Page 10 of Four Promises to Love

“We were most impressed by your performance,” Xenia said.

“And we wish to consult with you on a private matter,” Evie added.

Gigi nodded. “We were hoping that you might pay us a visit⁠—”

“Before any plans are made, however,” Owen cut in, feeling like a man throwing himself in front of a speeding locomotive, “we would like assurances that your, ahem, skills will prove of genuine benefit to our concern.”

“Who are you, sir?” the medium demanded.

Owen’s face heated. In his rush to protect his sisters, he’d forgotten to introduce himself.

“This is my brother, Lord Owen Harrington,” Gigi said brightly. “He is a cynic. Feel free to ignore him.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I consider myself a pragmatist. One who does not invite strangers into his family’s private affairs”—he shot his sister a pointed look—“without due consideration.”

“Do you doubt my talent, sir?” Madame Seraphina’s inquiry was cool.

“I do not have sufficient information to form an opinion,” Owen said bluntly. “About you or your talent. I have not even seen your face. Tell me, do you make a habit of hiding behind a veil?”

“During a séance, excessive stimulation must be avoided. It compromises the clarity and quality of the channel. I shield my eyes to clear the path of inner sight.”

The woman has an answer for everything.

Owen lifted his brows. “We are not in a séance now, are we?”

For an instant, he didn’t know if she would take him up on the challenge.

She lifted her chin—and, with a bold gesture, her veil.

Topaz eyes glittered at him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Three

Blooming hell. Was I born under an unlucky star?

Finn Kidd cursed the fates for their unamusing sense of humor. Of all the people she had to run into, did it have to be this cove? What were the bleeding chances?

Two months ago, she’d marked him as easy prey. While he was hardly the first pigeon she’d plucked, he had left a lasting impression. Warmth fluttered in her lower belly—and she ignored the sensation.

Do not be distracted by something as trifling as lust.

Too much was at stake. She would do anything to protect her family. No uppity toff—including Lord Owen Harrington—was going to stop her.

Throughout the séance, she hadn’t let on that she recognized him. She had played the role of Madame Seraphina to perfection and had almost made her exit before he issued his challenge. Then she couldn’t back down. To do so would damage her credibility, which was essential to the success of her present mission.

She reminded herself that she’d been disguised during their last encounter. As Sarah the trollop, she’d worn a blonde wig and heavy face paint, which she’d artfully applied to disguise her features. It had been dark on the street where she’d propositioned him and in the chamber she’d rented—or, more precisely, borrowed—for their interlude. Males, in her experience, were not particularly observant, a fact she’d often used to her advantage.

In truth, Lord Owen might not recognize her. Even if he did, to accuse her of being the light-skirt who’d drugged him would mean incriminating himself in front of his genteel relations. Would he cut off his nose to spite his face?

The situation might not be as dire as you think. Take control and brazen it out.

“Are you satisfied, sir?” she asked. “Or will further gawking be required to determine my legitimacy?”

He blinked, his long, dark lashes framing his stunning cloud-grey eyes. His brown hair was thick and shaggy, the front wave dipping over his brow. Ruddy color spread over his cheekbones, confirming her assessment that he was a gentleman—by blood and by breeding. The kind of man whose manners dictated that he treat women well. Heat flashed through her insides as she recalled how well he’d treated her the last time. He’d put her pleasure first—something no man in her experience had ever done.

Not even her former follower Jimmy. The few times she’d allowed him liberties, he’d groped her like a burglar in the dark, with no chance of finding the jewels. This lord, on the other hand, had stolen the breath straight from her lungs. The things he’d done with his tongue⁠—

“Pardon my rudeness,” he said brusquely. “I meant no offense.”