He heaved a sigh. “You are the most stubborn woman. Very well, I’ll leave. But I must rest first. May I come in and just—”

“No!” Heavens, but he was a determined individual. “Good night, Mr. St. John.” She placed her hand on the casement to close it, expecting him to move out of the way.

Instead, he drew back instantly—and then disappeared from sight. The place where he’d been was filled with a horrid black stillness.

She gasped and rushed forward. “Devon—!”

He was still there, crouching on the thick tree limb that held him, hanging onto the branch above. His teeth gleamed faintly in the dark. “You would miss me if I was gone; admit it.”

“I am not admitting anything,” she said, though her heart still trembled in place. “That was a horrid trick.”

“I’m a desperate man. Climbing up was one thing, climbing down in the black of night is another.” He moved back into place, leaning in the casement as he smiled at her, that wistful lopsided smile that always made her melt just the tiniest bit on the inside.

“Kat, my love, what if you chose a chair for me and I promised to stay in it?”

Her gaze narrowed. “You wouldn’t get up?”

“The seat of the chair and I would never part. Not unless you invited us to.”

That seemed like a fair offer. Besides, if he stayed in the window, one of the lads was bound to see him. Simon in particular was a restless one and was frequently up and about in the wee hours of the morn.

Kat closed her eyes. “This is madness, but…blast it! I suppose I might as well.”

And with that, Kat Macdonald made a monumental decision, one she’d mull the rest of her days. She stepped out of the way and let Devon St. John climb into her window.

Chapter 15

Every oncet in a while, I gets a pain in me head and
I’m never sure if it is because of somethin’ I’ve done, or somethin’ I need to do.

Lady Birlington’s maid Sabrina to Cold Bob, the fishmonger, at the market early one morning

Devon climbed the rest of the way in, stepping over the sill with ease. He paused to close the window, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet.

“You cannot stay long.” There was a defensive note to her voice.

He turned to answer her, but though he wanted to reply, her night rail prevented him. All he could do was nod. Nod and stare, for she was wearing a gown of pale green silk that flowed to her feet, clinging lasciviously to every curve she possessed. Worse—or better, depending on whether he enjoyed the lush torture she presented—the neckline was low, exposing rounded curves that made his mouth water.