TheCharmer Read Free Page B

beguile somewhere else. I'm busy."
    "Oh, but I love to watch you work." He stepped closer. "You're so very… nimble-fingered." His voice went husky and his eyes seemed to go darker, from smoke to storm cloud. He moved a step closer, until her elbow was so close to his… um, hip… that she could feel the heat of his body on her bared arm. She ought to get up and move away. She ought to say something sharp, a rebuke for such ridiculous maneuverings.
    Too bad her mouth was so dry.
    She always could feel him near her, as if he were surrounded by a wall of heat that seeped through her clothing to warm her skin. For once, he seemed to feel it too. The teasing gleam in his eye faded, to be replaced by something darker and much, much more intense.
    Breathing was becoming a problem. She parted her lips for more air to her lungs. His eyes flashed at that small, moist sound. Oh, God, she could fall into those cloudy-sky eyes forever—
    A sound came from nearby, a not-so-subtle clearing of a raspy throat.
    The spell over Rose popped like a soap bubble. She spun toward Kurt in relief. "Yes, sir?"
    With a grunt, the trainer jerked his chin toward the dismembered pistol before her.
    Rose blinked. Right. The pistol.
    She picked up the pistol, refusing to notice how her hands had that tendency to shake again. She was immune to blarney-bleating toffs with more looks than honesty. Immune.
    Completely.
    And as soon as her body stopped quivering with unreleased heat, she was going to prove it.
    Collis watched Rose handle the pistol, unable to take his gaze from her quick, skilled fingers. Her hands were actually quite elegant, despite the short, practical nails. She cleaned the barrel, her touch almost caressing as she stroked the cloth up and down.
    He was quite sure he was choking. What would it feel like to have those hands on him, stroking him in just that skillful way?
    Rose never fluttered her hands like some women he knew. Every movement she made had a purpose, with grace and economy combined. She had very sensible hands.
    Collis found himself suddenly convinced that anything else was just plain silly on a woman. Who wanted a female who couldn't keep a grip on her own fan, for pity's sake? Who wanted to be touched with weak, flaccid fingers when he could be held fiercely tight by a woman who meant it?
    Elegant, sensible hands.
    How intriguing.
    Through the opening into the hall, Collis caught a glimpse of the proprietor of the
Lillian
Raines
School
—Sir Simon Raines himself—talking to
Dalton
.
    Collis smiled and strode forward. Just the men he'd wanted to see.
Chapter Two
    « ^ »
     
    When Rose returned from helping Kurt lock away the pistols and kit—she suspected Kurt of using any excuse to accustom her to handling cold iron—she found that Collis was still in the arena talking to Lord Etheridge and Sir Simon. Sir Simon Raines had been the spymaster of the Liars before Lord Etheridge and now ran the Academy with his wife, Agatha. With a nod, Sir Simon exited the room, leaving the Etheridge men in deep conversation.
    Collis had only thrown a bit of toweling over one broad naked shoulder. He looked entirely delicious. Rose forced herself to look away. The fighting dummies were looking very smart this evening.
    She looked back at Collis. Yes, still delicious.
    Side by side, he and Lord Etheridge seemed more like brothers. Dalton Montmorency the elder, more sober brother, and Collis Tremayne the younger, more dashing one.
    "Rotter," the young ladies of the aristocracy whispered of Collis Tremayne with fascinated longing. "Rake. Heartbreaker."
    "Charmer."
    There were, unfortunately, many opportunities to watch Collis in the act of charming any and every woman in his path. Even her.
    The first time had been when he'd first joined the Liar's Club a few weeks after her own arrival. Rose shook her head, thinking of the diffident creature she'd been only months ago. He'd been standing by his uncle, much as he was now, who was showing him