The Black Sheep and The English Rose. Donna Kauffman

for the gauntlet that lay ahead. He was used to operating behind the scenes, preferring to handle his affairs—both business and personal—in a one-on-one setting, without the attendant glare of public attention or speculation. He’d had enough of that during his days as an assistant district attorney in this very city, and even more so during the long months following his father’s death.

      He was several years into the private sector now, and his father had been gone long enough, his empire long since dismantled, that Finn rarely drew any attention beyond the local variety back home in Virginia. And even then, he kept a low profile. His neighbors in the privileged Middleburg horse community had never accepted his return upon his father’s death, mostly because they considered what he’d done with his inheritance to be a sacrilege to success. The fact that he was using the remaining Dalton wealth to help people less fortunate than themselves didn’t seem to up his social ante in the least. Which could have something to do with the fact that he didn’t give flat damn what any of them thought.

      The driver helped Felicity out of the car, eliciting a wave of murmurs from the crowd as they craned their necks to see who was emerging from the sleek, black town car. Finn followed, and immediately placed a hand on the small of her back, using his body as a shield between her and the crowd, who were now flashing cameras and cell phones, snapping pictures and calling out for her to stop and pose in case she was someone famous. There was a scattering of paparazzi as well, but not likely being aware of her stature in Britain, they were only minimally interested, which was perfectly fine with Finn.

      Of course, Felicity didn’t allow him to shepherd her into the restaurant with the minimum of fuss. She slipped from his protective stance and smiled and waved at the people in line, none of whom seemed to be the least bit offended that she was getting preferential treatment, as the mountain of a man governing the line slipped the rope free and motioned them both to go directly inside.

      Finn leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I thought the sideshow began inside, for the benefit of Reese.”

      “The show begins now, darling.” Keeping her smile intact, she added, “Do your best to keep up.”

      It should have pissed him off, her insouciance and dangerously placed bravado. Instead it made him laugh. Because he had little doubt she could pull off whatever scheme she had planned. His reaction set off a whole new wave of pictures, but when she would have paused again, he shuffled her ahead of him, corralling her through the front door, effectively using his broad shoulders to block out the barrage of flashes. He bent his head closer to her ear. “Keeping it up has never exactly been an issue for us.”

      She slowed just enough so that his hips bumped into the curve of her backside. She exerted the slightest bit of pressure, which had the immediate result of making him hard all over again. She glanced up at him. “Why, it appears you have a point. A hearty one, at that. We should discuss it in greater…depth, after dinner.”

      He really had to remember who he was playing with.

      Finn shifted to her side, using the fullness of her skirt as camouflage, thanking God he was wearing loosely pleated trousers. He turned to the maitre d’. “We’d like a table in the main room, preferably on the far side of—”

      “Bon soir, Jacques,” Felicity said, leaning past Finn and placing her perfectly manicured fingers on the maitre d’s forearm. “Could you please seat us at Mr. Reese’s table.”

      Finn glanced down at her. “That’s rather…direct.”

      “Darling, the man left me in a bit of a bind at the end of our previous engagement. I do believe he owes me a glass of champagne, at the very least.”

      Less than discreet, indeed. Finn smiled at Jacques. “As the lady insists.”

      Jacques frowned ever-so-slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the news he had to deliver. He cleared his throat and looked quite contrite as he said, “I’m sorry, Miss Trent. I believe Mr. Reese is already entertaining a dinner guest. They are on their second course. Perhaps you confused your meeting time?”

      Felicity smiled, all charm and British polish. “I assure you, he’ll be delighted to have us join him. Is Jason working this evening?” She glanced at Finn. “Antoine’s has the most wonderful sommelier.” She looked back to the maitre d’. “Please have him bring us your best Chantal Neuf.”

      “I’m not familiar with that one,” Finn said.

      “It’s relatively rare.” She smiled up at him. “And quite expensive.” She peered around Jacques’s shoulder, and they both spied Reese at the same time, seated prominently, dead center in the main room.

      Perfect, just perfect.

      A brief wave from her elicited a nod from the rather serious-looking, dark-haired man, which apparently was enough to appease the maitre d’, who proceeded to lead them directly to his table.

      Finn had seen several photos of John Reese in his preparation for the case, but in those he had been smiling. Definitely a different vibe at the table this evening. Finn had no idea what her plan of attack would be, but had every expectation that it would be an interesting one. He decided the best plan, at least initially, was to sit back and watch her work, take mental notes, then decide how best to proceed.

      This partnership wasn’t exactly panning out as he’d hoped, but why he’d ever thought she’d defer to his judgment or even attempt to work as an actual team, he had no idea. At least they were in it together, where he could keep close tabs on her.

      “John, how lovely to see you again.”

      Reese stood and extended a well-manicured hand. He was tall, tan, and wearing a very expensively tailored suit. “An unexpected pleasure, to be certain.” His accent was much the same as Felicity’s; polished and well-educated. He had still yet to smile.

      She stepped back so that Finn could move in next to her. “Allow me to introduce a friend of mine, Finn Dalton.”

      Finn accepted Reese’s offer of a handshake. They were close to the same age, matched in height and build, except Reese had dark hair and gray eyes, whereas Finn was blond and blue. They were a contrast as well in their approach to business. Finn knew Reese’s reputation to be all work and no play. Finn, on the other hand, thought that when work was done right, there was no better playground in the world.

      Reese shook his hand firmly, without any overt power play. Finn hadn’t expected anything so blatant anyway. Reese nodded to his dining companion across the table, who had also stood as Felicity approached. “Allow me to introduce Yvgeny Andreev.” He didn’t add anything else, but Finn didn’t require further information, and was betting Felicity had done her homework as well. At least Reese hadn’t insulted them by pretending Chesnokov’s agent was someone else. Or maybe he simply thought they wouldn’t recognize the name.

      Finn had. Andreev was a well-known mule used by several European buyers. He was reputed to be excellent at his job; quiet, efficient, and, when required, very good at remaining undetected by those who might otherwise have a quibble with his possession of certain cargo.

      Finn extended his hand to the slight man and received a tepid, at best, handshake in return. Andreev had thin, sandy brown hair and skin that was almost too smooth, without a hint of beard. His eyes were such a pale blue they appeared almost translucent, framed with lashes so blond as to be invisible. Finn had stood in courtrooms and boardrooms filled with all manner of human beings, ranging from the stone cold and psychotic to the wounded and broken. He’d observed enough in his life to know that this man with the dead eyes was essentially soulless.

      Suddenly John Reese wasn’t the biggest threat in the room.

      Finn pulled out Felicity’s chair, seating her on one side, between Reese and the Russian, then taking the only other available seat, which was opposite hers. His wait-and-see strategy was no longer an option. He trusted Felicity to hold her own, but in this case, he was taking no chances. He took the heavy linen dinner napkin from Felicity’s plate and handed it to her before picking up his own. “So, Reese, I understand you have an interest in international