“What happens if someone sees us?” she demanded angrily, wondering all the while why she should even care. “It sounds like there are at least two hundred people in there. We’re bound to get caught. Besides, they have laws against scampering into other people’s houses in the middle of the night, and while they may not abide by those laws in California, they certainly do in Virginia. I’d think Boston would be even worse.”
“It is,” Drake agreed with a smile that made her swallow hard and lean against the house for balance. Crouching down, he cupped his hands to make a step. “Will it help if I guarantee you a jury of your peers?”
“No. And it won’t change my mind.”
Drake straightened, and resisted the urge to throttle her stubborn neck on the spot. “Hope, you said yourself we’d never make it through the front door dressed like this.”
“And I meant it,” she agreed tersely. “But I don’t see where crawling in through the window is going to do any good, either. I don’t even see why you want to get into this house.”
“Because it’s my house.”
Hope’s eyes widened. She blinked a couple of times, opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut again. She scowled, glancing from the window to Drake. Her gaze eventually settled on the latter. “What do we do once we get in?”
“Get dressed, of course.” He reached out and took the threadbare plackard of her flannel shirt between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes were dark, penetrating. “What would you say to trading this in for a bit of silk or satin? You said once that you used to wear them all the time.”
“I did,” she replied, her voice cracking as her resolve weakened. Silk? Satin? Lord, the temptation was too great to resist. She looked down at the heavy boots encasing her feet, at the cuffs of the trousers rolled up to her ankles, and added, “You’ll have a hard time finding a grown for me, gunslinger. Most dresses don’t fit, and I don’t like people ogling my ankles. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little taller than most girls.”
“I’ve noticed. In fact, there isn’t a whole lot I haven’t noticed about you, sunshine.” His eyes darkened as he ran a tantalizing finger over her jaw, her lower lip, her cheek. “I’m not complaining.”
Hope shifted uncomfortably when his hand traveled to the first button of her shirt. The fingers against her flesh were hot, and extremely distracting. She swatted his hand and tried to pull away. The house pressing into her back stopped that.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Suppose we get inside, and by some miracle of God you find clothes that actually fit us—”
“I will.”
She ignored the interruption. “Then what? Join the party? If so, how long do you think it’ll be before someone recognizes you?” Her expression grew suddenly guarded. “Are Charles and Angelique inside? What happens if they see us? And—”
The hand Drake clamped over her mouth stopped her barrage of questions. “The only way you’re going to get any answers is to climb through that window. ” He nodded to the whitewashed wall over her head. “Now, I’m going to take my hand away, and I’m going to offer to boost you up—one more time. Refuse, and you’ll be spending the rest of the night in the stable. I won’t come back for you once I’m inside.”
The hand, which had blocked off half her supply of air, was removed. She took a deep breath as he hunched over and cupped his hands into a makeshift stair. He glanced up expectantly.
“Well?” he asked, a single golden brow cocked high in his sun-kissed forehead. “Which will it be? A nice, soft, feather tick bed or a prickly, lumpy, pile of straw?”
Hope pursed her lips and glanced down at his hands with open disdain. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d carry through on his threat and leave her to pass the night in the stable—wherever that was.
“Hooooope?”
Her gaze drifted to the expensive carriages lining the cobblestone drive. Someone had driven them here. It wouldn’t surprise her to find all the liverymen gathered in the stable Drake had threatened her with, having their own party.
“I don’t like this,” she said finally, testing her foot on the stop of his entwined knuckles. His palms closed around her boot, making it impossible to pull away.
“You don’t have to. Just hurry up and get inside. It’s getting cold out here.”
“It’s supposed to be cold. That’s why they call it winter.”
“It isn’t cold inside. It’s nice and toasty warm. And there are real beds in there.”
“I suppose you think you can bribe me now?” she replied. He hoisted her and she started to scramble up the wall, cursing all the while at what a perfectly stupid thing she was doing. “Well, maybe you can,” she continued, clinging to the scratchy wall. Her fingers brushed against the windowsill and she made a grab of it, giggling when her hand closed around the whitewashed wood.
Drake grunted as he shoved her through the window he’d pried open with a tree branch. Hope shimmied through the opening. He heard a thump as her body tumbled over the windowsill, crashing to the floor. He prayed the sound would be masked by the lively cotillion the orchestra chose to strike up at that moment.
Hope peeked out the window and sent him a mocking glare. “Well? Are you coming or would you rather wait until one of the guests
stumbles in here and finds me? They’ll probably think I’m a thief, come to snatch the silverware.” She chuckled despite herself when she glanced down at her tattered clothing. “Can’t say I’d blame them.”
“I can’t go anywhere until you move, sunshine.”
She backed away from the window to give him room to maneuver, and when she looked up it was to see Drake springing lithely to the floor. Her breath caught in her throat. He looked undeniably handsome, what with the moonlight flickering in behind him, silhouetting his body and casting his muscular frame in enticingly vague shadows. Though his clothes were in as bad a state as her own, he looked oddly at home against the softly painted wall and plush Chippendale furnishings.