Free Scandal by Pamela Britton

rebuke him, but he’d moved forward, and as he stood there at the edge of the roof, looking over all of London, Anna was reminded of a feudal lord of old, one that perused his kingdom as he clasped his hands behind his back. Arrogant. Powerful. Lordly.
    And masculine.
    That was part of what drew her, she admitted. She liked the authority he resonated, and that he seemed to want to use that authority on her.
    “If you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy,” she forced herself to say.
    Go, go, go,
she silently begged. He made her think of things, made her recall a life long past, fantasies long suppressed, of knights in shining armor and handsome princes come to carry her off.
    He turned away, his silhouette framed by a gray sky.
    “I am not going until you tell me what that mound of fabric is that lounges in the corner of your room.”
    She toyed with getting up and leaving herself, only she felt somehow safer sitting upon the bench, the blanket wrapped around her.
    A hand reaching out to stop her, one that spun her around so he could kiss her.
    The image tossed itself so quickly into her mind she found herself saying, “It’s for my sails,” just to cover the way her body throbbed in reaction to the fantasy of his lips moving down to cover her own.
    “Sails?”
    “Aye,” she admitted, having to swallow once before her voice box would work.
    “Sails for a ship?”
    “Yes,” she said impatiently, though it was an impatience for herself, not him. She looked away. The sun had fallen down low enough so that it slipped its scarlet rays into the layer of fog and smoke that covered London, turning it fuchsia. She inhaled deeply and pulled the blanket tighter, almost as if it could shield her from him.
    “And are sails something else that you sell at the market upon occasion?”
    “Mr. Hemplewilt, I would like some privacy,” she said again.
    “Not until you answer my question.”
    And there it was again. That autocratic tone. Her name on his lips, as if he often said and did what he wanted.
    Anna.
    Her name sounded so different than the way the culls in the rookery said it. Soft, like the notes of one of those fine instruments she’d heard when she’d been lost years ago and found herself in a toff’s neighborhood far, far away.
    “Please don’t call me that.”
    “Call you what?”
    “Anna,” she said, and as Rein stared at her, she shifted that worn and ragged bedspread around her so that it drooped a bit over her shoulders, her knees drawn up so that her work-worn half boots rested on the bench. Lord, when he’d first seen her sitting on her bench, her hair loose and down her back, wide eyes gazing out at London’s landscape, he’d had to stop for a moment
    Stunning.
    Beautiful.
    Perfect.
    There had been a moment then when he’d found himself wishing she wasn’t a market maid. When he’d wished, instead, that she had a different vocation, one that would allow him to simply take her work-worn hand, lead her to bed, and take her.
    God, how he suddenly wanted to take her.
    Instead he found himself acting polite, for if he did not, he might ruin his chance at residing with her and her grandfather for the next few weeks, thereby forcing him onto the streets.
    And so he said, “Very well, Miss Brooks, but you still haven’t answered my question.”
    She looked like she wouldn’t answer. He even saw her sneak a glance at the trapdoor he’d squeezed through earlier.
    “There is a competition being held in three weeks’ time, one sponsored by the Navy. I plan to enter my sails.”
    “A competition? Sails?”
    “Aye,” she said with a nod, her hair rustling over that ridiculous cover of hers. “The Navy is trying to improve the speed of their ships. They’ve announced a one-hundred-pound reward for the person who can do that.”
    He stiffened, for the sudden memory returned, of stepping out of the carriage, looking up and seeing a triangular shape fall toward him like a comet from the sky. “Good