Page 25 of Barely a Woman (Bow Street Beaus #1)

His incensed diatribe against Morgan instantly raised her ire.

“And yet my disguise fooled you for a week and in remarkably close quarters. If the talented Sir Steadman was unable to see through my facade, then how could a mob of rustics hope to do better?” She spat a derisive laugh.

“They never looked past my suit, pistols, and false bravado. Men rarely look deeper than their first impression.”

Her biting response appeared to blunt his attack. He narrowed his eyes, his lips a tight line. “Nevertheless, your maneuver was foolhardy. Imagine what those brutes would have done to a woman like you?”

She expelled an explosive breath. “A woman like me? A woman like me, you say? Ha!” She clenched her jaw while gathering words.

“I am barely a woman, or so I have always been told. Too sturdy, they say. Too spirited, they say. Too contentious. Too independent. Too plain. My father made it clear since my childhood that no man would have a wife with such unpleasant qualities. And the one time a man showed even a fleeting interest in courting me, my father made certain he knew I was plain as mud and twice as intractable before he sent him away.”

Steadman stared at her, his expression an enigma. Her eyes spilled their banks, and tears began trailing down her cheeks. Her voice broke as she finished.

“Don’t you see, Steadman? A woman like me is in no danger. For I am not worth having.”

She flinched when he loosened his grip on her arms and one finger found the twin tracks of her tears to wipe them away. The tenderness in his eyes startled her.

“That is a damnable lie, Morgan Brady,” he said softly, “For you are magnificent.”

Her eyes widened until she thought they might burst. His hand rose from her cheek to gently remove her hat.

He gazed at her in apparent awe before running a hand through her hair and around the back of her head.

She wanted to bolt but dared not move. His roving hand floated along her temple to brush her cheek with the grace of a feather before gently capturing her chin.

When his head dipped toward hers, a hitch of breath escaped her throat.

She remained like a statue when his lips stopped just short of hers, his musky scent filling her senses.

Her heart beat fast, one, two, three times.

Then he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers.

Frozen in disbelief, she failed to respond as he tenderly kissed her.

When he paused and began to pull away, her body unlocked in an instant and she followed to reengage his lips.

A sigh welled from his throat as he gave himself again to the kiss.

When his hand fell to her waist, she lifted her arms to encircle his shoulders, pulling herself nearer as if the two of them might occupy the same space.

His lips slid from her mouth to her chin to find the softness of her neck.

His hand rose to her cravat and began to disassemble the knot.

As he deftly deconstructed the knot to expose more and more of her neck, his kiss explored every inch of new skin.

She lifted her chin and sighed, offering herself to his explorations.

“Oh, Steadman.”

Morgan didn’t think she had spoken it aloud, but she must have.

He stopped and then laid his head briefly on her shoulder before straightening again.

In the infinitesimal space between his rising and his next breath, she found a world of astonishment in her feelings for the man.

She had wanted this but had failed to admit it even in the quietest corners of her mind.

Her need for him threatened to overwhelm her.

With heroic effort, she engaged his eyes, which sparkled in the light of the flickering candles.

He expelled a slow and steady breath through his nostrils.

“My apologies, Miss Brady. I must stop kissing you before I do something truly regretful.”

She nearly countered him. Nearly confessed that she would welcome whatever it was he deemed regretful. But she could not. After discarding a thousand words in the space of a breath, she lowered her eyes to his chest. “Do not apologize.”

She expected him to step away, but he did not. When she peeked up at him, he was holding her in his gaze. A wistful smile painted his desperately handsome features.

“You know,” he said softly, “I have never had a friend like you. Man or woman. You understand me, Morgan, like no one ever has. And I believe I am beginning to understand you, and that pleases me.”

She drew her brow tight with disbelief. “Truly? Never?”

“Truly.”

They stood face to face for another few seconds, both content to inhabit each another’s presence—before another voice spoke.

“Don’t mind me, young ‘uns.”

Morgan jerked her attention toward the corner of the chapel from where the voice had originated. She blinked with surprised recognition. “Prudence Lightboddy? What are you doing here?”

“My question exactly,” added Steadman.

The old cheat waved a hand at them. “Oh, I just came to pray. But this is much more diverting.”

Morgan glanced at Steadman to find his eyes narrowing. “Praying? You?”

“Making up for lost time.”

“Or spying, perhaps?”

“That, too. After Three-Finger Jack came asking questions, I figured you were up to tomfoolery. Was I wrong?”

Steadman chuckled and replaced Morgan’s hat on her head and patted it. “No. You were not wrong. But if it is all the same to you, we must be off now.”

As Morgan watched in bewilderment, he closed the distance between him and Prudence to loom over her. “You will tell no one of this, of course.”

“This?” said Prudence with false naivete. “You kissing a man or you kissing a woman dressed as a man?”

“Both. You will speak of neither, yes?”

“I cannot promise such things. I’m just an old woman with rheumatoid knees. However, perhaps a guinea would help keep my mouth closed.”

Steadman chuckled again. “You old sharp.” He stabbed his hand into a coat pocket and produced two coins. “How about two guineas? Will that prompt you to forget what you saw?”

She accepted the coins from his extended hand. “I saw nothing. I just came to pray.”

“Very well.” He tipped his hat to Prudence and returned to Morgan’s side. He touched the dangling ends of her disarrayed cravat. “Let me help you with that.”

Morgan stared into his eyes as he worked to reassemble her cravat.

He did not look at his hands but instead gazed warmly at her with a soft smile gracing his lips.

She waited for an explanation, an excuse, an admittance of regret for what had just occurred between them.

But he said nothing until he finished the job.

“Shall we leave Mrs. Lightboddy in peace? So she might pray?”

“Of course.”

As Morgan followed Steadman from the chapel and back into the darkness, she chastised herself roundly.

Not for her foolish actions. Not even for the kiss.

But for falling in love with a man she could not have.