The Lady Risks All by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page B

steps, he told the butler, “I’m walking the lady home. I should be back inside half an hour.”
    “Indeed, sir—I’ll let Rawlins know.”
    Pausing on the pavement, she turned as Roscoe joined her. Polite custom dictated that she shouldn’t ask, but . . . “Rawlins?”
    Roscoe met her gaze briefly, then waved, and they stepped out in unison. “One of my bodyguards. At least one of them is on duty at any time, and they get anxious if I disappear without warning.”
    “I see.” She paced beside him. He didn’t offer his arm, for which she was grateful; refusing it would have been awkward, but she would have done so nevertheless. Accepting his support would have signaled a degree of acquaintance that could never be. Helpfully, the street was, as she’d hoped, deserted. The dense shadows beneath the trees in the square spilled across the opposite pavement, but the moon shone unimpeded along their side of the street, lighting their way. “As you appreciate your bodyguards’ concerns, I hope you will also understand my motives in following Roderick to your house.”
    Roscoe hesitated, then murmured, “As a matter of fact, I do.” None better; he knew to what lengths protective instincts could drive a man, and, presumably, a woman, too. He waited, knowing what would come next.
    It took her several minutes to find the words, but eventually she tipped her chin a fraction higher and said, “I know I have no right to ask this of you, but if you could see your way to not mentioning my presence tonight to Roderick, I would appreciate your discretion.”
    “I hadn’t intended to.”
    Without looking at him, she inclined her head. “Thank you.”
    He waited a few seconds to let her relief sink in before saying, “I am, however, curious as to why you think Roderick, at twenty-three as levelheaded a gentleman as any I’ve met, still needs protecting.”
    Glancing at her, he saw a frown take over her fine features.
    “That . . . isn’t all that easy to explain.”
    The intersection of Chichester and Claverton streets was still some yards away. “We have a few minutes, at least.”
    After a moment, she exhaled. “If you must know, we were orphaned very young. The three of us—our older sister, Roderick, and I—were brought up by two aunts, our mother’s elder sisters. In light of our background, we must, understandably, always behave with the utmost respectability, but”—she gestured—“young boys will be boys, so it fell to my sister and me to . . . shield Roderick.”
    “So you’ve been protecting him for what? Twenty years?”
    “More than that. Hence it’s become an ingrained habit.” They turned the corner and she added, “One I’m clearly going to have to break.”
    He wished her luck with that; long-standing protective habits weren’t easy to mute, let alone eradicate.
    They were nearing the house he knew was Roderick’s. As they approached the mouth of the alley that ran alongside the gardens, she slowed. “I prefer to use the garden gate.”
    She diverted down the alley. Without comment, he followed.
    The garden gate lay midway down the property. Miranda halted before it, lifted the latch, pushed the solid wooden gate open, then paused and looked at Roscoe. “Thank you for your escort.”
    In the faint light, she saw his lips twist cynically. “Even if it was, in your eyes, unnecessary?”
    She regarded him, then said, “It was the gentlemanly thing to do.” She dipped her head. “Good night.”
    “Good night, Miss Clifford.”
    Turning, she stepped through the gate—and tripped on the low stone step.
    Steely fingers gripped her elbow.
    Sensation—unnerving and intense—shot up her arm.
    He held her up, steadied her.
    Straightening, she gulped in a breath, struggled to steady her senses. Her heart was thudding. A second passed, then she forced herself to look at him, now much closer, a superbly masculine rock by her side—suddenly so much more real, and infinitely more