A Disgraceful Miss

What if Vine were hurt, lying bleeding on the cobbles?

Her heart seized at the image. The coin she could replace, but there’d be no replacing Vinedale if something serious were to happen.

Without another thought, Angelica turned and hastened into the wet mist after him. She dashed down the street, ignoring the damp that seeped into her clothing, her hair. Even the sunlight was weak and watery. On instinct she raced down the street until she heard the sounds of a struggle.

She paused at an alleyway and peered down it, searching for the source of the noise, but the dim light made it difficult to be sure she’d found Vinedale. Since she wasn’t about to dash pell-mell into an unknown area that smelled suspiciously like mews—she might be rash but she wasn’t foolish—she hovered in indecision.

Then she heard him. Or rather a shout that sounded like Vinedale on the tails of a suspiciously meaty-sounding thud. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Had he been injured? Angelica hastened into the alleyway.

It was Vinedale, and he was alone. He leaned back against the filthy brickwork, hunched over and clutching his head.

“Vine!” she said as she raced to his side. “Are you all right?”

Vine’s gaze was blank, as if he were focused on some internal vision, then he blinked and it cleared. The one eye, anyway. The other was hidden beneath his hand. “Angelica? What are you doing here?” He pushed away from the wall.

“I’ve come to make certain you’re all right. What were you thinking to chase after that criminal? What if he’d been armed? You could have been killed!”

“I’m an ex-soldier. I don’t make it a habit to go about unprotected.” The knife in his free hand glinted menacingly, and he struggled to regain his breath. “Couldn’t very well let the thug steal your purse.” He flashed a crooked grin. “Can’t encourage them, you know. They’ll try to make off with all of the pretty girls’ reticules.”

Vine thought her pretty? It was the first time she could recall he’d ever given her a direct compliment. Her fingertips tingled in response.

“You caught him, then?”

He grimaced. “I’m afraid not. Damnable filcher nearly took out my eye with a stick. Slipped away before I could snag him.”

When he dropped his hand to show her the damage, Angelica thought for a moment she’d faint. She’d never seen someone’s face…quite like that before.

Two dark rivulets of blood marred the side of his face and dripped from a nasty wound at his eyebrow. The alley tipped in her vision and she felt cold from more than the damp weather. Vinedale’s strong grip on her upper arms held her upright, but she felt as limp as a piece of string.

“You don’t look well. Are you all right?” Vine shook her slightly, and her surroundings straightened.

“Yes,” Angelica whispered, then gained her voice. “I’m fine. But you’re not, Vine. Here!” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed the mass to the wound. “Hold still a moment. We need to stop the bleeding then get you to a physician. It looks terrible.”

He grunted but let her minister the wound. She held the makeshift bandage in place and scanned his features, checking for other damage. Which, thankfully, appeared to be none.

And then she realized that she’d never been quite so close to him before, and she stilled. His hair was ruffled, sticking out wildly, and his cravat was askew. Heat rolled from him, carrying his scent.

But his eyes… His eyes burned into her, simmering with emotion. No doubt it was from the fight, but something deeper, darker, shifted within their depths. Angelica bit her lip, worrying the flesh as her thoughts jumbled.

Vinedale followed the movement, staring at her mouth as if he couldn’t look away. As if he were a starved hound fixed on a plump hare.

Breathless, Angelica murmured something inconsequential then held her breath. Waiting and, perhaps, hoping. For a kiss? Surely not from Vine.

He leaned in and hesitated a breath away, as if expecting to be put off. Her pulse stuttered then his lips pressed to hers like a warm embrace.

Angelica held her breath, stunned. Uncertain.

She’d never been kissed, so she had nothing to compare it to, other than her imaginings and embarrassed, inquisitive peeks as Daniel stole a few from Charlotte. Was this all there was?

Then his mouth turned, shifted on hers, and the kiss changed. Intensified. Ensnared her and urged her to join him, to meld her breath with his. It was desire, pure and simple. The moist, delicious invitation to sinful delights that she had only read about in the novels she hid under her bed.