Daring Romance

Chapter 7

No matter the time of day or night, a ride in a hansom cab was a breakneck dash that made conversation impossible. The vehicles typically careened and swayed with violent disregard for the laws of traffic or physics, rounding corners so recklessly one could feel the wheels lifting from the street.

However, Garrett Gibson, well versed in the hazards of hansom cabs, was unperturbed. She sat braced in the corner of the seat, stoically observing the passing scenery.

Ethan stole covert glances at her, unable to interpret her mood. She'd turned quiet after he'd refused to answer her question about the night of the Guildhall reception. He guessed that she was beginning to grasp how unsavory a character he was, and had come to her senses. Good. From now on, she would want him to stay away from her.

If there was one thing this night had made clear, it was exactly how great a danger Garrett posed for him. He wasn't himself around her . . . or perhaps the problem was that hewas himself. Either way, she was making him unfit for his job at the time he most needed to be dispassionate.

"The secret to staying alive," another of Jenkyn's men, William Gamble, had once said to him, "is not giving a damn."

It was true. If you started to care, it changed the reactive choices you made, even about small things such as dodging to the left or the right. In his line of work, a man's desire to preserve his own life was usually the thing that doomed him. So far, it had never been a problem for Ethan to remain more or less philosophical about his future: when your number was up, it was up.

But lately that necessary dispassion had begun to unravel. He'd caught himself wanting things he knew better than to want. Tonight he'd behaved like a besotted lunatic, flirting and lusting after Garrett Gibson. Running to her like a well-trained sheepdog as soon as she'd whistled. Accompanying her out in public, and watching pyrotechnics with his hands wandering all over her. He'd lost his bloody mind, taking such chances.

But how could any man keep his wits around such a woman? Garrett had bewitched him like a love charm on a May-morning. She was at once respectable and subversive, worldly and innocent. Hearing her say "involuntary erection" in that crisp, ladylike voice had been the high point of his year.

He wanted her so badly, it had put the heart crossways in him. This woman, in his bed, spread beneath him . . . he actually trembled at the thought of it. She would try so hard not to lose her dignity even as he teased it away from her, little by little, kissing the spaces between her toes, the soft creases behind her knees-

Enough,he told himself grimly. She wasn't his. She would never be his.

They approached a row of identical Georgian-style terrace houses. It was an orderly middle-class street with a paved walk and a few weatherbeaten trees. The vehicle came to a rattling, jingling halt in front of a crimson-bricked house with a separate railed basement entrance for servants and deliverymen. One of the upper floors was brilliantly lit, the sound of men's voices drifting through an open window. Three men . . . no, four.

Ethan descended from the hansom with the doctor's bag and cane. He reached up to Garrett. Although she didn't need assistance, she took his hand and alighted from the vehicle with an agility that even a corset couldn't constrain.

"Wait here," Ethan told the driver, "while I escort the lady to her door."

"Cost extra for the waitin'," the driver warned, and Ethan responded with a short nod.

Garrett looked up at him with the clear-eyed seriousness that captivated him a thousand times more than any come-hitherish pout or seductive glance. She had the most direct stare of any woman he'd ever met. "Will you come inside with me, Mr. Ransom?"