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Miss Hazlett fiddled with the button at the wrist of her gloves. “He won’t support me forever. I’m expected to work for my living. It’s unlikely I’ll make a match that will secure me the clothes and comforts you take for granted.”
Before Araminta could respond, Jem, the lowly valet, slid into the booth, and my goodness he was handsome. Araminta didn’t think she’d ever seen such a handsome man. His hair was the color of corn and his eyes—a hazy, dangerous gray—sparked with a speculative glint when he ran them over Araminta.
The most extraordinary spasm in the region of her lower belly kicked her into an awareness both disconcerting and incredibly exciting.
Briefly, she raised her veil to smile at him, just so he could see how truly beautiful she was. But as no one must know she was here, she lowered it again and began proceedings in a formal and businesslike manner, which Jem didn’t seem to appreciate.
With a grunt, he thrust the letter in front of her and the contents could not have pleased her more.
In black and white, Sir Aubrey’s late wife branded Lord Debenham the villain, and her Sir Aubrey the falsely accused, unfairly maligned husband.
This document was exactly what was needed to prove Sir Aubrey’s innocence, and once Araminta could get it into Sir Aubrey’s hands, her future happiness with him was assured.
Unfortunately, the greedy Jem wanted more than the half a crown she had to offer him for it and didn’t seem to trust her when she said she’d send him the rest but that she needed to take the letter with her now.
Rudely, he rose before she did, indicating their discussion was at an end.
Araminta was for the first time in her life speechless. No gentleman had ever spoken so roughly to her on any occasion she could ever remember. Her thundering heart was also not something she was used to, but she ignored that. Her needs centered on the letter—and she’d get it, one way or another.
Glad of the protection of her veil so that Miss Hazlett couldn’t see how much Araminta was affected by this rude but handsome young man, Araminta said haughtily, “This is not our last meeting, Jem, I can assure you. I always get what I want.”
She thought she saw a flare of admiration in the other girl?
?s eyes as she rose, but now her anger was getting the better of her, and she didn’t care she was in a public place. She informed Jem over her shoulder that she reckoned a fine lady would be believed over a mere footman, and that he should consider himself lucky that he wasn’t going to swing over this, since she was now in possession of important evidence the government would wish to know.
There! she thought with a mixture of anger and pride in her abilities to reduce him to a quivering jelly, for she was sure he was quaking while she was striding out into the street with all the power.
She was not prepared for the sudden assault as her wrist was gripped and she was whisked back into the inn and into a small antechamber, just before she reached the exit.
In the dim light, she found herself face to face with Jem, his angry eyes staring right into hers, only inches away. And she was consumed by a feeling of such fearful excitement she really could imagine she was about to swoon—properly—for the first time in her life.
“You want that letter real badly, miss, don’t you?” His eyes darted over her and his breathing was shallow and rapid. “Now you know what’s in it, how do I know you ain’t going to blab to the world that it’s me what has it? Me neck’s at risk here.”
The power she felt to see that he was frightened of what she could do was like an aphrodisiac, and the most enormous thrill of superiority, coupled with something deep, dark and wicked rose up from the depths of her being.
Before she even knew what she was doing, she’d closed the distance between them and cupped his face, murmuring against his suddenly trembling lips, “Here is my reassurance.”
She’d never kissed a man of such low birth before, but nor had she kissed one who was as extraordinarily handsome and whose proximity unleashed such madness in her. The brief kernel of rational thought that floated within her consciousness for a second was extinguished by the mad desire to show Jem who was master. The sudden raging desires of her body made her head swim when his arms went round her and he roughly kissed her back.
The scrape of his stubbled cheek upon her tender skin, coupled with his strong male smell of sweat, dirt and horses aroused even fiercer passions within her, and even though a faint caution sounded in the recesses of her brain, she was buoyed by the knowledge that the justification for her actions was pure.
“No one’s neck—or anything else—is in danger,” she whispered, “as long as I get that letter.” It was so good to feel in control and to know he was her slave.
Soon her tongue was tangling with his, her own breathing was deafening her, and the sensations he was evoking with his wandering hands were for some reason making her want to feel the heat of his naked flesh against her own.
She could barely get the words out. “You’d better give me what I want, Jem.”
He chuckled. “Indeed, I will, miss.”
It was he who finally broke them apart. His mouth curved into a sly smile and Araminta frowned as she smoothed her hair and clothing, for it was too self-satisfied for her liking. She’d like to...well, kiss that smile right off his face. Her heart was still racing and that strange, unfulfilled feeling in her lower belly was making her want to do all kinds of unheard-of and unladylike things.
Muffled shouts of laughter and the serving of drinks could be heard nearby, and when a shrill cry from a drunk patron made Araminta startle, the mood was broken. She knew it was time to leave before Larissa conducted a thorough search for her.
After a regal exit, having laid out the terms of their “arrangement”, which would have him meeting her shortly with the letter, Araminta went in search of her next quarry: Lord Debenham.
***
Where on earth had Araminta gone?
