it."
He was moving again, ascending a staircase, Aurora 's unsettled stomach informed her.
Good-natured teasing followed in their wake. "'ey, Merlin, let us know 'ow she is!"
"Yeah, and if she's as quick a study as she claims, we'll all 'elp teach 'er!"
The man carrying her swore quietly under his breath, shoving open a door and striding inside.
Aurora winced as the door slammed shut behind them. "Too loud," she muttered.
"Get used to it. Everything is going to sound loud until that coffee does its job. Do you need a chamber pot?"
"No. I'm never sick."
"Really? And how often are you foxed?" With that he deposited her on the bed.
"Never. I…" Startled, Aurora looked about, her retort dying on her lips as the significance of what she'd inadvertently accomplished registered in her cloudy mind. A room. Complete with a bed. And a man—one who seemed rational enough to listen rather than to immediately ravage her.
Instantly her stomach calmed.
"Perfect," she declared, congratulating herself for achieving precisely what she'd intended, when a moment earlier it had seemed as if her entire plan was about to explode in her face.
How much time did she have?
Squinting, she tried to focus on the clock on the mantel. "What time is it?"
"
Half after ten
. What the hell do you mean, 'perfect'? Perfect for what? What did you think you were doing down there just now?"
She sighed, lifting the cool pillow and pressing her cheek against it to still the throbbing in her head. "Staging my own ruin. At least what others would assume to be my ruin. Although, had you not come along, I fear my downfall would have been fact rather than fabrication. For which I'm extraordinarily grateful." She massaged her temples. "The situation was looking quite grim. Now, t hank s to your intervention my scheme will succeed. Any moment now."
Aurora watched as Merlin pulled a chair alongside the bed and straddled it. He was sinfully handsome, she noted. That was an indisputable fact—foxed though she might be. True, his good looks weren't the classic kind Lord Guillford had, nor even the chiseled kind Slayde boasted. Rather, Merlin was handsome in a darkly alluring way that hinted at danger, open seas, freedom, and adventure—the kind of life she yearned for and couldn't begin to fathom. His powerful build, clad in an open-necked shirt and breeches, defied convention; his black hair, rumpled and longer than fashion dictated, swept his forehead in harsh, rebellious lines. His eyes, those fiery chips of topaz, were turbulent, alive, exciting. He looked like a pagan god-wicked, seductive—ideal for convincing the ton that she was in fact a fallen woman.
"Merlin," she murmured. "How unusual. Is it your given name or your surname?"
"Neither. 'Tis an acquired name."
"Ah. Then you're as brilliant as Arthur's advisor?"
"No. I'm as formidable as a falcon."
"The merlin?" Aurora inclined her head, puzzled. "But he's one of the smallest falcons. And 'small' is hardly a term I'd use to describe you."
"Agreed. But the merlin is also swift, unerring, and deceptively nonthreatening. All of which describe me perfectly." With that, Merlin leaned forward. "You said you were staging your own ruin. Or what others would assume to be your ruin. Why? Or should I say, for whom?"
"For the benefit of a kind, charming, and incredibly conventional man," she supplied. "However, that needn't concern you. All you need to do is sit there. Well, perhaps not just sit there." Frowning, Aurora tossed masses of tumbled hair from her face. "I suppose the two of us should look a bit more compromising than two friends sharing coffee. Perhaps an embrace? Not until the dowager arrives, of course. Until then we can just chat. In any case, I'll pay you handsomely for what will amount to no more than an hour's work…"
One dark brow rose. "Pay me? For staging your
He was moving again, ascending a staircase, Aurora 's unsettled stomach informed her.
Good-natured teasing followed in their wake. "'ey, Merlin, let us know 'ow she is!"
"Yeah, and if she's as quick a study as she claims, we'll all 'elp teach 'er!"
The man carrying her swore quietly under his breath, shoving open a door and striding inside.
Aurora winced as the door slammed shut behind them. "Too loud," she muttered.
"Get used to it. Everything is going to sound loud until that coffee does its job. Do you need a chamber pot?"
"No. I'm never sick."
"Really? And how often are you foxed?" With that he deposited her on the bed.
"Never. I…" Startled, Aurora looked about, her retort dying on her lips as the significance of what she'd inadvertently accomplished registered in her cloudy mind. A room. Complete with a bed. And a man—one who seemed rational enough to listen rather than to immediately ravage her.
Instantly her stomach calmed.
"Perfect," she declared, congratulating herself for achieving precisely what she'd intended, when a moment earlier it had seemed as if her entire plan was about to explode in her face.
How much time did she have?
Squinting, she tried to focus on the clock on the mantel. "What time is it?"
"
Half after ten
. What the hell do you mean, 'perfect'? Perfect for what? What did you think you were doing down there just now?"
She sighed, lifting the cool pillow and pressing her cheek against it to still the throbbing in her head. "Staging my own ruin. At least what others would assume to be my ruin. Although, had you not come along, I fear my downfall would have been fact rather than fabrication. For which I'm extraordinarily grateful." She massaged her temples. "The situation was looking quite grim. Now, t hank s to your intervention my scheme will succeed. Any moment now."
Aurora watched as Merlin pulled a chair alongside the bed and straddled it. He was sinfully handsome, she noted. That was an indisputable fact—foxed though she might be. True, his good looks weren't the classic kind Lord Guillford had, nor even the chiseled kind Slayde boasted. Rather, Merlin was handsome in a darkly alluring way that hinted at danger, open seas, freedom, and adventure—the kind of life she yearned for and couldn't begin to fathom. His powerful build, clad in an open-necked shirt and breeches, defied convention; his black hair, rumpled and longer than fashion dictated, swept his forehead in harsh, rebellious lines. His eyes, those fiery chips of topaz, were turbulent, alive, exciting. He looked like a pagan god-wicked, seductive—ideal for convincing the ton that she was in fact a fallen woman.
"Merlin," she murmured. "How unusual. Is it your given name or your surname?"
"Neither. 'Tis an acquired name."
"Ah. Then you're as brilliant as Arthur's advisor?"
"No. I'm as formidable as a falcon."
"The merlin?" Aurora inclined her head, puzzled. "But he's one of the smallest falcons. And 'small' is hardly a term I'd use to describe you."
"Agreed. But the merlin is also swift, unerring, and deceptively nonthreatening. All of which describe me perfectly." With that, Merlin leaned forward. "You said you were staging your own ruin. Or what others would assume to be your ruin. Why? Or should I say, for whom?"
"For the benefit of a kind, charming, and incredibly conventional man," she supplied. "However, that needn't concern you. All you need to do is sit there. Well, perhaps not just sit there." Frowning, Aurora tossed masses of tumbled hair from her face. "I suppose the two of us should look a bit more compromising than two friends sharing coffee. Perhaps an embrace? Not until the dowager arrives, of course. Until then we can just chat. In any case, I'll pay you handsomely for what will amount to no more than an hour's work…"
One dark brow rose. "Pay me? For staging your
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