Eleven

Dell waited in the comfortable darkness of his carriage. He had long ago taken advantage of the vehicle’s privacy to remove his white wig and mustache and had wiped away most of the makeup that had been caked on his face to suggest the aged skin of Lord Seymour.

The disguise was no longer needed, as he had no intention of interacting with anyone for the rest of the night. His next few hours would be strictly surveillance.

Watching Lily Chadwick all evening had revealed very little. The woman had proven to be somewhat difficult to read. She looked much like her younger sister in her general features, including her smaller stature and gray eyes. But her hair was lighter than Portia Chadwick’s dark-sable tresses, and her figure more rounded around the bust and hips.

Not to mention, Lily Chadwick carried herself with a sort of serenity his impertinent client was simply incapable of. If he had not known the young lady had gone through a rather harrowing series of events just two nights prior, he never would have suspected she was anything other than completely composed and perfectly content.

That is, until he noticed her occasionally sweeping her gaze over the guests, clearly searching for someone. The gentleman who had rescued her, perhaps? Or was it that someone at the party posed a threat to her as Portia suspected?

It was possible, though without noticing anything revealing, or even curious, in Lily’s interactions with the gentlemen present, there was nothing that made one of them stand out over the others.

Dell decided to come at the issue from another direction.

Through a narrow crack in the drawn curtains of the carriage, he finally observed the Chadwick sisters departing Beresford House with the Dowager Countess of Chelmsworth. Just the sight of the youngest Chadwick woman tightened his muscles with tension.

It had been a bold and foolish move on her part to force their interaction earlier. It irked him how easily she saw through his false personas.

One thing was certain: if she expected him to be able to do his job, she had to keep her distance.

If he expected to be able to do his job, he would need to get his reactions to the chit under control.

Damn her inexplicable allure. If she hadn’t looked so bloody enticing in her ice-blue gown with green trimming, he would never have been caught staring at her, which had drawn her attention in the first place. He hadn’t made such an amateur move since he had created Nightshade and all his guises.

Though he enjoyed placing blame squarely on Portia Chadwick’s lovely bare shoulders, he knew it was his own lack of self-possession that allowed the slip. He needed to get himself together. Sexual attraction—even that as compelling as he was experiencing for the dark-haired young woman—had no place in an investigation. No place in his life, to tell the truth.

Such things only complicated matters.

A much more casual approach in his sexual relations with the female gender had served him well for quite a while. There was no way he was going to indulge in the unexpected fire of need this particular woman caused. The sooner he convinced his body of that, the better.

He watched as the Chadwicks piled into their carriage and drove off. Glancing back to the house, he noticed he had not been the only one waiting for their departure.

As Lady Chelmsworth’s carriage rolled away, another figure stepped through the Beresfords’ front door: the same elegant gentleman who had visited Pendragon in the early morning hours after the auction, cutting French’s interview with the madam short.

An interesting coincidence.

Dell had intended to follow the Chadwicks’ carriage to ensure the ladies made it home without undue incident. But as the mysterious lord approached his own vehicle, Dell decided he might be just as well served to follow him.

He was not disappointed.

They did not go far before the gentleman’s carriage turned onto the narrow lane that ran behind the town house that was currently the residence of the dowager countess and her three great-nieces. Dell knocked on the roof of his own vehicle, signaling Morley to stop more than a block away.

He would need a closer look.

Instructing Morley to wait, he drew his greatcoat closer about his frame and tucked his chin in the shadows of the large collar. The street was relatively quiet at this time of night, but the standing gas lamps had been lit, casting everything in a steady glow.

Dell strolled down the street in the opposite direction from where the gentleman’s carriage had turned into the lane. Keeping to a sedate yet intentional pace, he continued around the corner and entered the mews from the opposite end. He clung to the shadows, creeping on silent feet as he made his way along the back wall of the Chelmsworth garden. The lord’s carriage was up ahead, partially concealed beneath the fall of a large willow. Finding an agreeable spot behind some thick shrubbery, Dell leaned into the deep shadows and positioned himself for a long wait.

More than an hour passed before he heard someone coming from the garden inside the privacy wall.

A few moments later, a gate near the middle of the wall swung open, and a solitary figure stepped out. The figure was small in stature and was draped in the folds of a dark cloak with its hood pulled up. Only a narrow flounce of white skirts could be seen beneath the hem.

The garden gate closed quietly behind her, yet the woman did not continue forward. She stood against the wall, staring down the lane toward the partially concealed carriage. When she still did not move after several minutes, the carriage door opened, and the dark-haired gentleman stepped out.

Dell studied the hooded female carefully. He had been hired to determine whether or not Lily Chadwick was in danger. Clearly, she had ventured outside her great-aunt’s home intentionally, but there could have been some means of coercion causing her to do so.

He noted how the woman turned to face the gentleman directly. There was no reluctance in her movements. In fact, the man’s appearance outside the carriage seemed to bolster the woman’s courage as she started toward him with swift and light strides.

She stopped again before actually reaching the gentleman’s side, but when he lifted his hand to her, she continued forward without further hesitation and placed her hand in his. As she did so, the movement of her arm swept her cloak aside just enough for Dell to note that her gown matched that worn by Lily Chadwick earlier in the evening. As she stepped up into the carriage, the woman briefly glanced back down the alley toward Dell’s position in the shadows, and he managed to catch a glimpse of her face.

It was, indeed, Lily Chadwick.

A few moments later, Dell lowered his chin to better conceal his face as the carriage rolled past him. Dell pushed off from the wall, intending to go back to his own carriage so he could follow the couple to their next destination.

However, before the vehicle completely cleared the mews, another figure stepped through the garden gate. The newcomer was similar in height and with a dark, voluminous cloak exactly like the one worn by Lily Chadwick.

Seeing the carriage turn out of sight, the second young lady gave a disappointed huff. “Blast,” she muttered angrily.

Dell tensed.

Portia.

Her hood swung in his direction, though he knew he had made no noise to call her attention. She followed her gaze with a few steps. Then she halted, as though listening. She was still for so long, Dell wondered if she was all right.

“Turner. Are you out here?”

Bloody hell.

Dell stepped forward from his shadowed corner.

Her light gasp at his sudden appearance confirmed she had not seen him.

The woman was far too bold as she approached him in long strides. What if it wasn’t him at all? It was on the tip of his tongue to start lecturing her for her carelessness and lack of concern for her own safety. Not only in approaching a shadowy character on a dark lane, but in traipsing about alone so late in the first place.

He knew before he spoke, however, that a sensible lecture would only end in a roll of her fascinating eyes or a snort of derision before she went along doing exactly what she wanted to do anyway.

It seemed the more effective option would be to show her just how dangerous such behavior could be.

As soon as she came to a stop, he grasped her upper arms in his hands and swung them both back into the dark corner behind the shrubbery. He pushed her up against the stone garden wall, stepping close enough to keep her in place, but still far enough for the fall of her cloak to swirl in the space between them.

She gasped then clutched at the front of his coat as she leaned to the side to scan down the lane. “What is it?” she asked breathlessly. “Are they coming back?”

Dell wanted to shake her. Instead, he growled in anger, “No, you bloody idiot. What in hell are you doing out here? Have you any idea what manner of trouble you could have found yourself in the midst of?”

Hadn’t he decided a lecture would be pointless?

The woman was making him lose his mind.

“What? Do you mean like my sister climbing into a carriage in the middle of the night and riding off to who knows where with who knows whom?” she replied testily, angling her head back so she could look up into his face.

The act caused the hood of her cloak to fall back off her head. The light of the moon favored Dell with a clear view of her winged eyebrows arched over a bewitching gaze, her fine cheekbones, and lush little mouth. Even the woman’s nose contributed to her stunning beauty.

His chest tightened, and desire pulsed through his blood, angling straight to his groin. Dammit, she was doing it again. Making him forget himself.

Luckily, she seemed far too irritated to notice anything untoward in his manner.

“Did I not hire you to keep her safe? What are you doing hiding in the bushes when my sister is out there?” she finished with a jerk of her arm.

Dell released her with a low grunt as he took a step back.

“You hired me to determine if she was still in any danger,” he replied in clipped syllables. “That is what I am doing.”

“But you just let her leave.” The damnable woman was obviously intent upon arguing.

Dell was exasperated enough to oblige her. “I saw no evidence of coercion or threat. Your sister left willingly.”

Her fine features were tense under the moonlight. “But why? It is so unlike her.” She gasped in sudden surprise. “Was it the gentleman who rescued her from the brothel?”

“There is no evidence of that.”

“But you suspect it is,” she added confidently. “Who is he?”

Dell’s sources had provided the gentleman’s name and more, but before he could form a reply, she gave a swift shake of her head. “No, do not answer that. I promised Lily I would not try to discover his identity. Do you know where they were going?”

“I would have discovered their destination if I had been free to follow them.”

Her expression changed then. The tense little scowl slid away. One brow lifted in an impertinent arch, while her lips tilted upward at the corners and her eyes flashed from a narrowed gaze.

He had thought her stunning before. In possession of a unique sort of confidence all her own, when challenged, she proved she could be downright bewitching.

“You are just miffed that I saw through your disguise earlier, aren’t you?”

He could not risk anyone seeing through his camouflage. He hated to admit she was right—that her ability to recognize him annoyed the hell out of him—but he also needed to know for certain what had given him away.

“How did you know it was me?”

Her mouth curved into a wide smile. “It was in the way you looked at me.”

Dell stiffened. Not that he had been looking, but the way he had been looking. That couldn’t be. She couldn’t possibly have detected his attraction to her. “I barely glanced at you.”

She shrugged, and her cloak parted with the movement to reveal a significant portion of her figure still gowned in ice-blue silk. Dell had to drag his attention back to her face.

Damned distraction.

“But that glance was more than enough to detect the irritated sort of glower you like to give me. See! You are doing it right now.” She tilted her head and planted her hands on her hips. “It gives me the distinct impression that you’d like to turn me over your knee.”

She did not just say that.

Lust blazed through him at the image her words conjured, even though he knew she could have no idea what kind of suggestion she had just made. As he fought a primal urge to grasp hold of her and do just that, she grabbed him instead.

Her hands curled into the material of his coat, and she hauled him toward her until she was flat against the wall with his body pressed full-length to hers in a way he had been fighting the urge to do from the moment he’d met her.

He had been right to avoid such contact.

When she’d grabbed him, he had reacted automatically, sliding his arm around her waist. His instinct had been to shield her from whatever threat had spooked her.

However, the heat of her silk-clad body tugged his focus in an entirely unwanted direction. As did the wonderful female scent drifting from her skin, the barely perceptible flow of her breath against his throat, and the slide of her sable hair against his temple.

Her shape was small and feminine, but the energy contained within her slight form fairly buzzed with intensity.

With the blood suddenly rushing from his head, it took Dell an extra split second to hear what she had obviously already noted—the sound of someone humming.

The voice was a woman’s and came from the garden. The fact that a seven-foot wall separated them from the unexpected intruder made it obvious their current position was entirely unnecessary. That knowledge should have inspired Dell to step back again.

He didn’t.

Instead, he remained as he was—one forearm braced against the wall beside her shoulder and his other arm wrapped securely around her narrow waist beneath the fall of her cloak—listening to what sounded like someone taking a late-night stroll through the garden.

“Angelique.”

Portia whispered the name so softly there was no way anyone but Dell could have heard. It was possible he hadn’t heard it at all. It was entirely possible he simply felt the word as she breathed it silently against his ear while he stood with his head dipped low beside hers.

Dell had been in some extremely challenging circumstances in his career. But this—enduring the near embrace of this small woman—was almost more than he could handle.

Finally, the humming started to drift away. A few minutes later, it could be heard no more.

Neither of them moved. Then Dell felt the slightest shift in her weight. He straightened his spine and lifted his head at the same time that she tipped hers back to look him full in the face. Her mouth was a breath away from his.

“She has gone back inside.”

“You should go in as well,” Dell replied, the words suddenly thick in his throat.

“I will,” she whispered as she uncurled her fingers from his coat to flatten her hands against his chest.

Now was the time to step back.

Miss Chadwick was as green as they came, despite her impulsive nature. She was heading for trouble a thousand different ways, and he had no intention of being there when she found it.

Why in hell didn’t he step back?

“Do you think they are lovers?” she asked. The words, spoken in the lowered tone, took on a sultry quality.

That did it.

Dell retreated, withdrawing his arm from around her body and stepping back until no part of them remained in contact. “A reasonable assumption,” he replied.

A deep furrow formed between her elegant eyebrows, and she shook her head. “Remarkable.”

Dell had seen the reaction before. Many times. It amazed him how people could think they truly knew their loved ones. No one ever wanted to believe someone they cared about would lie to them. But everyone lied.

She peered intently into his eyes. “And you think he is the same gentleman who took her from the brothel?”

“It’s just a hunch.”

She was silent for a few moments…then a strange smile slid across her features.

Dell’s stomach tightened again. There was danger in that smile.

“Does your hunch tell you where they might be going?” she asked slyly.

Dell did not answer; he obviously didn’t need to.

“Well, let’s go,” she insisted. “Before we lose them.”

“I will go. You will stay here.”

“I want to come with you.”

“We have been over this,” he replied, not bothering to keep the exasperation from his voice.

“But that was in regard to visiting Hale,” she argued.

Why couldn’t the woman simply accept his dictate?

“This is different,” she continued. “My sister is with the man, for God’s sake. Surely, wherever they are going, I can go.”

“You are not coming with me,” he said with finality as he turned away and started down the lane with long strides.

“Damn, but you are a stubborn one,” she muttered behind him.

He answered with a rough snort and kept walking. He was surprised she didn’t follow, and grateful.

It wasn’t until he was back in the carriage that he realized he had barely retained any of his disguise during his interaction with the Chadwick woman. He had never been so careless. He could only hope the night had been dark enough that she had not been able to detect much more than a general impression of his features.

Portia Chadwick already knew far too much about Nightshade. Any more, and Turner’s livelihood would rest entirely in her elegant hands.

Available July 2017