A Rebel Without a Rogue Read Online Free Page A

to its rightful owner?”
    “No, I intend to send the woman who borrowed it to gaol.”
    She frowned. “To gaol? Merely for borrowing a pistol?”
    “No, for firing it in my direction.”
    She laughed, then flung the gun out, pointing it at his chest. “A mere woman had the gall to attack a strapping lordling such as yourself?” Her lips turned up in the merest wisp of a smile as her thumbs raised the flint to full cock.  
    A strange mix of shame, fear, and desire clenched Kit’s gut. “My Lord Ingestrie may take pleasure from such games of violence with his paramour, but I have little liking for insult guised as flirtation.” He stepped forward, capturing the hands clutching the weapon between his. “Only a fool points a pistol in a man’s direction, even an unloaded one.”
    “Unless that fool wishes to do him harm,” she answered.
    Her breath, redolent of wine and spice, warmed the air between them. But even through his gloves, the cold of her hands bit into his palms.
    “Tell me, what harm did you do her, to drive the foolish wench to fire upon you?” she asked.
    “Rumor has it that she’s my discarded mistress,” Kit said as he drew the pistol from her grasp. Frowning, he strode to the window. “But I swear I never laid eyes on her before that night. Not that anyone will believe it, not after Lord Dulcie and his fellow gossips finish spreading their tales.”
    “And why should such rumors upset you? Do not men of fashion take pride in the irrational lengths to which they can drive their discarded lovers?”
    “Men like Ingestrie, perhaps,” Kit accorded, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “But some gentlemen place a higher value on their honor. I assure you, I have no wish for such a reputation. Particularly not now.” Not unless he was prepared to allow his political aspirations to die stillborn.
    “How remarkable. An Englishman who’d rather not be known for his amorous exploits.” Silk skirts swished across the landing, and an icy palm lit upon his back. “Perhaps, if you left this pistol with me, I might make some inquiries on your behalf?”
    Kit shrugged off Miss Cameron’s hand, then turned to face her. “No. This pistol’s the only lead I have.”
    Her face remained impassive, but something in her eyes, glinting in the gaslight from the window, made him feel as if he had done her an injury by refusing.
    “But if you’ve paper and ink, I could copy the words,” he said, the words a reluctant concession.
    “Indeed. And if I were to discover their meaning? Might I demand something in recompense?”
    “You wish to be paid for such service?” Why should he be surprised by such a demand? Was not financial recompense the reason women such as she engaged in harlotry?
    “Not coin,” she said, reaching out to trace the engraving on the pistol with one delicate finger. His eyes followed as it whorled and stroked over the sinuous curves of the Gaelic letters. The small hairs on the back of his neck began to rise.
    He jerked his eyes up to her face. “What else do I have to offer?”
    “Your aid in my own search,” she said, her hand dropping from the pistol. “I’ve not come to London simply for my own pleasure, sir. I’m looking for an Englishman, one who served in the British army in Ireland. It’s vital that I find him, and as quickly as possible.”
    “Do you not know his direction?”
    “No. Only his name. And that he once served in a regiment stationed in my homeland.”
    “Have you checked Boyle’s Court Guide ? And Debrett’s ?”
    “Of course. What, do you take me for a simpleton?”
    Kit grimaced at the sharpness of her words. “And who is this man to you? Has he done you harm?”
    Her eyes glittered, though with anger or with tears, he could not decide. “Will it satisfy your curiosity if I say that my family will not be complete until I find him?” she whispered.
    Damnation! Had some dishonorable English soldier trysted with an Irish wench and abandoned