Her eyes widened as if he’d wounded her feelings. Good. Perhaps she had learned her lesson. He’d certainly learned his. Keep his distance. ‘Give me your word you won’t try anything like this again and I’ll take you home.’
He reached out to take her arm.
She jerked away. ‘If you promise not to tell Gabe about this evening, I will not tell him of your insult to my person.’
Though he showed nothing on his face, he was surprised to discover her words hurt more than a slap would have done. Yet she was right. It had been an insult. Deliberately so. Outcast by the more respectable members of the ton, his attentions should be unwelcome. He’d used his reputation for vice to gain the trust of the dregs of society, the informants, the spies, and earned the scorn of his peers. He raised a brow. ‘Blackmail. How unworthy. And what do you think Gabe would do? Call me out? He’d be more likely to insist we marry.’
A strange look came to her face. Yet another one he couldn’t read. She shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
He did not bother to keep the bitter edge from his tone. ‘My sentiments exactly.’ He intended never to marry, and certainly wasn’t going to let a little chit like her change his mind.
‘I wouldn’t have had to come here,’ she shot back, ‘had you responded to my notes.’
Notes he should have returned unopened, instead of stuffing them in his desk drawer. ‘A young lady doesn’t demand a gentlemen wait on her. It is not good ton.’
‘Oh, and I suppose you are good ton,’ she muttered, then lifted her gaze to meet his face. ‘You avoided me on purpose.’
He’d been avoiding her like a man avoided the hangman’s noose. She was too damnably attractive. ‘Well, here I am now.’ He poured chill into his voice. No easy task when his body burned with lust. ‘Tell me who it is you want found and then I’ll take you home.’
‘You’ve no doubt heard that Moreau is back in England.’ Clear, velvet-brown eyes met his in challenge.
A spy placed in England by Fouché, Moreau had very nearly succeeded in a plan to assassinate King George. He had used Minette to lure her sister Nicky, now Gabe’s wife, into helping him. He’d almost captured Gabe into the bargain. It had been a near-run thing, but ultimately Nicky and Gabe had outwitted him. Moreau’s spectacular failure had resulted in him being relocated to Madrid, where he must have helped Napoleon’s brother gain the throne of Spain. No doubt back in favour, he was once more assigned to help in the downfall of the only country stopping Napoleon from ruling the whole of Europe. Britain.
‘Nothing I didn’t already know,’ Freddy said. ‘And not your concern.’
Her eyes darkened. ‘Is it not?’ She took a deep breath. ‘What if he goes after Nicky? After the way she tricked him...’ The slight gesture of her hands encompassed the enormity of what a man like Moreau could do to an enemy.
Admiration caused something in his chest to expand. She looked like such a fragile creature, with her glowing skin and fine bones, while the blood of a Valkyrie ran in her veins. The understanding shook him to the core. He forced himself to focus on the very real danger within her words.
‘He will be found and dealt with.’
‘Like you dealt with him before? You don’t even know what he looks like. I do. And if you won’t help me, I will find him by myself.’
The challenge in her voice, her manner, raised his hackles. The Frenchman had a network of informants all over England. One hint that he was at risk of discovery and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill.
Anger at her bravado chilled him to the bone. He kept his voice was calm. ‘What have you heard?’
‘You have to let me help in his capture.’
He almost laughed. But that would have hurt her feelings. And, besides, it wasn’t the least bit humorous. ‘Do not be ridiculous.’
Her chin went up. ‘Someone I know has seen him. I thought you would want to know. If you won’t let me be part of it, I will seek his aid.’
His blood ran cold. Moreau was a dangerous man. A killer when cornered.
‘Why this renewed interest in Moreau?’ he asked.
Shadows skittered across her face. ‘He tried to use me to harm Nicky. I need to know first-hand he is no longer a threat.’
Sincerity shone in her gaze. She’d given him the truth, but only part of it. He’d spent too long working for Sceptre not to recognise a half-truth. ‘Trust me to do my job and I will let you know when he is taken care of. Come, I will take you home.’ And in the meantime he’d have to discover what she was hiding.
When she hesitated, he gave her a glare that would have turned Granby to a pillar of salt. On Minette, it had no effect.
She glared right back. ‘You always did treat me like a child.’
To stop himself from treating her like a desirable woman. Not something she needed to know. ‘My carriage awaits us at the back.’
‘Would you mind dropping me off in the mews?’ she said airily. ‘I left the gate open before I left, since no one knew I went out this evening.’
Thus embroiling him deeper in her scheme. He bit back a curse.
Seated in his curricle, Minette watched Freddy leap nimbly aboard to take the reins. He showed no sign of discomfort or awkwardness. She’d noticed that, although he limped, he did not seem to find whatever ailed his leg an impediment. Except when people offered him a seat as if he were some sort of invalid. Then he looked ready for murder.
The horses’ hooves ringing on the cobbles, they turned onto Broad Street. The roads were quiet at this time of night and, in this quarter of Town, ill lit. Ruffians lurked in shadows, watching their passing with keen eyes. It said something about the dangerous air of the man beside her that their carriage suffered no interference and they soon reached the well-kept streets of Mayfair.
‘Why do you never come to see Gabe and Nicky?’ Minette asked. ‘Are you too good for us now you are a duke?’
The streetlight caught his grim expression in stark relief. ‘Gabe has moved on. It is better if no one knows of our prior...association.’
Gabe had once worked as a spy, too. ‘He saved the King’s life.’ The attempted assassination had never been mentioned in the newspapers, and Moreau remained at large. The sound of his name in her head left a bitter taste on her tongue. A vile concoction of betrayal, regret and guilt.
‘If you would accept my help, I am sure we could find him more quickly,’ she said.
‘You need someone to put you over a knee and give you a spanking,’ he muttered.
She swivelled in her seat to face him and traced a fingertip along the length of his thigh. ‘Is that your idea of fun with a woman?’
He turned a choke into a cough, and she smiled innocently up at him as the next streetlamp caught her full in the face.
‘You little minx,’ he said, when he finally caught his breath. ‘You should know better.’
Since Gabe had first warned her and Nicky that Moreau had been recalled to France, she’d been expecting him to show up in England. He wasn’t one to leave unfinished business. She’d had her French maid, Christine, ask discreetly among the émigrés. Moreau, as he’d called himself in England, had destroyed more lives than the English could even guess at. The families of those people