Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,44

with one another.”

Very familiar with one another? He strangled on a half laugh. She was mad. He’d walked this earth for thirty-three years and not once had committed the folly of letting himself become familiar with any soul.

Faye angled her head up his way, that ridiculous deep hood completely concealing her face. “Is something funny to you, Mr. Wylie?”

She Mr. Wylie’d him when she was displeased. “All of this is.” That he was involved in this capacity with a lady. That she had absolutely no idea the manner of man she was dealing with.

“Well, it is very serious business to me, Tynan.” She paused for a dramatic, pregnant stretch of silence before repeating, “Very serious.”

“As you are a fan of the serious, Faye,” he drawled, “might I suggest, based on our surroundings, that you have some caution and not draw so very much attention your way, and subsequently mine.”

The lady immediately went quiet.

It proved short-lived. “Oh. I didn’t think—”

“Which seems to be something of a habit of your—oof.” He grunted as she slammed an impressively sturdy elbow into his side.

“I’ll not tolerate your rudeness, Tynan. I—” Her words cut off on a startled gasp as he quickly reversed position and put himself in her path. The rapidity of that movement sent her hood flying back enough to put her face on display. “Wh—?”

“Do you think we are taking a jaunt through one of your fancy parks?” he bit out.

“N—?”

“Do you know what a rhetorical question is?” he demanded. Despite all the years he’d spent mastering control of his emotions, his voice climbed a decibel.

The lady wrinkled her pixielike, freckled nose. “Of course I do. I… just thought, because there were so many of them, that they were in fact questions, as it is unusual to ask a person so many so close together.”

Tynan closed his eyes. Newgate. It was not far from here. All he need do was shift direction, head back to that prison, and surrender himself to the warden there.

“Are you all right, Tynan?”

The gentle concern in her low contralto, sounds that were by nature in a perpetual state of sultriness, that he particularly hated himself for noticing.

“Oh, dear, you aren’t.” Worry wreathed her features. “Are you perhaps afraid of reaffirming your connections with—”

Oh, this was really enough. He opened his eyes. “One, I’m not afraid of anything, Faye. Two”—he stuck a finger up in the air—“I have absolutely zero intention of learning anything about you or allowing you to learn anything about me.” He lifted another finger. “Three—”

Faye took his gloved hand in hers, cutting off his satisfying tirade, and the remainder of his words hung unfinished in the air as she adjusted his fingers, raising his thumb so he’d three digits pointing up. “There, your count was off,” she said with a smile that really shouldn’t be filled with such innocence, because no one was this damned innocent.

“Ahem.” She lifted her chin. “You were saying.”

Tynan stared at the three fingers. “I don’t… I…” It was too much. She was too much. “I don’t know what I was saying,” he thundered before he could rein in his temper, and that volatile explosion broke every damned lesson he knew about how to conduct himself in these streets and made a mockery of the self-control he’d prided himself on possessing through the years.

Faye’s smile slipped into a perfect little pout. “You know,” she said in hushed tones, “you really should have a care as to not raise your voice, Tynan.” Faye glanced about. “Particularly as we are trying not to attract—”

“Not another word,” he snapped.

“Thank you for being mindful,” she said, giving his other hand an approving little pat. “As you pointed out, with our presence here, and the area we find ourselves, it is best to be careful.”

A growl formed low in his chest and rumbled up his throat. “I’m talking about you. Not. Another. Word. From. You. Faye.”

Her eyes rounded. “Oh.” But of course, with her absolute lack of sense and her contrary nature, she’d not be wise enough to let it end there. Folding her arms at her chest, she gave him an arch look. “I’d be remiss—”

“And God forbid you do something as imprudent as being remiss,” he said, taking a step toward her. The lady immediately retreated under his approach. “No, prattling on like we’re two ladies meeting for Sunday tea in the middle of the Rookeries, with any number of men, women, and children lurking about and glad to stick a blade in