The Wolf's Promise. Claire Thornton

reached down and took both of her hands in his, drawing her easily to her feet. She winced slightly as the tingling in her left leg made it extremely uncomfortable to put her full weight on her foot, and he steadied her with a light hand on her waist as she took an involuntary step sideways.

      She looked up at him, very conscious of how close together they were standing, and the almost casual intimacy of their actions, which nevertheless did not seem entirely unnatural.

      His brown eyes were as watchful as ever, but they didn’t lack warmth.

      ‘You’re right,’ he said, and he was so close his deep voice seemed to reverberate through her. ‘I do owe your father a life—and that life would appear to be your brother’s. But it will be best if you leave it up to me as to how I rescue him. I will write a reply to your father’s letter and you may take it to him tomorrow.’

      ‘But what are you going to do?’ Angelica demanded. ‘And when are you going to start?’

      ‘That’s my business,’ Benoît retorted firmly. ‘Does your father know you’re here, by the way? He must have changed a great deal since my brief meeting with him if he allowed you to beard me in my den without a murmur.’

      ‘Of course he knows!’ Angelica exclaimed indignantly, stifling the uneasy awareness that she had informed the Earl of her intentions by the cowardly expedient of leaving him a note.

      The Earl had wanted his secretary to bring his letter to Benoît, but Angelica had been deeply suspicious of asking a smuggler to rescue Harry. She hated doubting the Earl’s judgement, but since his accident his decisions had often been erratic and even unreasonable. Harry’s life was too important to entrust to a stranger on the strength of one brief meeting, sixteen years in the past. Angelica had been determined to discover what Benoît Faulkener was like for herself.

      Benoît smiled. His dark face hung dizzyingly above Angelica’s and she closed her eyes. The candle flames had begun to merge together in a glowing, misty haze. Now that she had finally put her case to Benoît—and he had apparently agreed to help—she was suddenly overwhelmed with weariness.

      She was dimly aware of an almost imperceptible touch on her hair, so light that she couldn’t be sure it hadn’t been a draught from the window disturbing her curls, then Benoît put his hand on her shoulder.

      ‘You’re swaying like an aspen tree in a summer gale,’ he said, sounding amused. ‘You’ve had a tiring day. I suggest you go to bed. You’ve done your part. Tomorrow you can safely return to your father.’

      Angelica opened her eyes, insulted by the idea that she could be worn out by the carriage ride from London and irritated by Benoît’s calmly amused dismissal of her.

      ‘Don’t patronise me, sir,’ she said coldly. ‘I am a little weary, but I am quite equal to my responsibilities. If your inordinately secretive disposition means that you prefer not to discuss you plans with me, so be it—but don’t pretend it’s because I’m not capable of understanding their complexities!’

      Benoît stepped back and inclined his head in acknowledgement of her comment, but he didn’t trouble to retaliate.

      ‘After you, my lady,’ he said, opening the door for her. ‘I am sure we will all see things more clearly after a good night’s sleep.’

      Angelica gritted her teeth and walked out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster.