It was a relief to leave London society behind, even if it was only to head to the docks on the south side of London. The bustle of the docks kept Alistair from obsessing over a certain beautiful blonde with a wickedly sharp mind and a body that made him forget his senses. It was her lips that had hypnotized him the other week. Lush and warm; they were not cold as he feared. Nothing about her was cold.

It’s a good thing I’m made of ice, Alistair.

He couldn’t stop hearing her voice. She was haunting him even now as he waited on the darkened docks as his brother’s ship sailed into the harbor. Either she was lying or he was a fool, because he could not believe she was as unfeeling as she claimed. No one could kiss like that and claim to be cold. Yet, her words still rang out through his mind in warning.

She might not be as unflappable and unfeeling as she’d have him believe, but she was more determined than he had guessed. He rubbed a hand over his face, ignoring the urchins who hovered nearby, no doubt waiting for a chance to pick his pockets.

Not only had his rash, ridiculous plan to distract her failed, it had backfired. He’d seen her curiosity pique when she realized he was trying to steer her off course. He should have known any effort to divert her would only make her more intrigued.

The only thing that had managed to distract her was that kiss. That bloody kiss, which he hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking about since it happened. That bloody kiss which never should have occurred in the first place.

What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. He’d been overcome with jealousy and desire, with the need to feel her in his arms and taste those wickedly seductive lips. It had been a mistake. For while he may have managed to distract her, he’d walked away from her in a daze. He couldn’t afford that sort of distraction, not now when there was business to take care of.

He watched as his brother’s ship sailed into port, and he was blissfully free of romantic entanglements as he met with Marcus in a nearby pub. His brother greeted him with a hug and a slap on the back. Much as his brother might have changed in appearance these past ten years—no heir to an earldom would be seen with that much hair or the scraggly beard—his eyes still glimmered with amusement and his laughter still sounded exactly the same as it always had. Not even a decade at sea could change that.

“How’s my favorite bastard brother?” Marcus said, his smile taking the sting out of the words.

“Better than you, judging by the way you smell,” Alistair said.

Marcus threw his head back with a laugh. It was times like this Alistair wondered who lived the more satisfying life—him, fighting for social justice and human rights in the House of Lords—or his brother, who brought justice in a far more hands-on manner.

Marcus gave him a wink after he ordered a round of drinks. “Don’t you know, brother? Dead men aren’t meant to smell like roses.”

Alistair groaned at the joke. It was so like his brother to tease about being dead. He dropped some coins on the bar and turned to the bartender. “This is for the whole party.”

The surly-looking old man eyed him like he’d lost his mind and it wasn’t difficult to guess why. Marcus’ crew, who’d followed in their wake, were a rough-looking bunch, to say the least. But then again, they were a crew of pirates—or rather, pirate hunters—coming to shore after a lengthy stay at sea, so it was to be expected.

For his part, Alistair had done his best to fit in, and had put aside his everyday wear for pants and a shirt of much lesser quality. He’d let his beard grow and had left most of his servants behind. It was not much of a disguise, but it was better than nothing. Even if he was discovered, there was not much chance he’d be linked to this renegade group. His family did have legitimate business at this port, which was why he and Marcus had chosen it for their rendezvous.

“Do you have it with you?” Marcus asked.

Alistair passed his brother a sheaf of paper with the information he’d requested. With Alistair’s connections in the shipping world, he could provide insider knowledge on ships that could be targeted or those that might be carrying slaves. Typically, he’d find another way to give his brother the information he needed to keep his operation running, but it had been some time since the two had met and they had business to discuss. Besides, he’d missed his brother. They always had been the best of friends, even when their positions were reversed. When they were children, Marcus had been the heir to the earldom, and Alistair—the illegitimate and younger half-brother—had been as good as dead. In their father’s eyes, at least, he’d barely existed.

His mother had refused to give him up to his real father, who had never been named, and the late Lord Colefax had decided to keep him around…as the spare. As it turned out, he was needed when Marcus decided to leave behind the earldom and his responsibilities for a life at sea. So now, here they were—the bastard playing the part of an earl, and the earl playing the part of a pirate. And now a meddling beauty was trying to uncover it all.

“What’s bothering you?” Marcus asked after the business was handled and his rowdy crew left them to talk in peace in a back corner of the tavern.

“Not a thing.”

“Bollocks.” His brother sat his mug down with a loud thud. “You’ve been distracted since we arrived. Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you, or shall I beat it out of you?”

Alistair gave his brother a begrudging grin at the threat. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Is it the estate?”

“No.” Alistair shook his head. “Of course not.”

“The other business?”

He huffed. “No, that’s fine, as well.” Alistair’s ships were used for privateering. It was similar to what Marcus did, but on the king’s behalf. Therefore, legal.

“Ah,” Marcus said. “So it’s lady troubles.”

Alistair scowled at his brother. “No.” Then he dropped his head and rubbed at his eyes wearily. “Well, not exactly.”

Marcus’ laugh was irritating. “I should have known one of those English lasses would catch you one of these days. Lord knows enough of them have tried.”

He lifted his head to glare at his brother. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh?” Marcus smirked and took a sip of his ale. “So you’re not in love then?”

“Don’t be daft.”

Marcus lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “All right, but you’ve got the look about you.”

“The look?”

Marcus grinned. “The look of a dead man.”

He groaned softly despite himself. He wasn’t in love with the lady—he barely knew her. But Marcus’ words had still struck a chord. Perhaps because he felt like a dead man—like Henri had gone and stolen his sanity, if not his life. He’d been able to think of nothing but her for weeks now, and it was driving him mad.

“You should propose to the girl and get it over with,” Marcus said with a good deal of finality, as if that settled that.

“I will not propose,” he said, ignoring the image that had been driving him mad ever since his sister planted it in his mind. Henri with a babe in her arms, smiling at him with love in her eyes. It was the stuff of nonsense. It went to show how mad he’d been driven by her. If he believed in witchcraft, he’d most certainly say she had bewitched him. He didn’t believe in such foolishness, he merely blamed her for charming him with her beauty. And her mind. Yes, it was the combination of her lovely looks and her dangerous mind that made her so utterly captivating. One never knew what she might do or say next.

“So, who is this lady who has you so befuddled?”

Damn Marcus and his mockery. Alistair glowered at him over their mugs of ale. Their business here was done, after all. He did not need to linger. Yet, these visits were few and far between and Alistair was loathe to end it.

Marcus and his crew were far from the nefarious lot they were lumped together with. His brother had not left his family and high society out of some sort of libertine need for freedom and pleasures of the flesh.

No, that would have been far too ordinary for the strange creature who was his brother. Raised to be the heir, with every privilege that entailed, he could have led a life of luxury and ease. Instead, he’d opted for a dark life in seedy ports and living amongst a motley crew. This was all so he could contribute to the world with his own particular brand of “justice.” Alistair might not have chosen the same path, but he applauded his brother’s sentiments and his noble character. He supported him in whatever way he could, which at times meant handing over banknotes, but more often than not, it meant supplying his brother with information.

Marcus rarely asked him for financial assistance these days. His brother had found ways to make a tidy profit doing what he loved best. But there were times when money needed to be funneled, when proper banknotes were required rather than booty and gold. In exchange for his contributions, Marcus and his men provided tips and guidance for his privateering business. The privateering provided a legitimacy for his fleet and the percentage given to him by the crown helped to support Marcus’s crew. It was a win for everyone.

Unless he got caught, or unless Marcus got caught. They would both be in more trouble than he cared to imagine if it was known he was not the rightful heir, that the rightful heir was not really dead, and combined they’d been stealing from the corrupt and the criminals, and distributing it to the poor.

For years now, they had been operating in secret. London society had been easy to fool. The lot of them thought him a proper prig, most likely. They thought him an eligible, wealthy, titled, pompous arse. They were right, to a degree. No one looked beyond that façade. No one thought to question his travels and his motives.

No one but Henri.

“There it is again,” Marcus said, pointing a finger between in his direction. “That look. Out with it. Who is she?”

Alistair didn’t try to deny he was thinking of a certain lady, but he’d be damned if he’d draw her any further into this than she already was. “No one of importance.”

She wasn’t important, not to him. He couldn’t afford that sort of entanglement with a woman who’d made it her mission to expose him and his secrets. A woman who could bring about his downfall, and tarnish his family’s honor. This woman, who’d outright told him she was made of ice, was dangerous.

His mind instantly recalled that kiss. That heated, passionate kiss that had turned his world upside down and had made those sharp, all-seeing eyes turn hazy with desire. How she could claim to be made of ice after sparking that sort of fire within him was unfathomable.

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Alistair, what is it you are not telling me? Is there a problem I should know about?”

Alistair shrugged and drank his ale. He could not quite bring himself to lie and say there were no problems on the horizon. Besides, Henri was only a problem if she persisted in her mission to uncover his secrets. She was a determined woman, there was no doubt. However, even the most determined lady had to have a weakness. He thought back to the way her eyes had clouded over with that kiss and felt his lips twitch upward in an unexpected grin.

She hadn’t been thinking about anything after that kiss, he could guarantee it. An idea was forming and it had him staring blindly into the crowded pub, heedless to his brother’s questioning looks.

“Alistair,” Marcus finally prompted. “You never answered me. Is there a problem I should know about?”

Alistair dragged his mind back to the present and his gaze back to his brother. “It’s nothing I cannot handle.”

He hoped.

Alistair had to wait another week for a chance to casually bump into his mark. He watched her mingle with the other guests at the musicale, waiting for the performance to begin.

Lord Crawford was there, at her side, and the sight of their easy laughter made his heart pound with furious anger. But then that fool Braxton came to stand at her other side, along with Miss Mary Beaucraft, and some of his tension eased. He shoved his shoulders down and back, and forced a calm he did not feel. He’d spent a week planning for this moment, learning all he could about his opponent, though she hid her secrets well.

Still, this time it was he who was watching her, and it was he who was learning her secrets and putting her on the defensive. He knew when she spotted him, because her eyes narrowed slightly and her gaze darkened for an instant. The tides had turned. She might have caught him unawares, and he could admit he’d underestimated her. But no longer was that the case. He couldn’t afford for her foolish stubbornness to ruin his family.

Her lips twitched up ever so slightly and she tipped her head, an acknowledgement of his eyes on her. Let the games begin.

She had not said it, but it was what he read in her eyes. She was challenging him. She wanted a challenge. Lord save him from an intelligent lady’s boredom. However, if she wanted entertainment, that he could provide. He watched as that dolt Crawford touched her elbow to steer her toward the seats.

And if she wanted a lover—he could provide that as well—not that she would. Not really. One thing their kiss had made clear was despite her cold intellect and her merciless scheming, the lady was a romantic. She might never admit it aloud, but she was not nearly as unaffected by passion and romance as she’d lead a man to believe.

The music began and the crowd took their seats. He waited. He had time. Now that he knew what she was trying to hide, he had all the time in the world. It was during intermission when their paths finally crossed. She had managed to ditch that young dandy, and even her brother, while hovering nearby, did not prevent them from having a quiet conversation when he sank onto the settee beside her in the foyer.

“You look lovely this evening,” he said.

Her eyes flashed with pleasure, excitement, and something he did not want to name. For if he gave it a name, he would be forced to admit he felt it too. While he planned to use her desire to his own gain, it would benefit no one if he were to lose himself to her charms. His gaze dropped to her lush lips and the way they curved upward into a mesmerizing smile.

“You cannot resist, can you?” she said in a teasing tone.

His gaze shot up once more. “What are you talking about?”

She held her hands out, palms up. “I was perfectly willing to walk away and leave you to your secrets and your private business, but now here you are. Seeking me out.” She grinned. “And eyeing me in a way that is definitely not appropriate.”

He blinked, torn between fascination, amusement, and irritation. Bloody hell, how had she managed to turn this all around on him? He cleared his throat. “I was merely concerned about your well-being after the other night.” He let his gaze move meaningfully toward Lord Crawford. “I would hate to think my tactics drove you to do something rash.”

He did not look down at her but he could hear the laughter in her voice. “Are you worried that I took a lover, or that I took a lover who was not you?”

He snapped his head to the side and caught her smile of triumph before she softened it to keep from arousing suspicion. They had been speaking quietly enough no one seemed to be paying them any mind. They were merely two of the more world-weary and upright members of the ton mingling during an event. There was nothing to see here.

He studied her, trying to see past the beauty, past the confidence, and past the perfect façade. There. There it was. The vulnerable woman he’d seen glimpses of during their embrace. She was well hidden, but she was there.

Alistair was fascinated. He shook his head briefly. This was not about him. It was about her, and most importantly, his family. He had to keep them all safe from her antics. “I know you have not taken a lover,” he said.

She arched an imperious brow. “And how would you know that? Are you following me?”

He gave a huff of amusement. “Of course not. I merely know you.”

She laughed, a light tinkling sound that had her brother staring in their direction with concern. Fool. “You think you know me?” she asked.

He nodded slowly. “Well enough to know that you would not settle for less than that which you truly desire.”

Her inhale was not quite a gasp, but it was audible. It was the word desire, he imagined. He knew because he’d felt a bolt of heat by simply saying the word aloud. That one word conveyed a world of meaning—an abundance of images and fantasies that had been tormenting him ever since their first meeting.

She shifted closer, her gaze darting to the crowd around them before piercing him with her directness. “And what is it that I desire?”

He leaned in close. “Me.”

Her breath caught, and that was answer enough. It was more than enough to let him know her ensuing laughter was false, or at least, it was not entirely genuine. Her voice was too breathy when she finally spoke. “You think very highly of yourself, Lord Colefax, and terribly ill of me.”

He pulled back to meet her gaze. “You were the one who informed me that you planned to take a lover.” He lowered his voice. “I never thought you to be a liar.”

Her lips curved up as her gaze met his. “Then you are naïve.”

An unwanted laugh slipped from his lips, and he sat back to look around, ensuring he hadn’t caught the eye of any curious onlookers. While some were looking, none was close enough to overhear. She was willing to admit that she was not so callous about taking a lover, after all. Even better. He would not have to cry off if she thought to see this tryst through.

He stole a look at her from the corner of his eye. She looked the picture of a demure lady. Were it not for her glazed look of passion after that kiss, he might have thought her cold. Frigid. But beneath the artifice beat a heart. One that wanted to be wooed and romanced, even if she would not admit it to herself. It was a risky game he played, and one that could end with serious consequences. However, it made a certain sort of sense. Whether she agreed to a discreet relationship or not, the end result would be the same. She would be distracted, and he would be close. He could keep an eye on her while turning her head with the passion and intrigue of hidden liaisons.

He’d done some digging of his own, and this woman, despite her worldly charm and her outrageous beauty, was an innocent when all was said and done. By all reports, she’d never so much as had a flirtation, let alone a lover. Thank God. Some brutish part of him recognized his feeling of relief was nothing less than possessiveness. Some ancient part of his brain wanted to claim her for his own, but luckily for him, he’d long since ceased being a victim of his body and mind’s baser desires. These days he acted with reason, because his brother’s life and the livelihood of his family depended on it.

“Bravo, Lord Colefax.” He turned back to see her studying him with a look that was alarming. She looked…amused.

“Pardon?”

“I said bravo,” she said. “You are quite the fine performer, trying to turn my head with scandalous talk.”

Bloody hell. He narrowed his eyes. “Is that all you think this is? Talk?”

She smiled, and that smile reminded him of what she’d told him before about being made of ice. He knew it wasn’t true, but that smile made a convincing argument. “As flattered as I might be by your attentions, I have my sights set on someone less complicated.” Her gaze moved meaningfully toward Lord Crawford, who was heading in their direction with an extra glass of lemonade which Alistair assumed was for Henri.

“You cannot be serious,” he said. He ignored the sensation in his gut that made it difficult to sit still when there was a man nearby whose nose so badly needed to be struck. A broken nose would make that blasted Lord Crawford anything but appealing.

She patted his arm as if in consolation. “It is you who is not in earnest, I am afraid.”

He did not know whether to be amused or shocked by her admonishment. Was she really chiding him for not being serious about treating her like some disposable mistress?

She sighed, smoothing her skirts as they both watch Lord Crawford approach. “I understand you are unnerved by what I might discover, my lord, but I assure you, no amount of seduction will distract me.”

He stared at her profile, shocked by the way she managed to look so serene and well-bred while casually discussing her own seduction. “You have not been seduced yet,” he said, his tone low and dripping with every fantasy he’d been harboring since he’d met her. True, he had started this to divert her, but that did not mean he didn’t want her.

Merely as a mistress? He pushed that voice to the side. Of course he did not want to take her as a mistress. The woman was too troublesome, and so he couldn’t desire her for anything more than a mere flirtation. He had no room in his life for anything more. When the time came to take a wife, he would choose the exact opposite sort of this lady. He’d find one who would not be bothered by his pastimes and businesses, and one whose intellect was not nearly so disarming. His musings were somewhat depressing, though, as at the moment, he had a difficult time imagining being attracted to any woman but this one. Those faults made her mesmerizing. That led to an obsession that threatened to distract him, if he did not distract her first.

Lord Crawford had nearly reached them when Alistair finally came to his senses. “You cannot be serious,” he said for the second time. “He is beneath you.”

The words came out of him unplanned and ill-conceived, but they seemed to please her. “Do you think so?” She turned as if to consider the young dandy. “He is younger than I’d like. And not nearly so quick as some, of course.”

Satisfaction swelled within him and he nearly puffed up like a peacock at the roundabout praise. She compared them and found Crawford lacking. In the next breath, he cursed himself for being such a fool. He’d come here to turn her head, not the other way around.

As Crawford approached, she turned to Alistair with a simpering smile that fooled no one. “You were right, Crawford will not do as a lover. It is a good thing I’ve set my sights elsewhere.”

Alistair’s nostrils flared, a fire in his gut raged out of control at the thought of her with another man. Bloody hell, if he could not have her, no man should. She was too good for the lot of them. The fire turned to ice as he followed her gaze. He recognized the older gentleman. A congenial looking fellow, he returned the lady’s smile with a small nod of his head and a warm smile of his own.

“An admiral,” he growled.

She beamed up at him as Lord Crawford reached her side. He stood, as did she, accepting the drink he handed her as he shot a questioning look in Alistair’s direction. Henri answered his unspoken question. “Lord Colefax was kind enough to keep my brother and me company while you were gone.”

They all turned to look at Rodrick, who had made himself comfortable in an armchair nearby, too comfortable, perhaps. He snored loudly, making Crawford snicker as Henri let out a little sigh of resignation.

Lord Crawford’s eyes were filled with wary suspicion as he turned back to eye Alistair. He was trying to determine whether he were competition for the lady’s hand, no doubt. After all, Alistair had been the one to spread the word the lovely, vivacious lady was looking for a husband. Bloody hell. Henri seemed to note Lord Crawford’s suspicions and rushed to reassure him…while simultaneously antagonizing Alistair.

“I was just telling Lord Colefax about that fascinating conversation we had with Admiral Oliver Lonnegan the other evening at Lady Davenport’s soiree.”

Alistair barely bit back his growl of impatience. He’d come to this blasted event feeling like a predator on the prowl, ready to use whatever tactics necessary to distract her. What on earth had happened between then and now? For now he understood clearly what a mouse must feel like when it was being batted about by a cat.

He eyed the cat in question. What are you getting at? He couldn’t demand answers, all he could do was rush to the worst possible conclusions. She knew something more than she ought to, but how much?

“We were so disappointed you could not be there,” she said, with such feeling he nearly believed it himself.

“Yes,” Lord Crawford said grudgingly. “You missed a wonderful evening.”

“But of course we understood why you could not be there,” Henri said. “Your sister told us how you were needed at your family’s estate.” She tilted her head to the side. “I do hope there was nothing wrong.”

The cat metaphor was entirely inaccurate. She was far more akin to a spider. Why, he could practically see the web being spun before him, and she did not even try to hide it with her cryptic, smug smile. He knew without having to ask ‘the other night’ was the same evening he’d gone to meet with his brother—nowhere near the family estate. She knew. She knew he hadn’t gone home, as he’d told Lizzie and his servants.

But how? He narrowed his gaze and her smirk grew into a dazzling smile that made his heart leap in his chest. He didn’t know whether he wanted to shake her or kiss her. She was the most infuriating woman he’d ever met, with no respect for his privacy or her own safety. She was a danger to herself, so focused on ferreting out his secrets she gave no thought to the trouble she might stir up for herself. Her tenacity was infuriating and, well, admirable. Were she not his foe, he’d want her as his ally.

She stared at him wide-eyed, expectantly waiting for an answer. He suspected Lord Crawford could not have cared less about his whereabouts the other night, but he too waited for some sort of response. Alistair forced himself to murmur something benign about how there was no emergency, simply some business to handle.

There was some business that needed to be handled, certainly. That business stood before him now wearing a smug smile that drove him mad with desire and fury. It was a heady combination, to be sure. The musicians took their positions and any hopes he had of getting answers were thwarted as he watched Henri rouse her brother and then go to join the admiral, who fawned over her in a way that was unseemly.

She spared him one last triumphant smile before taking the admiral’s arm and allowing him to escort her back to her seat.