“I’m not certain yet, but I have a strong suspicion.”
“Better and better! You’d have me believe an unknown young lady entered the Den, slipped into one of your private rooms without anyone noticing, and you had nothing to do with any of it?”
“I have something to do with everything that goes on under this roof. But no, I did not arrange for that lady to be in your room. The woman you were supposed to meet never arrived. The other somehow slipped past Snug, thus the confusion.”
She gestured for him to finish. He set down the cup and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“And as to her recognizing you, she can hardly use that against you without revealing her own indiscretion—sneaking into a gaming club—can she?”
He studied the widow before conceding her point with a nod. Then, he strode toward the hearth, gripped the mantle, and gazed down into the leaping flames. He was furious…furious andfrustrated. But, as the tisane eased his compulsion, yet another emotion loomed large.
Interest.Fascination. He wanted to know this lady better, wanted to know all of her. In fact, meeting with her again felt essential.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she continued, “now that I’ve assured myself that you aren’t tearing down my wallpaper, I must see to the needs of the child.”
“That,” he said emphatically, “was no child.”
“No?” She asked with exaggerated innocence. “You just said she was young. And Hermia said you’d given her so bad a fright, she was shaking.”
“Not from fright,” he said derisively.
Oh, at first, he’d thought she might be afraid. But then she’d grabbed him and seared him with a kiss that would keep him sleepless for days. Emphatically, he shook his head.
“No frightened woman could kiss with that kind of passion.” A kind of passion that had awoken a longing far deeper than simple lust.
The Black Widow’s amble toward the door abruptly halted.
“Kiss?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you telling meshekissedyou…passionately?”
Despite himself, he smiled. “With one hand in my hair and the other ripping at my shirt.”
He’d liked that part, truth be told—her raw, fierce display. Up until that moment, he’d believed he preferred his women to be gentle and accommodating.
His women.
He snorted. Perhaps he had become overly self-indulgent of late. But if this woman wanted to be his…
Bessie continued to stare at him with her head cocked. Then, she slowly paced the length of the room and back. “Would youconsider her a satisfactory distraction, should I be able to come to terms with her?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
He glanced over to the set of chairs—one scattered with his discarded tailcoat and waistcoat, the other, empty. He recalled taking her hand and then kissing a perfect little valley between her first two knuckles. Her tremor had gone directly to his groin. Even the memory made him ache.
She’d been beyond satisfactory. She’d been desirable.
Blisteringly so.
She’d been brought to the room by mistake. Possibly, she’d used his name merely because she’d been startled. Or she deliberately planned to trick him into revealing himself.
Either way, she’d begun a dance he intended to finish.
“I’d meet with the Blackbird again.” Adrian lifted a brow. “If she dares.”
