My Pleasure Read Online Free PDF Page A

into the crowd, leaving Helena clasping the rose.
    It must be from Oswald. A sign that he was nearby, watching and waiting for her to be alone. She looked up to find Ramsey regarding her with an odd expression.
    “There. He is come,” she said with far more pleasure than she felt. “You needn’t sacrifice your evening after all. So, once again, thank you, Mr. Munro. Good night.”
    She began to turn, but he stepped in front of her. “It hardly seems fair that you should know my name when I do not know yours.”
    She hesitated, bemused with the notion of naming herself. It must be something easy and happy and tough and courageous. Something unlike who she was and more like what she wanted to be. “You can call me Corie.”
    And before he could reply or detain her, she slipped past him and hurried off down the path.
    Who would have thought the hesitant eagerness of a young woman’s kiss could affect him so viscerally? To the point where he had forgotten, for one singular moment, everything but her? He must not be as jaded as he’d thought. He supposed he ought to remedy that, Ramsey Munro thought sardonically.
    Thoughtfully, he watched Helena Nash go. And Helena Nash she was, in spite of her claim to the contrary and the London veneer that hid her Yorkish accent. He’d almost challenged her a half-dozen times in their short interval together. But if she wanted to pretend to be somebody else, well, she wouldn’t be the first lady to do so, and he certainly had no right to unmask her.
    His gaze followed her amongst the crowd. Dressed in knee breeches, and what with the way she filled them out, it would not be hard to follow her. He’d only have to mark the direction in which the men’s heads swiveled.
    He tossed a few coins to the vendor of the nearby kiosk selling cheap dominos, took one, and flung the cloak about his shoulders. He let the hood fall well over his brow, shadowing his face. Then he followed Helena into the throng. He contented himself with staying back amidst the revelers and watching. Over the years he had grown very good at keeping his distance from Helena Nash.
    For nearly four years he had been faithful to his promise to lend his body and his talents to the care of the Nash sisters. His obligation to the middle sister, Kate, had ended with her marriage to Christian MacNeill, his boon childhood companion. And Charlotte was still a relative child living under the protection of a wealthy, well-connected if slightly ramshackle family. Only Helena had required any concerted attention. And while at first that attention had been perfunctory, over the years it had changed, become a personal hobby. The thought brought a grim smile to his face.
    She fascinated him. So cool. So calm and quiet and yet…How many times had he seen the volcanic flash in her blue eyes and wondered what had given birth to that passionate heat? Or perhaps only his imagination provided the secret fire beneath her icy façade. The enigma had kept his interest alive and growing ever more intent.
    Though he had warded her for years, he had rarely allowed himself close enough to hear her voice. And now he’d actually spoken with her. And kissed her. And the fire he had so often wondered about had proved to be real.
    Too real.
    He watched her as she threaded her way through the throng, the abrupt turn of her head revealing her quick scrutiny of the crowd. The rose in her hand bobbed as she turned, stopped, and started again.
    “Who sent you that rose, lass?” he murmured. “Who could draw you out of that witch’s tower to a dark forest like this?”
    She’d said she’d come here for an “adventure.” Had she? His gaze hardened.
    Of all the people he might have expected to see on the infamous Lovers Walk, she would have been the last. Certainly not dressed as a boy. Definitely not alone. She should have been safely locked in whatever garret room Lady Tilpot kept for dependents of indeterminate social standing, not sauntering