Free One Night of Passion by Elizabeth Boyle Page A

have anything to regret if you were willing to . . . to . . .”
    As her words trailed off, Colin spied something more behind her angry words.
    Fear and desperation.
    She looked as if she was about to say something, tell him the truth of the mystery and sadness behind her gaze, but Temple was coughing and sputtering away in a false maneuver to gain Colin’s attention.
    Colin let him choke.
    “You should see to your cousin before he falls prey to a fit of apoplexy,” she said, pulling her hand free from his. “Men of his age can hardly afford to allow such an ailment to go unchecked.” With that she turned and dashed into the crush like a packet ship under full sail.
    “My age?!” Temple exclaimed as he returned to Colin’s side. “What the devil did the chit mean by that?”
    “That you are an incorrigible old devil,” he told him, giving him a couple of well-meant and hard blows to the back.
    “What’s that for?” Temple asked, stepping out of reach, and immediately setting to work to straighten his elegant evening jacket and ruffled cravat. “Dash it all, I just saved you from the worst-dressed, plainest little wren in the entire room. As well as a thrashing from your former shipmates.”
    Colin shrugged off his cousin’s defense. “I found her quite refreshing. As for those three,” Colin said, glancing over to where Paskims, Hinchcliffe, and Brummit stood entertaining their companions with a vast array of lies about their daring and exploits, “I could have taken care of them.”
    Temple made a rude noise in the back of his throat. “Another lesson in being beyond the pale—you will be considered a likely candidate for a thrashing or a duel by every greenling, stripling, and newcomer to town looking to cast himself as a dangerous fellow. Don’t let yourself be dragged into a futile search for their manhood.”
    Colin nodded, but he was only half listening, his gaze locked on Georgie as she sauntered along the edge of the crowd, her gaze flitting from man to man as she renewed her search for her “rake.”
    “Let her go,” his cousin said quietly.
    “Uh, what?” Colin said.
    “I said, let the chit go. You can’t shoulder her burdens, not when you have so much to do before you.” Temple paused, his distant gaze moving over the wayward crowd, as if he too sought his own lost Cyprian. “When one endeavors to save a nation, to serve his King, one sometimes must look past one’s own desires.”
    Colin did his best to ignore his cousin’s advice.
    “You cannot help her,” Temple told him, experience and concern lacing every word. “For you cannot protect her once you leave. You already know that. Just remember your task at hand, whatever it may be.” A smile curved his lips. “And if you care to enlighten me as to its nature, mayhap I can help you.”
    Glancing over at his cousin, Colin laughed. “No. Don’t even think about trying to wheedle details out of me.”
    Temple shrugged, then glanced one last time in Georgie’s direction. “If you are going to be regarded by society with a critical eye, your other lesson is to avoid poor helpless little country girls. Why, that dress alone marks her as a castoff.” Temple caught Colin by the arm and turned him away from Georgie, steering him instead toward some tables that had been set up in the corner for gambling.
    “When did you become such an expert in women’s fashion?” Colin asked, craning his neck so he could keep his gaze locked on her.
    He shouldn’t care, he shouldn’t be spending tonight worrying about one wayward Cyprian. Temple was right. He did have greater concerns weighing on his shoulders.
    And yet . . .
    “I’ve always had an intense interest in women’s fashions, mostly in how to remove them.” Temple laughed and continued to propel Colin farther from her. “Actually, a keen sense of current fashion is the mark of someone who has little sense and too much time on his hands.” He shrugged. “I do have my