by Lyndi Lamont

Lisbon, 1810

He was watching her. Again.

Penelope Porter gathered the folds of her brown cloak closer and attempted to disappear into the crowd. The people of Lisbon, attired in their colorful best, strolled leisurely on their way to Mass in a cheerful, meandering mob.

She glanced at her observer. He was none other than Captain Logan Wilding of the Devil's Own Connaught Rangers. The dashing rogue had the worst reputation of any man in his regiment. Her heart beat faster as the handsome Irishman smiled. Why was he doing this? It seemed like every time she turned around, there he was. What did he want with her?

Tired of the cat and mouse game, she worked her way through the crowd toward him.

He gave her a slight bow. "Good morning, Miss Porter, you're looking well today."

She murmured her thanks, thinking that "looking well" did not begin to describe Captain Wilding. His smile carved two deep grooves in his cheeks and his light blue eyes seemed all the more dramatic in his deeply tanned face. Firm, sensual lips seemed perpetually curled as if always on the edge of laughter. He had to be at least six feet tall, with massive shoulders that filled his scarlet coat, and a body that tapered down to narrow hips and muscular legs. A lock of wavy, black hair fell over his forehead giving him a boyish look that belied his reputation.

She struggled to keep her tone of voice cool and disinterested. "Did you want something, Captain Wilding?"

"A few moments of your time. May I escort you home?" he asked, offering his arm.

It would be impolite to refuse, so she gingerly placed her hand on his arm, aware of the iron muscles under her fingers and the warmth of his body when the crowd forced them together. Heat surged through her body despite the cool breeze off the Tagus River. She fought to contain her reaction to him.

As they walked, she glanced around to see if anyone she knew had observed them, not certain if being seen with Captain Wilding would ruin or enhance her reputation. The man's name certainly suited him. Logan Wilding was, indeed, wild to a fault--by all accounts, a rakehell popular with the younger officers, not to mention the light-skirted females who inevitably accompanied an army on the march. But the older officers tended to frown on his escapades and the respectable ladies gave him a wide berth. What on earth could he want with her?

Captain Wilding cleared his throat and asked, "Did your father speak to you about my offer?"

Surprised, she glanced up at him. Why does the dratted man have to be so tall? And so good looking? "I have no idea what you mean. I haven't spoken to Papa this morning. He came in very late last night." And drunk as a lord. Was that Captain Wilding's doing?

Wilding frowned. "I had best let him explain matters to you then."

"Captain, I do not understand--"

He smiled down at her and her pulse raced. Fool, are you so lonely that attention from any man is welcome?

"We will speak later. I believe this is your lodging house." With a bow, he was on his way.

Penny frowned as she climbed the stairs to the winter quarters she shared with her father. It sounded as if Papa had some explaining to do. She had a very bad feeling about this.

© 2004 by Lyndi Lamont

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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