Excerpt of Highlander In Disguise by Julia London

The next afternoon, at quarter past three, Anna was at the
back stoop in the mews of the house on Cavendish Street,
still shaken after the spectacular misfortune of having
run into Lady Worthall on the street. She had, of course,
been forced to make up an excuse for being in this part of
town on such a dreary and rain-soaked day. If she was
discovered calling on a bachelor gentleman, unescorted…
she’d be painted a loose woman.

“Calling on an old friend,” she had answered politely when
Lady Worthall inquired.

“Who?” Lady Worthall demanded loudly, pretending she was
deaf.

“A friend,” Anna said again. “But I think I am quite
mistaken-I believe she must be on the other end of
Cavendish Street,” she said, and turned away, as if
studying the other end of the street.

"If you tell me who, dear, perhaps I can help you,” Lady
Worthall insisted.

"Aha! I am quite mistaken!” Anna said gaily. “Thank you
for your help,” she said, smiling brightly as she reached
out to squeeze the old woman’s hand. “Good day!” And with
that, she pivoted about, went marching off in the opposite
direction and did not stop until she had gone at least a
quarter of a mile. Only then did she circle around, using
her umbrella as a shield, walking through the alleys and
mews that meandered through the neighborhood.

When she at last had managed to slip into the mews
undetected, she knocked frantically, glancing at the
street entrance.

The old man who had seen her in yesterday opened the door
with a frown. Anna paid him no mind, but quickly stepped
past him, into the dark interior, and closed her
umbrella. “I beg your pardon, sir, but there is a
frightfully intrusive woman who lives somewhere close by.”

“Directly adjacent, she does.”

Anna glanced up at the old man in shock as the thought
that Lady Worthall could be so close sunk into her
brain. “Are you quite certain? Lady Worthall?”

“Aye, miss, I’ve naugh’ been more certain of anything in
me life,” he said grumpily. “If ye will please follow me,
his lordship awaits.”

His lordship, such that he was, was waiting, all right,
standing at the windows, his hands at his back, his legs
braced far apart. He turned sharply when she was shown in
the door by the old man, a frown on his face. “Ye’re
late.”

"I beg your pardon, but I was unavoidably detained by Lady
Worthall.”

“Lady Worthall!” he exclaimed wildly. “Did she see ye come
in here, then?”

“Of course not!” Anna shot back. “Do you take me for a
fool?” Instantly, she held up a hand. “I will thank you
not to answer that,” she added before he could speak, and
angrily tossed aside her cloak, bonnet, and
umbrella. “Honestly, Mr. Lockhart, I’m not any happier
about this than you! I was forced to lie, and then it
began to rain, and my slippers are near to ruined!”

“I donna give a damn about yer slippers,” he said. “But if
that old battle-ax discovers ye are here, there’ll be hell
to pay for it, mark me.”

“I am quite accustomed to there being talk of me, sir. I
assure you that if she is to mention seeing me abroad, it
will not come as a surprise to-”

“God blind me, then, I’m no’ speaking of ye, I am speaking
of me!”

“You?” she said, pausing in her struggle to remove her
gloves. “Why? I’m the only one who knows that you are not
who you say!”

“Never ye mind, why,” he said gruffly, and peered out the
window before drawing the drapes shut. As that cut out
what precious little light was left of this awful day, he
went about lighting several candles.

Anna watched him as he moved about. He was dressed in a
navy coat and gold embroidered waistcoat, his neckcloth
expertly tied-a dashing figure of a man, the sort of
figure that made her feel lightheaded.

When he had lit the last candle, he turned to face her
again, put his hands on his trim hips and studied her
closely. “I told ye to dress in something less priggish,
did I no’?”

Confused, Anna looked down at her gown. It was a pale blue
silk, adorned with tiny pink rosebuds and gathered at her
back into a long train; it had cost her father a small
fortune to commission. “But I did dress less priggishly!”

With a shake of his head, Lockhart strode across to where
she stood. “A man likes to see a wee hint of what lies
beneath.” He frowned at her bosom, then lifted his hand,
as if he meant to touch her bodice. Anna froze. He
hesitated. She let out a quick sigh of relief.

And then he did it. Just put his hand on the bodice of her
gown-dug into her bodice, actually, his fingers curling
around the fabric and his knuckles sinking into the round
flesh of her breasts. She gasped; he frowned and forced
the bodice of her gown down, so that it just barely
covered her breasts.

“There,” he said, more to himself, and pulled his fingers
from her dress. “Aye, there ye are,” he said again. He had
not, as yet, lifted his gaze from her bosom, and in
between her shock and the shaking of her knees, she caught
her breath and held it.

He stood there like a mute, staring at her breasts for
what seemed an eternity, but then suddenly stepped back
and away from her as he lifted his gaze to her
eyes. “There, then, do ye see, lass? A woman’s bosom is to
be admired…” His gaze flicked to her breasts again. “No’
hidden away,” he muttered, and abruptly turned away.

Anna released her breath.

“Perhaps ye should bring a slate and take notes of what I
tell ye. When ye are in the presence of a man ye admire,”
he said, his back to her, “ye’d do yerself well to use
such a…bonny bosom to yer advantage.”

“Use it?”

“Aye. To catch his eye.”

“By exposing myself?” a perplexed Anna asked.

“No’ expose them-Diah! A man doesna want to see them until
he has the lass in his bed. But he very much wants to
imagine and he needs a wee bit of help in that regard!” He
glanced at her over his shoulder. “Ye’ve no idea what I
mean, eh?” he asked, frowning a little, and pivoted about,
once again closing the distance between them.

And once again, before Anna could determine what he was
about, he grabbed her hand in his, then snaked an arm
around her back so that hand was on the small of her back,
and pulled her into his chest as if they were dancing.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

He grinned, a boyish, devilish grin. “I’m pretending to
stand up with ye, lass. And ye may pretend ye coerced me
into doing so, if ye prefer-”

“I did not coerce you!”

“Uist! Ye complain too much!” he said, and stepped
backward, awkwardly dragging her with him. “All right,
then, pretend ye are dancing with yer dandy Mr. Lockhart,
will ye, light as a fairy on yer pretty little feet, and
ye’d like him to pay close attention to what ye say. How,
then, do ye drag his attention away from yer pretty sister
across the room?”

She frowned as he moved backward, dragging her
along. “It’s quite impossible to pretend anything without
at least the hint of music.”

“Ach, Anna! Can ye no’ use just a wee bit of yer
imagination? We’ve only begun to dance!” He smiled; his
gaze dipped to her bosom again. “Go on then,” he said, his
voice softer, “How do ye gain his attention?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said irritably. “I suppose I
should kneel between his knees.”

He smiled lopsidedly at that. “That would undoubtedly gain
his attention, lass. But no’ the sort I think ye want.”

“Ah. So that lesson only applies in the delivery of a
whiskey, is that it?”

“That is no’ the only thing it applies to, but ye will
require many more lessons ‘ere we broach the other
functions for which yer knees are useful.”

Anna blushed furiously at that, and he laughed. “Shall we
try again, then? How do ye gain a man’s attention?”

“Oh all right!” She tried to find her feet without music,
stumbling a little as he shifted directions and forced her
backward. “I suppose I’d say something like…You seem to
enjoy dancing, sir.”

Grif suddenly paused in his strange little dance, looked
at her as if he expected her to say more. “Is that the
best ye can do, then?”

She thought about it. “Yes,” she said with a firm nod. “If
I make polite conversation with a gentleman, he should
respond in kind.”

Grif sighed heavenward, as she were intentionally taxing
him. “If ye make polite conversation, a gentleman should
respond?” he mimicked her. “If ye want a man to see only
ye, to think of only ye, then ye must do more than make
polite conversation!”

“Really?” she said uncertainly. “What more should I do?”

"Mary Queen of Scots,” he groused. “Mind what I do now-do
ye see how far away I hold ye from me?”

“Yes. A proper distance.”

“Aye. ‘Tis a proper distance for grandmothers and
spinsters. But if ye want him to hold ye close like a
lover, then ye will move just so,” he said, prompting her
with a hand at the small of her back, pushing her closer
to him. Anna took one step. Then two, at his urging, and a
third, so that now her bosom was brushing against his
coat.

He grinned appreciatively. “Now ye have me undivided
attention. And ye say…?”

“I say…do you enjoy dancing?”

“No, no! Ye look up into me eyes, through those lovely
lashes…lean forward now, lean forward…aye, there ye have
it! And say, “’Ye’re a bloody fine dancer, Mr. Lockhart,’”
he said in a falsetto voice while batting his
lashes. “’What other talents might ye be hiding from me,
then?’”

Anna couldn’t help herself. She burst into laughter.

"What?” he demanded.

"What other talents might you be hiding?” she repeated,
and laughed again.

"Then give me one better!” he challenged her. “Show me how
ye’d gain yer love’s attention, and God blind me if ye
mention the bloody weather!”

She laughed again, laughed deeply at her situation that
suddenly seemed ridiculously absurd.

With a dangerous grin, Lockhart yanked her into his chest,
holding her so tightly that she could scarcely catch her
breath. “There ye are,” he said low. “A bonny laugh ye
have, Anna.”

That was the moment Anna felt something inside her trip
and fall, something come clean away from all the snares
and traps and tangles of the propriety in which she’d been
steeped all these years. And as he began to move, she
pressed into him as he had shown her, looked up at him
from beneath her lashes as he’d directed, and said, in a
purring voice, “My, my, sir, how well you move us about
the dance floor! One can’t help but wonder if you move as
well in other, more intimate circumstances,” she said, and
let her lips stretch into a soft smile.

It worked. Grif’s grin faded; he slowed his step a little
and blinked down at her for a moment. But that dangerous
smile slowly appeared again, starting in his eyes and
casually reaching his lips. “If ye were to pose such a
question to me, lass, I’d say, ‘as fast or as slow, as
soft or as hard as ye’d want, leannan. Pray tell, how
would ye want?”

The tingling in her groin was a signal that she was on
perilous ground. Anna looked into his gray green eyes, so
dark and so deep that she couldn’t quite determine if this
was a game they were playing or something far more
dangerous than that. And her good sense, shaped and
controlled from years of living among high society,
quietly shut down, allowing the real Anna, the Anna who
yearned to be loved, to be held and caressed and adored
and know all manner of physical pleasure, to slide deeper
into the circle of his arms.

“I don’t rightly know how I’d want, sir, other than to
say…” Her voice trailed away as she let her gaze roam his
face, the perfectly tied neckcloth, the breadth of his
shoulders, his thick arms. And then she lifted her gaze to
his, saw something smoldering there, and recklessly
whispered, “that I’d most definitely want.”

He said nothing. The muscles in his jaw bulged as if he
refrained from speaking, and she realized that they had
come to a halt. But then his hand spread beneath hers, his
palm pressed to her palm, and he laced his fingers between
hers, one by one, and with the last one, he closed his
hand, gripping hers tightly. “Tha sin gle mhath,” he
whispered hoarsely.

Anna smiled, lifted a curious brow.

“I said, that’s very good, lass. Very good, indeed.”