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Not Quite A Lady ~ Erica Anderson
Release Date: April 14, 2010 ~ Ellora’s Cave

“I’m quite harmless, I assure you,” she said.

“Your assurances are completely unnecessary, madam.” Dare made a slow perusal of the room before continuing. “I see no traveling companions. If, in fact, you have any.” His tone left no doubt of his opinion on that issue. “Under the circumstances it would be improper to share the parlor. Despite your kind offer.” The final phrase was loaded with condescension. Really, had the woman been raised by wolves?

She appeared to be immune to his tone, only widening her eyes slightly as though she’d heard something that surprised her. Her eyes were brown, and he was reminded of the color of the moor when the autumn sun hung low in the sky. She was not pretty. Not exactly. Dare had experience with beauty in all its feminine forms, and this woman defied classification. Her nose was a bit too large, her chin too well defined. There was nothing soft and pliable here. Except…

She was still staring at him, as though she were stripping away the layers of politesse he cultivated in order to reveal whatever lay beneath his scowling features.

“As you wish,” she said simply and turned back to her book.

Dare ground his teeth. He did not care to return to the taproom where drunken wedding guests rubbed arms with unwashed plowmen. Perhaps this woman, whoever she was, at least had enough sense not to chatter. “I must beg your pardon,” he said gruffly.

She pressed a finger to the page to mark her position and looked up. “Oh?”

“I have been unconscionably rude.” He gave her the merest hint of a bow.

“I own that my own manners are quite shocking,” she said. “You are still welcome. If you wish.” Her voice curled around the words, lending them an undertone that he usually associated with sexual satisfaction.

He raised his eyebrows and let his eyes wander, quite deliberately, over her body. “Surely you have a reputation to preserve. A maid or companion, perhaps.” Or not. She was wearing a red dress, for God’s sake. It complemented her coloring, but still—red?

“Ah, yes. My maid.” She gave a little flick of her wrist. “She became ill and I was forced to leave her behind.”

Though her eyes were guileless, Dare knew, without a doubt, that she was dissembling. Rather than put him off, the realization only whetted his curiosity. “I see,” he said. He turned and made a show of removing his gloves, pulling the skintight leather from each finger. He tried again to place her. Perhaps she was a member of the demimonde. It was a sorority with which Dare was familiar, but she had none of the blowsy excess he associated with such women.

This train of thought reminded him of how long it had been since he had enjoyed a woman. It was regrettable that the dashing Mrs. Finley had become demanding of late.

Dare tossed his hat and gloves onto the sideboard and returned his attention to the mannerless creature across the room. She spoke the English of the upper classes, but with an odd, lilting rhythm.

Perhaps she was an expatriate from the continent. The accent, however, represented no language with which he was familiar.

Vexed, he strode across the room to the hearth where he stoked the fire, though the room was pleasantly warm. Her shoes lay, discarded, beneath the table. He straightened and realized that her eyes had followed him. He merely lifted his brows, the expression acknowledging her overt scrutiny and communicating his distaste for it.

“May I offer you a glass of wine?” she asked. “I have tried to drink the tea, but it is too awful.” Without waiting for his reply, she reached for a glass.

Her hands were slender, but her skin had been darkened by the sun, as though she spent most of her time outdoors. Definitely not a whore, then. Not a lady, either.