Amy's step faltered with that realization. She glanced back to find Warren closing the distance between them. But he'd never catch her. She'd had years of outrunning brothers who weren't as big and clumsy--and foxed as he was. But then, she hadn't counted on running smack into one of The Hell and Hound's patrons.

She nearly knocked the fellow down. His arms locked around her in reflex, but fortunately, he recovered his balance before they both tumbled 141 over. Unfortunately, he noticed what he was holding before he let go.

"Here now," the man said with obvious relish. "What have we--was He didn't get a chance to finish. Warren caught up with Amy and his fist went straight over her shoulder into the man's face. He was definitely knocked back this time. Amy screeched as she fell with him, since his hold tightened on her when he started to fall, and they both landed hard. And before she could even push herself up, she was lifted off the man. Warren's arm, tight around her waist, took the breath from her more than the fall had.

The man, still sprawled on the ground, looked up at Warren to demand, "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"The lady isn't available."

"You could've just said so," the man grumbled as he fingered his cheek.

"I did, in my way," Warren replied. "And I'd stay down if I were you, unless you want more of the

same."

The fellow had started to sit up. At that

ominous threat, he lay back down. Well, Warren was a rather large man, and the Englishman was rather scrawny-looking. Warren also looked capable of some serious violence at the moment. Amy, pressed tight to his side, could feel it, as well as sense his disappointment that the man obviously didn't care to tangle with him.

He marched off at another furious pace. Since he didn't set Amy down, she began to wonder if he'd forgotten that he was toting her. She started to remind him of her presence when they could hear another grumble coming from behind them.

"A bloody American." The man guessed it by Warren's accent. "Ain't you heard the war's over?" Then, much louder: "And we'd have whipped your tails if I'd been there!"

Warren swung back around. The fellow scrambled to his feet and took off at a run. Amy would have laughed if she'd had the breath to. Her future husband wasn't getting satisfaction tonight of any kind. He started off again in the direction he'd taken earlier.

For her stomach's sake, Amy brought herself to his attention. "As long as you're going to carry me, could you turn me around so I can enjoy it?"

He dropped her. The dratted man 143 dropped her! Ordinarily, her Malory temper would have exploded at that point. But when she looked up at Warren, he seemed as surprised to find her sitting on the ground as she was.

"I take it that was a no?"

"Damn you, Amy, can you never be serious?"

"You don't want to see me serious, unless you like to see a female cry. On second thought, you probably do," she said in disgust.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked as he hauled her back to her feet. But he noticed her wince and added, "Did I hurt you?"

"Do not pretend concern for my backside, which you were all too eager to bruise with a switch."

"I wouldn't," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I wouldn't hurt you."

"This from the man who believes women are never too old to spank?" she scoffed.

He frowned. "You've gotten a bit too friendly with my sister, haven't you?"

"If you mean that I know things about you that you'd probably wish I didn't, yes, I do.

Someday you'll be glad of it, since that knowledge is what leads me to think you're not a complete lost cause --damn close to it--but you do have a redeeming quality or two."

"Is that so? And you're going to tell me what they are, I suppose."

"No, I'm not." She grinned impishly. "I'll leave you to guess what impresses me."

"I'd prefer you to consider me a lost cause."

"Yes, I know." She sighed. "And a few minutes ago I would have obliged you, no doubt about it."

"What, dare I ask, changed your mind?"

"That splendid display of jealousy you just gave in to," she said with some definite smugness.

"Oh, God," he groaned. "That was not jealousy."

"'Course it was, and nothing you say or do will convince me otherwise. Would you like to know why?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

She told him anyway. "Because I've declared myself. I'm yours for the asking, and deep down, your

proprietary instincts have accepted that, even if you

aren't ready to admit it, even to yourself." 145

"What nonsense." He snorted. "I merely felt like hitting the man. I've felt like hitting someone ever since I docked. But then, I get that way whenever I know I'm going to have to be civil to my brother-in-law."

Amy laughed. "Uncle James will be delighted to know that, I'm sure, but you picked this chap to hit because he had his arms around me."

He tried indifference. "Suit yourself."

"Oh, I will, Warren. You may depend upon it. And by the by," she said, switching into a more seductive tone, "about my virginity and your contention that it's a mere memory. You do know how you can prove whether or not I've still got it, don't you?"

It was either the sultry way she said it or the blatant dare implicit in those words, but Amy got what she'd about given up on. His hands fastened on either side of her head, so she had to accept his kiss whether she still wanted it or not. But she did want it, oh, yes. He could have no doubt of that with the voraciousness of her response, which was immediate and wildly abandoned.

Her arms slipped around him to do some

imprisoning of her own, while their tongues entwined with a kind of frantic desperation born of stolen moments. It was a maelstrom of heat and longing, of frustration and inexperience united in passion's sweet need.

Time and place held no meaning in that erotic storm, but it was a delicate storm, as easy to escalate as it was to abruptly end. When his hands went to Amy's buttocks to lift her against his hardness, it was the mere sound of her moan of pleasure that broke the spell.

They separated at once, swiftly, the fire still too intense without some distance from it. He turned his back on her, as if the sight of her would destroy what sense he had regained. She stood there panting, hands clenched, fighting the urge to beg, her frustration was so keen. But she understood this was not the time to push. He was a volatile man in each of his passions, and it was obvious she'd have to tread carefully to get the one she wanted. And she would get it. She was quite certain of that now. Trouble was, patience wasn't one of her virtues.

"Christ, you'd let me take you right here on the street, wouldn't you?"

He didn't turn back to ask it. 147 She ignored the tone, which was hardlycomplimentary, and answered truthfully. "It appears I have no shame where you're concerned." His back stiffened at that, so she quickly changed to her most teasing tone. "I don't suppose you'll reconsider now and take me to your hotel?"

"No!"

She winced at the explosiveness of that reply. "Some other hotel?"

"Amy!"

"I'm joking, for God's sake. Honestly, Warren, we have got to do something about your sense of humor."

He swung around to say stiffly, "My sense of humor be damned, it's your sense of propriety that is atrocious, and I believe my `contention,às you call it, has been amply proved. You can't be this wanton and still be a virgin."

"Why can't I? I'm young, I'm healthy, and my instincts are very good. And it's not me, you dense man.

You're the one who makes me want to devour you."

"One more provocative word out of you--was

"Yes, yes, you'll take a switch to me, I know. If you're not careful, Warren, I may give up on you yet."

Chapter 14

Amy wasn't sure why she did it. Possibly because Warren didn't know London all that well and could as easily get them lost as not. Or possibly because he seemed to get angrier the farther he walked, with no hacks making an appearance to relieve him of his unwelcome burden. And with him that angry, she knew she wasn't going to get anywhere else with him tonight. So she finally confessed, about five blocks away, that the carriage she'd used earlier might possibly still be in the vicinity of The Hell and Hound.

He didn't receive the news too well, of course. To put it mildly, he had a bit of a fit, accusing her of lying and conniving and a number of other deceitful practices. She didn't bother to deny it; well, how could she when it was partly true? Not that he gave her a chance to say much of anything, anyway, going on and on about it

himself as he marched her back the way 149 they'd come.

By the time they reached the hired carriage, which was indeed still sitting around the corner from the tavern, she was quite sure he was going to toss her in and have done with it. And he did toss her in. But he also followed, growling out her address for the driver.

They sat across from each other in stony silence as the carriage rolled along, because he'd said not one word more to her after the door was slammed shut, and apparently he didn't intend to. Amy didn't mind the ranting and raving. She was good at it herself when she was provoked. But her mischievous nature couldn't tolerate the silence, not for more than a few minutes. And, truth to tell, he made her more nervous when he was quiet than when he was yelling at her. At least in the yelling, she knew exactly what was on his mind.

So she let her nature have its way. Unfortunately, she still had only one thing on her own mind, so her teasing didn't come out sounding quite so teasing, at least not to Warren's ears.

"Roomy carriages like this one are a marvelous convenience, aren't they? Just think, I doubt we're ever going to be quite so private as this again--at least

not until you give in and take me to your hotel room."

"Shut up, Amy."

"You're quite sure you don't want to take advantage of these nice, soft seats? I know my younger uncles would never have passed up such an opportunity."

"Shut up, Amy."

"My cousins either. Derek and Jeremy would have a lady's skirts--was

"Amy!"

"Well, they would," she assured him. "And they wouldn't quibble about age or innocence, or the lack thereof, either, true rakes that they're becoming."

"I am not a rake."

"I've gathered that much, more's the pity. If you were, I wouldn't be sitting way over here, all alone, now

would I? I'd be sitting across your lap, possibly with my skirt already hiked up, or your hands endeavoring to raise it without my notice while--was

He groaned, his hand dropping over his eyes to cover them. Amy grinned to herself, satisfied that she'd got to him once again, until he said

derisively, "Even your knowledge betrays 151 you."

"Oh, stuff. There just happens to be a goodly number of young married people in my family who sometimes forget that I'm not. Even your sister has told me a thing or two about Uncle James that I found fascinating. Did you know that he used to drag her off the quarterdeck down to his cabin in the middle of the day to--was

"The devil he did!"

"He did, too," she insisted, "and that was before they were married."

"I don't want to hear about it."

She clucked her tongue. "You're sounding more and more like a bloody prude, Warren."

"And you're sounding more and more like a dockside whore," he bit out.

"Well, I'm trying," she said outlandishly. "After all, that is what you were looking for tonight, isn't it? And I am nothing if not obliging."

He said nothing to that, but he was glaring at her again. She thought for a moment he was going to reach for her. Even if it was for retribution, she could work with that. They'd be touching again, and something electrifying definitely happened to them both

whenever they touched. But he made no move to bridge the space between them. The man played hell with her self-esteem, no doubt about it.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, a touch of disgruntlement sneaking into her tone now. "You might as well forget it. You'd have to ride all the way out to the country to find a good switch. And I will scream my bloody head off if you lay a single hand on me that isn't intended to give me pleasure.

'Course," she said musingly, "I might scream my head off when the pleasure comes, too. I don't know, since I haven't had that kind of pleasure yet. We'll have to wait and see how I react to it, won't we?"

He sat forward this time. His hands were clenched. For the first time she noticed the small scar on his cheek ticking. She wished she knew if she'd finally pushed him into making love to her, or throttling her.

But she'd definitely pushed him too far in one of those directions, and not being sure which one, she didn't dare risk finding out.

"All right, you win," she quickly promised. "If it's silence you want, you shall have it."

She looked away from him, out the window, her breath held, hoping that would satisfy him. And it was a few nerve-racking minutes before she 153 heard him drop back in his seat. She sighed inwardly, but that had been too close for her peace of mind. His dratted too-quick temper was a definite problem and was going to make things difficult for her for a while, but not indefinitely. Once he started caring for her, she wouldn't have to worry about his temper anymore. She'd know him well enough by then to have figured out how to circumvent it, to cajole him out of it, or to simply ignore it, but she'd be assured that she would personally have nothing to fear from it. Her ears might suffer occasionally, but her bottom wouldn't.