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He saw far more than your face, muttonhead.
Hardly the point.
Taking another deep breath, Evie let herself relax. The captain likely would not even recognize her if he saw her again. He had probably not given her a second thought after she’d disappeared in the night. She needed to gather herself and get back to work. As far as she knew, Elijah would not be attending tonight’s event, which meant she should be able to move about freely without being recognized.
Except possibly by Captain Anthony Browne.
Silly chit, he’s not going to recognize you, and that isnota reason for disappointment. Now, get moving.
She opened her eyes.
And shrieked.
A glowering Captain Anthony Browne was less than a foot away from her, arms crossed over his chest, staring down at her with accusing, dark eyes.
Bloody hell!
“Pardon me, my lord, is there something I can assist you with?” Her voice sounded as though it was coming from very far away. She inwardly panicked while outwardly doing her best to pretend as though nothing was wrong.
“Why, yes.” The captain moved forward, and Evie tried to step back, forgetting she was already against the wall. There was nowhere for her to go. Before she could dart to the side, the captain’s hands came out, slamming against the wall on either side of her, trapping her.
The close confines made her erratic heart trip as he leaned in, his nose mere inches away, his gaze burning into her. The heat was more than lust, unlike last time. There was anger there as well.
“Yes, Yvette, you can help me.” His voice was full of silky threat. “You can start by explaining what you are doing here, in London, in Lady Greywood’s house.” Something flashed in his eyes. “Are you one of Camden’s agents?”
“No,” Evie said immediately. The very last thing she wanted was for Captain Browne to go demanding answers from her uncle. Since her uncle had seen fit to leave her out of his investigations, despite all the work she had done for him in the past, he had no idea where she was, and she meant to keep it that way.
Besides, it was the truth. She did not work for her uncle. He would much prefer she had nothing to do with the family business.
“You are English.” It was not a question.
Evie stared back at him, not sure how to answer. Yes, she was English, but she did not see why that mattered.
“Is Yvette even your real name?”
She pressed her lips together. Normally she would have a lie at the ready, but her mind had blanked. It was his presence. At this point, she also did not know what he would believe.
She truly had not thought that he would remember her. That he did and was still so affected by her gave her a deep sense of satisfaction, she simultaneously resented.
She did not want to be so affected by this man! Byanyman.
“No answers? Let’s see if I cannot convince you to loosen your lips.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, then he grabbed her by her upper arm and pulled her around.
Evie reacted immediately, her foot lashing out to stomp on his, her free hand fisting and heading straight for his gut.
The captain cursed, but the stomp had warned him. He twisted to the side, so she only landed a glancing blow to his stomach. Before he could react, Evie turned, pulling her arm and ripping it free from his grasp. She had nowhere to go, though, since he had her so close to the wall. Easily grabbing hold of her again, he yanked her off her feet and up over his shoulder. She gasped as her stomach bounced against it.
* * *
Anthony
Grimly, Anthony pulled open the nearest door. The room was small and contained nothing more than a daybed, a few chairs, and a desk. It would work well enough for his purposes.
He was not going to harm Yvette, if that was her name, which he doubted, but he was determined to get some answers. Clearly, she was deep in the game, but who did she work for? It could not be the French, or she would not have saved him in Paris. It was far too much of a coincidence that she saved him in Paris and now appeared here at Lady Greywood’s, dressed as a maid, right as he was on the hunt for a traitor. Though he did not think she was a traitor, he felt there had to be a connection.
“Put. Me. Down. Bloody toff.” The rage in her voice and the street cant she devolved to as she cursed him, doing her best to kick him and pummel his back with far more strength than he would have anticipated, made him raise his eyebrows.
More and more, he was beginning to wonder if shewasEnglish. Her speech certainly sounded like it. The more genteel accent she’d first employed had given way to the tones, words, and curses he’d expect to hear at the docks. The mysteries surrounding ‘Yvette’ kept growing.
