Page 4 of On the Twelfth Day of Christmas
And pleasure.
Because it no longer mattered that he was betraying the Duke of Effinghell’s trust. It no longer mattered that he was ruining Lady Amanda Kincaid’s chances at a future with a worthy husband.
Hiro waslost.
This time his groan was one of helplessness, one of sorrow. Because he wanted her—Christ, healwayswanted her—but he couldn’t,wouldn’tbe the cause of her humiliation.
He’d been so careful these years.
Careful to stay in countries where she wouldn’t be known or where she could use a false name. Countries where he couldpretend to be someone besides her brother’s butler and her bodyguard.
Careful not to lose his heart to her.
Too late. How well had that gone?
And here, on the street in front of St. John’s in Edinburgh, a mere fortnight before Christmas…he was going to risk it all.
With a gasp, Hiro managed to pull away.
When Mandy’s lips followed, he had to squeeze his eyes shut to hide the unhiddenneedin her gaze. A need which matched his own.
“Mandy…” he rasped, then swallowed. “My lady.” He forced his eyes open just in time to see the hurt in hers. “We should not?—”
“Oh, to hell withshoulds!” she snapped, andtherewas the fierce soul he loved.
Hiro wasn’t completely surprised when she stepped back and wrapped one hand through his lapel, tugging him behind as she turned to stamp toward St. Cuthbert’s Kirkyard. There was nothing he could do—even if he wanted to resist her, which he didn’t—as she pulled him among the stately, ancient gravestones.
Christ, this woman…!
Hiro’s father had been a wealthy merchant, his mother an educated and talented musician. They’d raised him and his sisters in a way which many native Englishmen would envy; Hiro had gone to school among the sons of the wealthy middle class.
He’d been young when he met the wounded Duke of Effinghell. Of course, the lad had been barely clinging to life then, injured in the accident which had taken his father and madehimthe duke. Alistair had been ready to give up as well—pale, weak, unable to walk… Until his mother, the grieving dowager, had seen potential in what Hiro could teach him.
Hiro became the young duke’s companion, and later, friend. He’d taught Alistair how to fight—not just against the doctors who told the lad he might not walk again, but against the injustices of the world.
The Duke of Effinghell had learned to walk, then run, then climb, then punch. When he’d grown to a man, he’d learned to fight, not justagainst,butforas well. He was now a fierce proponent of reform, and Hiro was proud of the man his friend had become.
Which is why he couldn’t betray Alistair’s trust by pushing the man’s younger sister up against one of these ancient stones and plundering her mouth again.
No matter how much he might want to.
“Mandy, slow down,” he cautioned, the first time she tripped over an exposed footstone.
She ignored him, because of course she did.
She wouldn’t be his Mandy if she didn’t fling herself headlong into adventure.
So thesecondtime she tripped, he was there to grab her around her waist, swing her up and back, away from the danger of evil lurking roots, or whatever the hell that had been.
She slammed into his chest, knocking the breath out of them both, and he found himself smiling ruefully down at her.
Christ, she was lovely, wasn’t she? With those bright eyes, sparkling with mirth and mischief, her warm chestnut hair escaping her coiffure and floating about her cheeks. The winter air agreed with her.
“Are we going home to Effinghell for Christmas?”
It wasn’t until she blinked that he realized he’d murmured the question out loud.
“Home?” Amanda repeated in what sounded like surprise. “Is Effinghell home?”
