Free Daring by Jillian Hunter Page A

assassin would appear.
    Time stopped, ticking by in a slow agony of seconds. Even if he had released her, she couldn’t have broken the power of his heartless gaze. She was his prisoner in more ways than one, enwrapped in a web of suspense.
    Champagne dripped down his lean cheek to tremble in the cleft of his chin. She could hear the scrape of footsteps behind them—the other guests emerging from their hiding places. She could hear the harsh rhythm of Connor’s breathing, as if words failed him, as if the anger that consumed him had pushed him beyond the point of coherent speech.
    Brazen it out, bairns, that master criminal, the Chief, would say as he shoved his little band of pickpockets into the streets. Never admit your guilt to the law even if you’re caught red-handed. Maintain your innocence to the end.
    So, with a self-possession that would make her venerable Highland friend proud, she slipped her hand inside Connor’s vest pocket to remove his handkerchief and soak up the Clicquot-Ponsardin on his jaw. His body stiffened in reaction. His facial muscles felt like granite under her fingertips.
    In fact, if he glared any harder, his face would probably crack.
    “Oh, my.” Ardath dipped her knuckle in the effervescent puddle on the step and tasted it with a baffled look. “It’s champagne. I believe you’ve just been christened, Connor.”
    “Help the girl up, Connor,” the earl called down the steps. “Neither of you can be comfortable in that position.”
    “Champagne?” Bella said in a puzzled voice, plucking a leaf from her boa. “You mean that someone was trying to assassinate Connor with a bottle of champagne? What will these criminals think of next?”
    Connor didn’t answer. He was terrifyingly still.
    Maggie drew a breath. Her gaze lifted for an instant to the balcony where Hugh was hanging over the railing laughing his head off at the scene below. The two male servants who’d been ordered to restrain him were having a hard time controlling their own sniggers of amusement.
    Connor still hadn’t moved. She could feel the imprint of his body through her clothing. Intimate, angry, invasive. She wondered if they were going to stay all night in this humiliating position.
    She dabbed at the spot of champagne on his chin that she’d missed. It seemed like the least she could do. “Well, you were right about one thing, my lord,” she said in a confidential tone. “It did keep its fizz.”
     
     
    F or the first time in a decade Connor’s mental faculties failed him. All he knew about this woman was that she had broken into his house, in an incredible act of daring, captivated and deceived him, and apparently played angel of mercy to his sister. Now, to add insult to injury, she was dabbing stolen champagne off his chin and damn if deep down in that irrational male part of his psyche, he didn’t find the act mildly arousing.
    His face forbidding and cold, he peeled the soggy handkerchief from her fingers and lifted her to her feet, glancing down hard at the pastry that had fallen between them. He bent to pick it up, studying it in disbelief.
    “What the—God ab ove, it’s one of my own damned é clairs .”
    The earl stepped a little closer, shaking his head in admonishment. “I can’t believe you’d eat dessert at a time like this. Don’t you care about anything except your own selfish pleasures?”
    Connor vented an uncivilized curse.
    Ardath straightened slowly, her voice placating and low. “Connor, it was only champagne.”
    He ignored them all, rounding on the petite girl who stood in a puddle of moonlight. God help him, she was exquisite, her eyes huge in that fragile face. But he should have known better. Life had taught him that much. A tapestry princess was too good to be true.
    “Who are you?” His voice blasted across the terrace like a blizzard as he strode toward her. “Damn it, you will answer me if we have to stand here all evening.”
    She raised her chin, eyeing him