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“The dress is perfect, and your face paint is only recognizable to a connoisseur. ” He was leaving her to draw her own conclusions. “Shall we go? Or have you changed your mind?”
“Of course I haven’t changed my mind,” she said caustically. “We have a mission. ”
“God help me…” he muttered. And held out his arm.
He never before thought his coach was too small. Granted, it was the landau, meant for city driving, not the large, heavy traveling coach he used for greater distances. She sat opposite him in the confined space, and the faint scent she had used drifted to his nostrils, reaching into his bones. It was elusive, evocative, erotic. Had the Fates combined forces to kill him?
It was a cool spring evening, and even after nine o’clock there was still enough light remaining that he could see her a little too well. The shawl she’d brought was very pretty but not extremely warm, and he imagined she’d have gooseflesh by the end of the night.
She looked calm, self-possessed, as she always did, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He sat back in the shadows so she couldn’t see his face, his eyes as they lingered over the tops of her breasts. He could see the beating of her heart through her translucent skin, and despite her determined calm she was nervous. He wondered why.
“I suggest we give the appearance of old friends,” she said suddenly. “Otherwise my arrival would seem a bit odd. ”
“No one will believe it. They will think we are lovers,” he said lazily.
She blushed, the color very pretty on her pale skin. “No one who knows me would make any such mistake. ”
“Ah, but no one knows you. You’ve eschewed society in favor of your oppressively good works. ”
“Wouldn’t that make it clear that I’m not the sort for a dalliance?”
“True enough. A dalliance, as you call it, would be easy enough to avoid. A full-out, heart-stopping, body-pulsing physical affaire is more difficult to resist. And they know me. They will assume you’re infatuated with me and that you’ve tumbled off your pedestal an
d into my bed, at least for a time. ”
He could practically feel her horrified intake of breath. “I trust you will do your best to disabuse them of the notion. ”
He laughed, enjoying himself once more. “I’ll do what I can, but I suspect my protests would be for naught. If you promise not to hang on me and gaze at me with adoration we may be able to convince people that we’ve simply made an arrangement to assuage our physical needs. Even saints must have physical needs, I suspect. ”
“I’m not a saint. ” Her voice was low in the darkened carriage, and he remembered the stories about Wilfred Hunnicut and her brief fall from grace.
“No, you’re not,” he said softly, watching the rapid rise and fall of her beautiful breasts, the tight line of her mouth, the dark pools of her eyes in the shadowed carriage. He could feel it, he thought with surprise. It wasn’t his imagination. He could feel the deep strand of longing that was wrapping around both of them. “Charity” Carstairs wanted him, probably about as much as she disliked him. Which was a considerable amount. She most likely hated herself for being attracted to him, probably even refused to consider the possibility. It was part of the reason she was skittish tonight.
He smiled in the darkness. He was going to enjoy himself after all. “I suggest we not worry about what people imagine concerning our relationship. They’ll think what they want. We need to discover who among them are involved in the current incarnation of the Heavenly Host, if the absurd worries you’ve brought to me have any validity, and if so, where and when they’re meeting next. ”
“Don’t we need to discover if your brother is truly part of them? Or do you believe me on that one?”
“If the organization is as you’ve described then I have no doubt that my brother is involved. He’s…he’s troubled. The Afghan war was very difficult for him, and he was grievously wounded. It’s taking a long time for him to pull himself together, and I’m certain anything nihilistic would appeal to him. Apart from that, he’s been quite secretive recently, and I’ve had reason to worry. ” He was telling her more than he wished to, and he wondered why. She had a calm demeanor that was oddly soothing. Soothing, when he wasn’t consumed by lust.
Author: Anne Stuart
Which he could ignore, he reminded himself. He’d come to London to assuage that lust, and so far he’d had very little success. It was only natural he would look at Melisande Carstairs and her magnificent breasts and think wicked thoughts.
Though to be truthful, he’d had those same thoughts when she’d been decently covered and looking like a nun.
“I’ll tackle Lord Elsmere. You approach his wife,” he said.
She frowned. “And when did we decide you were in charge of this investigation?”
“When you asked for my help. This is my world, Lady Carstairs, the world you’ve walked away from. I know it, and its inhabitants, quite well, and you’d be a fool not to listen to me. And you’re many things but not, I think, a fool. ”
She glowered at him, then her expression smoothed out. She didn’t want to let him know how much he annoyed her, a mistake on her part, he thought. The more she withstood the more determined he was to ruffle her.
“No, I’m not a fool,” she said. And she wasn’t. Except, he hoped, where he was concerned. He was finding her more and more tempting, and he wasn’t in the mood to fight it too strenuously.
The coach had drawn to a stop, and one of his footmen had already jumped down, and the sound of the steps being dropped was like a death knell, he thought with lazy amusement. He was being fanciful, but he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that this was the point of no return.
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here, Dante’s welcome to hell read. Do what thou wilt, read the entrance to Rabelais’s fictional Abbey of Theleme.
