They walked in a square around the formal garden. ‘I am glad for a private moment,’ she said. ‘I have been wanting to speak with you alone. I thought you might have had some news of our quarry.’
He gave her a considering look. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because Madame Vitesse says someone has been walking around her neighbourhood, asking questions about her brother. She threatens to refuse to help us.’
He frowned, and she had the feeling he had caught him by surprise. ‘Not my men. I am keeping to our agreement and so must she or find herself in dire straits.’
His frown deepened, and he paused to pick a rose. He broke the thorns off the stem and handed it to her in what, under other circumstances, might be seen as a very romantic gesture. She inhaled the delicate fragrance.
Once more he offered his arm, and they continued strolling. ‘It is not only us looking for Moreau.’
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Who else?’
‘The Home Office boys would very much to get their hands on him.’
She understood from the small things Gabe had let fall from time to time that the Home Office and the organisation Freddy worked for were on the same side, working to save England, they were also in competition and their goals did not always align.
‘You think it might be them asking questions?’
‘Rumours of our man’s imminent arrival in Britain have been circulating for weeks. They might be overly bureaucratic at the Home Office but they are not completely without ability.’
‘I should let Madame Vitesse know this. Warn her to be careful.’ She clutched at his sleeve. ‘What if they find him first?’
‘It doesn’t matter who finds him as long as he is out of action.’
Not true. Not true. She had to be first. Everything depended on it. ‘I will see her tomorrow. I have a fitting for the gown I am to wear for the ball at Falconwood. I will impress on her the urgency.’
He stopped and turned her to face him. ‘Why is it so important that you speak to him?’
‘There is unfinished business between us.’ It was all she dared say.
His mouth tightened. ‘Very well. Keep your secrets. For now.’
For now. That sounded very much like a threat.
They had almost arrived back where they had started when he led her down a path leading to a walled garden with a display of fountains, each one in its own pool. He didn’t linger, but he opened a gate hidden behind some creeper. The scent of lavender and thyme and other herbs filled her nostrils.
And not a lantern in sight.
‘I don’t think we are supposed to be in here,’ she said.
‘No.’ He closed the gate and shot the bolt. Light from the moon was enough to see by. The party had been deliberately planned to take advantage of the moon for those travelling back to town. They were in a kitchen garden, the house, ablaze with light, only yards away, its top floors visible above the stretch of the wall. But no one inside the house would be able to see them among the shadows.
Her heart gave a loud thump. Not a warning exactly but definitely excitement tinged with a touch of wariness.
‘Why did you bring me here?’ she asked.
He tucked a hand beneath her chin, tipping her face up and looking down at her. One side of his face was in shadow, the other carved by moonbeams into hard, masculine beauty.
‘A chance to talk without interruption.’ He cast her a wicked glance that made her toes curl. Wicked and charming both. She had never seen him look quite so handsome or so devilish. ‘And besides, you look so lovely, so tempting, I couldn’t resist a few minutes on our own.’
The lovely words took her breath away.
It would be so easy to let herself believe he’d meant what he’d said. And so utterly foolish.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy him while it lasted.
‘How did you know about this particular garden?’ she asked, the hint of breathlessness in her voice calling to his desires.
‘I took a walk when I first arrived.’ He always made sure he knew the layout of any place he went. A man never knew when he might need to leave in a hurry. It had also seemed like the perfect spot to begin his campaign of seduction. Passion was the one thing that seemed to go well between them, as evidenced by his simmering lust since their kiss.
With any other woman, all he needed to do was wave the dukedom about a bit. Not with Minette. While her physical desire battered at him, she kept herself, who she was, at a distance. Intriguing and worrying. He did not intend to let her end this betrothal. Thus, he must woo her. Ceaselessly. Until she gave up any thought of crying off.
He caged her face within his fingertips, feeling an overwhelming sense of tenderness. Something that was not part of his plan. The urge to taste her again was like the beat of his heart. Unstoppable.
He lowered his head, slowly, hesitantly, silently asking permission.
Her hands slid up over his shoulders to rest there. She nipped at his lower lip.
A hiss of breath left his lips as lust hardened his body. He took her mouth in a wild and ravening kiss. She responded with a hunger that left him close to mindless.
Her sweet, luscious curves melded with his. A banquet waiting for him to savour it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted a woman as badly as he wanted this one. No other woman but she could slake his need. He pressed his thigh between hers, and she gave a sweet little moan of longing. Heat seared his veins as his blood rushed south. He deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, feeling her lips so soft and sweet moving against his, while her fingers combed the hair at his nape.
Desire shuddered through him.
The urge to lift her skirts and take her against the wall pounded in his blood. She deserved so much more. And, besides, a kiss in the dark between a betrothed couple was acceptable, even expected, but to take her back to the ballroom dishevelled and used hard would be too dishonourable even for him.
He broke their kiss and pulled her close. Breathing rapidly, she rested her cheek on his chest and he bent to kiss her crown, his own breathing none too steady.
‘It wouldn’t do to be caught out again,’ he said gently.
‘No,’ she agreed, to his body’s painful disappointment. She placed a hand on his lapel and stroked the fabric.
Delight with her response to his touch was a wild beat in his blood, despite knowing women were good at pretending things they didn’t feel when it suited. This attraction was a positive sign for their marriage. There was much pleasure to be had between them. As long as he made sure not to let things go too far. Not get too out of control.
Hope blossomed in his chest, a strangely warm and painful feeling that they might indeed have a future. He didn’t want to leave the shelter of this garden. He wanted to run his fingers through her glorious mane of glossy brown hair, rip her gown from her luscious curves. He could barely keep himself leashed. Which showed just how little honour he had left. There would be plenty of time for exploration and enjoyment when she was his wife.
‘We really should go, before someone misses us,’ she said, not moving an inch. She sighed. ‘We don’t want to set tongues wagging again.’
Wagging tongues were the story of his life. He had told himself a long time ago that he didn’t care. But he didn’t want her hurt by their vicious gossip. Neither did he want to break his vow by making the mistake of not