caught her, pulling her up against his hard, strong body, one hand around her waist, imprisoning her quite easily. "Are you going to speak, or is this vow of silence permanent? Not that I'm not enjoying this game tremendously, but sooner or later it's going to come down to my bedding you, and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

She could push back her hood and declare herself, and he'd release her, horrified at his mistake. He had no interest in plain, virginal Charlotte Spenser—he was here looking for a talented playmate.

But then everyone would know. He'd scarcely keep quiet about it, and doubtless everyone in London society would find it vastly entertaining. She'd never be able to show her face in town again.

Which wouldn't be a terrible fate, but she couldn't abandon Lina. No, her best bet was to go along with him, keep her head down and say nothing and wait for her next chance to run. She'd gotten away from him once, and would have succeeded if it hadn't been for the wretched sandal. Barefoot, she could be fleet and determined—she was used to running through the meadows at home, barefoot. He'd be no match for her.

She calmed her struggles, and his grip loosened. He released her, and she knew a totally mad moment of regret. There had been something undeniably wonderful about being held in Adrian Rohan's arms.

It was hardly the stuff of her fantasies, she tried to remind herself briskly. For one thing, he thought she was a man. For another, this was a place of unbridled licentiousness. He'd probably shag a goat