Free Some Like It Wild by Teresa Medeiros Page B

would make for a very positive first impression. Christian names are very rarely used among the nobility. Your peers will probably call you Warrick and your inferiors will simply address you as ‘my lord.’”
    “And which will you be?” he asked.
    “As always, your superior,” she replied without missing a beat.
    He snorted. “Then perhaps you can tell me where I’ve been all these years.”
    “As I see it,” Pamela said, pushing off from the table to pace behind him, “when the duchess was stricken with the fever and realized she was going to die before she could reach the shelter of her grandfather’s cottage, she had no choice but to place you in a basket and leave you on the doorstep of a kindly old merchant and his barren wife.”
    Connor’s voice rippled with mild sarcasm. “And I suppose I’ve been tendin’ the store ever since then.”
    Pamela swung around to eye his brawny shoulders. She’d never encountered a man who looked less like a shopkeeper and more like one of the paid brawlers at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing club.
    “I think not,” she said, conceding his point. “After the kindly couple died, you struck out on your own, determined to make your fortune inthis world. When I found you, you were…” She tapped her pursed lips with one forefinger, searching her mind for a suitable occupation.
    “Robbin’ hapless travelers of their underwear?” he offered.
    She glared down her nose at him. “Oh yes, why don’t we just come right out and tell the duke you’ve been masquerading as Connor Kincaid—robber prince of the night, terror of the highways and scourge of the Highlands?”
    “You left off despoiler of innocent females.”
    Pamela might have been able to tell if he was joking had he not chosen that moment to scrape away the whiskers beneath his nose, revealing a delectably kissable cleft.
    For a breathless moment, she could only stare.
    “If we make them believe I truly am the duke’s heir, you do realize that the same villain who killed your mother may very well try to kill me.”
    Pamela clapped her hands together and beamed at him. “Yes, I know! Isn’t it marvelous?”
    His reflection cocked one eyebrow at her.
    She hastened to explain. “What better way to expose the wretch than to catch him in the act?”
    “The act of slippin’ hemlock into my brandy or slittin’ my throat while I’m sleepin’?”
    She waved away the heavy note of mockery that laced his tone. “Don’t be ridiculous. If this murderer doesn’t want to get caught, he’ll have to stage a convincing accident. And since we’ll be expecting him to do just that, we’ll have ample time to see that he’s brought to justice. If you see anythingsuspicious at all, just send word to me and I’ll fetch the authorities.”
    “Before he kills me.”
    “That’s what I’m hoping,” she agreed cheerfully. “After all, he won’t be expecting you to be as dangerous as he is. More dangerous,” she quickly amended as Connor narrowed his eyes at her in the mirror. “And while we’re waiting for him to show his hand, you can learn to pass yourself off as a gentleman in society. The duke will no doubt want to complete your education. Why, just think of it—you can even learn to read!”
    Connor gave her another of those enigmatic glances in the glass. “Indeed.”
    “He’ll probably hire a fencing instructor and a dancing master.”
    Connor shot to his feet. “I don’t mind the swordplay, lass, but you didn’t say anythin’ about prancin’ around a ballroom in ruffles and tights.”
    Reaching up to clap her hands on his shoulders, Pamela gently urged him back down in the chair. “Have no fear, sir. Tights went out of fashion several seasons ago.”
    Realizing that she had allowed her hands to linger against the muscled breadth of his shoulders, Pamela snatched them back and tucked them behind her. “Even though you’ve been living among the Scots for most of your life, the duke will be just