Free My Lady Notorious by Jo Beverley Page A

men often disregard sisters,” he teased, then winced. So much, he thought, for good intentions.
    “I do not,” she responded, and stood. “I will acquire a few other
items of clothing.” At the door she stopped and grudgingly asked, “Can
you think of anything else we might need? Weapons, or something like
that?”
    He gave her credit for swallowing her pride. “I can think of
nothing. We have the coach pistol, and my rapier. That should be
sufficient. We are not, after all, going to war.” Then he added, “Wait!
One thing I don’t have for my disguise is feminine trinkets. Can you
acquire any?”
    “I’ll see what I can do.”
    She returned in an hour with extra shirts and a pair of top boots.
She also had a leather-bound jewel box. It was a handsome piece with a
solid lock, clearly intended for expensive ornaments. When opened, it
proved to contain only a sparse selection of cheap trinkets.
    The obvious explanation was that they were destitute, and had sold
anything of value. It did not satisfy him, for it left unexplained the
men’s clothing of fine quality, two thoroughbred horses, and a pair of
silver-mounted pistols. Cyn’s curiosity itched him like a bed full of
fleas.

Chapter 5
    Early the next morning they prepared for departure. Hoskins went off
to ready the horses. Cyn began to struggle with his female garments.
Charles dressed in her good-quality clothing and assisted her sister
until Cyn slyly questioned the propriety of this. Then she came
reluctantly to assist him.
    He took care not to offend her modesty, and when she came into the
kitchen he was wearing his drawers. He also wore the striped stockings
and lacy garters. She took one look and burst out laughing. It was very
feminine laughter, but he did not remark on it, merely enjoyed it.
    She looked delicious, flushed with humor. Despite the clothes and
the hair, he could no longer see her as anything but supremely female.
Which was very dangerous. He turned his attention to his shift.
    When he looked up again, she was no longer laughing, but was staring
in horror at his scar. “What on earth caused that?” she asked.
    “A saber,” he said casually, interested to see what her reaction
would be. The livid scar ran across his chest like a bandolier. All the
women who had been favored with a glimpse of it had been impelled to
touch it. Most had traced it, some with a finger, some with their
mouths. “Fortunately it was only a glancing blow, and the cut was
shallow.”
    He saw her hand twitch upward and be controlled.
    “So you really are a soldier,” she said.
    “Did you doubt me?”
    “You don’t look like one.”
    He sighed humorously. “I can’t help my beguiling charms.”
    She was still fascinated by the scar. She took a step closer. “It must have bled a lot.”
    “Like a slashed wineskin. Made the devil of a mess of my best uniform.”
    Since she seemed stuck, he closed the gap between them with a casual
step. After a moment he had to acknowledge with regret that she wasn’t
going to give in to temptation and trace the scar’s path from left
shoulder to right hip.
    He dropped the lawn shift over his head and tied the laces at the
low neck, then struggled into the Brunswick gown. Designed for comfort
and simplicity when traveling, it was made all in one piece. When
fastened, it would have the look of a loose sacque gown over a braided
corset, but in fact the stomacher was part of the bodice, kept snug
around the body by laces beneath the loose back. It was appropriate
traveling wear, but its chief charm for Cyn was the lack of whalebone.
    He tried to tie the laces himself but couldn’t find them under the
heavy, wide skirts. “The laces elude me. Your assistance, please,
Charles.”
    Her reluctance was visible, but she came over to stand behind him.
She pulled up the back of his skirt. “I can’t see them. They must have
fallen to the front.”
    She fished around the sides of his torso, and the fleeting touches
sent shivers