The Regency Season: Passionate Promises. Ann Lethbridge

make up her mind about something. Probably whether she could trust him with the truth. She couldn’t, of course, but that was something he didn’t intend to point out.

      ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Or explain it to Gabe later. Your choice.’

      Looking down at her hands, she slowly unravelled the twisted strings.

      Not going to trust him. The hollow ache of disappointment in his gut was a surprise. Perhaps it was merely because he was left with no recourse but to force the issue. He tossed back the balance of his brandy and went to pull the bell.

      ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I need to locate someone. I thought you might help me.’

      Yet another surprise. His breath caught in his throat. She’d come to him for assistance. The cold inside him seemed to melt a little. As if he liked the idea she’d turned to him for aid. Not good. Not good at all. He was the wrong man to be offering his help to a woman with a reputation to protect. He strode back to the table and looked down at her. ‘Who?’

      A defiant lift of her chin. ‘You must swear to say nothing of this to Gabe or Nicky.’

      ‘Not tell them verbally, or in writing, or both?’ Two could play at the game of cheating. She needed to understand that, unlike Granby, he was nobody’s fool.

      She glared at him. ‘Not to tell them in any manner, shape or form through your own actions or that of any other person.’

      Another bubble of laughter fought for escape. It was so long since he’d wanted to laugh, no wonder it hurt. But this was no laughing matter. ‘You would have made a good lawyer, I think.’

      ‘Women aren’t allowed to be lawyers. They are not allowed to do anything useful.’

      Oh, was that was she thought? ‘Oh, believe me, they have lots of uses.’ He let the wicked ideas in his head show in his eyes, echo in his tone of voice.

      Undisturbed by the innuendo, she lifted one shoulder in a very Gallic gesture of disdain. ‘Men.’

      Not a blush in sight. His blood heated. Was it her boldness that attracted him, when most debutantes had him running for the hills? ‘So jaded?’

      A flash of pain in her eyes, followed by an acceptance he didn’t understand, robbed him of amusement. He should not have resorted to idle teasing. They weren’t on those kinds of terms. ‘I beg your pardon, but that is the sort of male jocularity you exposed yourself to by coming here.’

      ‘Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly able to take care of myself.’

      ‘Are you?’ He pulled her to her feet, tilting her chin with one hand to look down into a stormy gaze that reminded him of trees in autumn lashed by the wind, pulling her hard against his body with the other. Her sweet curves were an aphrodisiac in his blood. His body hardened as he took her mouth in a punishing kiss. Show me, sweetheart, he willed. Resist me. His heart thundered and blood roared in his ears.

      For a satisfying moment he felt her tense, but even as he prepared to force himself to let her go, she melted sweetly, kissing him back with a passion that would have seared his soul. If he’d had one.

      His mind blanked of everything except the sensations scorching through his body, the feel of her softness melding into him, the taste of brandy on her silken tongue sliding against his, the scent of her, jasmine and hot summer nights. Delicious. Tempting.

      Luscious and...not for him. He pushed her away before he forgot himself entirely.

      Twin spots of colour blazed on her cheekbones. Embarrassment. Shame.

      Self-loathing burned like acid in his throat. ‘See how vulnerable you are?’ he said harshly, all too aware of his raging desire and uneven breathing. ‘No woman has the strength to prevent a determined man from taking what he wants. Dressed as you are, you told every man in the establishment that you are available and willing.’

      Her eyes widened as if he’d wounded her feelings. Good. Perhaps she had learned her lesson. He’d certainly learned his. Keep his distance. ‘Give me your word you won’t try anything like this again and I’ll take you home.’

      He reached out to take her arm.

      She jerked away. ‘If you promise not to tell Gabe about this evening, I will not tell him of your insult to my person.’

      Though he showed nothing on his face, he was surprised to discover her words hurt more than a slap would have done. Yet she was right. It had been an insult. Deliberately so. Outcast by the more respectable members of the ton, his attentions should be unwelcome. He’d used his reputation for vice to gain the trust of the dregs of society, the informants, the spies, and earned the scorn of his peers. He raised a brow. ‘Blackmail. How unworthy. And what do you think Gabe would do? Call me out? He’d be more likely to insist we marry.’

      A strange look came to her face. Yet another one he couldn’t read. She shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

      He did not bother to keep the bitter edge from his tone. ‘My sentiments exactly.’ He intended never to marry, and certainly wasn’t going to let a little chit like her change his mind.

      ‘I wouldn’t have had to come here,’ she shot back, ‘had you responded to my notes.’

      Notes he should have returned unopened, instead of stuffing them in his desk drawer. ‘A young lady doesn’t demand a gentlemen wait on her. It is not good ton.’

      ‘Oh, and I suppose you are good ton,’ she muttered, then lifted her gaze to meet his face. ‘You avoided me on purpose.’

      He’d been avoiding her like a man avoided the hangman’s noose. She was too damnably attractive. ‘Well, here I am now.’ He poured chill into his voice. No easy task when his body burned with lust. ‘Tell me who it is you want found and then I’ll take you home.’

      ‘You’ve no doubt heard that Moreau is back in England.’ Clear, velvet-brown eyes met his in challenge.

      A spy placed in England by Fouché, Moreau had very nearly succeeded in a plan to assassinate King George. He had used Minette to lure her sister Nicky, now Gabe’s wife, into helping him. He’d almost captured Gabe into the bargain. It had been a near-run thing, but ultimately Nicky and Gabe had outwitted him. Moreau’s spectacular failure had resulted in him being relocated to Madrid, where he must have helped Napoleon’s brother gain the throne of Spain. No doubt back in favour, he was once more assigned to help in the downfall of the only country stopping Napoleon from ruling the whole of Europe. Britain.

      ‘Nothing I didn’t already know,’ Freddy said. ‘And not your concern.’

      Her eyes darkened. ‘Is it not?’ She took a deep breath. ‘What if he goes after Nicky? After the way she tricked him...’ The slight gesture of her hands encompassed the enormity of what a man like Moreau could do to an enemy.

      Admiration caused something in his chest to expand. She looked like such a fragile creature, with her glowing skin and fine bones, while the blood of a Valkyrie ran in her veins. The understanding shook him to the core. He forced himself to focus on the very real danger within her words.

      ‘He will be found and dealt with.’

      ‘Like you dealt with him before? You don’t even know what he looks like. I do. And if you won’t help me, I will find him by myself.’

      The challenge in her voice, her manner, raised his hackles. The Frenchman had a network of informants all over England. One hint that he was at risk of discovery and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

      Anger at her bravado chilled him to the bone. He kept his voice was calm. ‘What have you heard?’

      ‘You have to let me help in his capture.’

      He almost laughed. But that would have hurt her feelings. And, besides, it wasn’t the least bit humorous. ‘Do not be ridiculous.’

      Her chin went