She didn't realize that he had tugged her shirt loose from her breeches until his bare hand touched her naked back. It would have been one more sweet delight if his fingers hadn't been ice cold. Mood shattered, she gave a squeak of shock and broke away. "This is absurd," she said crossly, as if she hadn't been an enthusiastic participant. "You can stay here if you like, but I'm getting off this roof before I freeze to death."
He raised his hand and brushed her cheek with gossamer tenderness. "I'll keep you warm."
As he tried to draw her face down for another kiss, she hastily pushed herself upright and sat back on her heels against the chimney. He was different tonight, moving and speaking with a lazy deliberation unlike the focused intensity of earlier occasions. Guessing the reason why, she said tartly, "You're drunk. No wonder you're behaving like an idiot."
He ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "Not… not drunk," he said with precision. "Nitrous oxide."
That explained why she hadn't tasted alcohol when they kissed. "Degenerate," she muttered. "Though what else could one expect of a Hellion?"
"It's interesting stuff," he protested. "Makes one very frank. And frankly, my little felon, I want you." He sat up and reached for her again. "I've never kissed a criminal before."
She didn't know whether to laugh or push him down the slates. She settled for batting his hand away. "I'm not little-I'm as tall as many men. Now I'm going to take the rope and get down before whoever lives in this house hears us scampering overhead and sends for the watch."
He laughed. "The watch has too much sense to be out oh a night like this."
"Then we should show equal sense," she retorted. "Are you capable of climbing down without breaking your neck?"
He considered carefully. "I think so."
It was not a reassuring statement, but his strength and instinct for self-preservation and athletic skill had saved him before. Since climbing down the back of the house would put them in a walled garden, she took one end of the rope, checked that it was still securely tied to the chimney, then crawled to the side of the house that overlooked the alley.
No one was in sight and the windows were dark, so she wrapped the rope around her waist and prepared to descend. "When I reach the ground, I'll tug on the rope twice," she said to Strathmore, who had followed her. "Then you come down, and for heaven's sake, be careful."
After the tricky maneuver of swinging from roof to rope, she descended in a controlled slide, her leather gloves protecting her hands from being rasped raw. She reached the ground safely, only to slip on a patch of ice directly under the rope. Luckily she was still holding onto the line, which kept her from falling.
She stepped away cautiously, then signaled to Strathmore. As soon as he was on the ground, she would be away at a speed that would do credit to a frightened hare. The tipsy earl would be on his own, and good riddance.
He made the descent so quickly that she wondered about the condition of his bare hands. Telling herself that it was none of her concern, she gathered herself for flight. Then Strathmore hit the ice below the rope and went down hard. She winced at the violence of the impact. "Are you all right?"
"I believe so." He started to rise, then went down again as his right ankle folded under him. "Then again, maybe I'm not."
"Damn!" Kit said with feeling. "Have you broken your leg?"
"I don't think so." He probed the limb in question. "This ankle gives way whenever it's abused. In a day or two it should be fine." With the aid of the rope he pulled himself up, then leaned heavily against the wall of the house.
"Does it hurt badly?"
"My dear, nothing hurts at the moment." He chuckled. "I could have my foot hacked off with a dull knife and not notice. If I'm ever forced to submit to the surgeon's knife, I intend to saturate myself with nitrous oxide first." He took a cautious step and went down to his knee. "However, though my ankle doesn't hurt, it's showing a certain stubbornness about walking."
Kit sighed. "I'll help you to Lord Mace's front door. Please don't knock until I've had a chance to get away."
"I appreciate the offer," he said politely, "but I'd really rather not return to Mace's house."
"If you stay outside in your condition without so much as a cloak to keep you warm, you'll be dead before dawn," she pointed out, trying to hold on to her temper.
"I live about two blocks away. Don't worry, I can hobble that far on my own." He attempted to demonstrate and almost fell again. If not for the wall, he would have.
Resigned, Kit slung his right arm over her shoulders. He was very large and very solid. "I'll help you home, if you think you can stay out of further trouble for that long."
"No guarantees, my dear." In spite of everything, there was laughter in his voice.
Trying not to think of the lean, hard length of his body, she headed toward the street. They must look like two drunks helping each other home. "If you hadn't interfered," she said acidly, "I would have been able to leave at my leisure and escape with my rope. Now I'll have to buy a new one."
"I'll buy you another." He considered. "Then again, maybe I won't. The last thing I want is to encourage you in your life of crime. Not that you need any encouragement. I'd wager that you didn't ask for directions to my house since you already found out where it is while planning your burgling schedule. Am I right?"
Since he was, she didn't dignify the remark with an answer.
At first he kept up a flow of nonsensical chatter, but soon he fell silent, his breath becoming more labored. At least the vile weather meant the streets were deserted.
Half a block from their destination, they hit another patch of ice and both of them went down. Kit wasn't hurt, but the earl gave a sharp gasp. As she helped him up, he panted, "The effect of the nitrous oxide is wearing off. Unfortunately."
The last two hundred yards seemed endless. When they finally reached his house, she frowned at the high marble steps. "I'll ring for your servants. It will take a couple of footmen to get you up to the door."
"There's a better way," he panted. "Down the alley."
By the time they reached a ground-level door at the rear of the house, she was so tired that she wasn't sure who was supporting whom. When he ordered, "Turn your back for a moment," she obeyed without even trying to cheat and steal a peek.
There was a sound of rasping stone, followed by a key grating in a lock. She turned back, curiosity revived. "If you keep a key hidden behind a brick, you must do this regularly. Why don't you use the front entrance like a proper earl?"
"I like to come and go unobserved sometimes." He opened the door into a drab hall lit by a small oil lamp.
"I'm beginning to think you're as big a sneak as I am." She helped him inside, thinking that it was dangerous to feel such comradeship with a suspect. "Since there's a cane in the corner, I assume that you can get upstairs on your own." She lifted the cane and handed it to him. "Good night, Lord Strathmore."
She had left escape too late. Before she could take a step, a long, powerful arm wrapped around her waist, stopping her in her tracks. "Not so fast, my felonious friend."
She tensed for battle, but he said reassuringly, "Truce, my dear, at least for tonight. It would be ungentlemanly to turn you over to the law when you saved my life."
"Then what do you want?" she asked warily.
"I want you to come upstairs and warm yourself so that you don't end up frozen in a gutter somewhere."
The earl was right; now that his warm body was no longer draped over her, she was shivering uncontrollably. After he closed and locked the door, she accompanied him up the stairs.
Though Strathmore leaned heavily on the cane, he managed quite well without Kit's help. She wondered if he had exaggerated his injury in order to get her to come with him. Very likely; it was obvious the earl was devious-exactly the sort of villain she was hunting for.