Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover
Page 60
“You are letting out the heat.”
He lifted himself into the carriage, seating himself across from her as the door closed behind him, throwing them into quiet perfection. She was dressed as Anna, wearing a beautiful black gown, the skirts full and spread wide across her seat, the bodice tight and low, revealing a long, lush expanse of pretty, pale skin. A shadow slashed across her neck and one shoulder, hiding her face so thoroughly that he could not make out any of her features.
She had told him the previous night that she preferred the dark, and now he saw why. Here, she reigned. And damned if he did not want to get down on his knees and vow fealty.
“I was told not to be late.”
He warmed at the words. At the battle in them. He had expected her to be late. He’d prepared for it, having received the contrary note earlier in the day. She’d made it clear by the missive that she was not interested in being controlled. That their time together would be equal, or nothing.
He’d read the damn thing a half dozen times, feeling as though he hadn’t been so well matched in years. Possibly ever. He was reminded of it again now, as he stared into the darkness, the easy sway of the carriage beneath them.
He’d replied, wanting to win, and somehow not wanting that at all.
He’d expected her to be late, nonetheless.
She was not late, but he still had not won.
Indeed, she was early. So early that she’d come to his office to collect him. Yes, he could grow used to the way they matched. “You are ever a challenge, my lady.”
A moment passed, and she shifted, the sound of silk against silk like cannon fire in the dark carriage. The fall of her skirts brushed against his leg, and he remembered watching the way they clung to Langley on the ballroom floor.
Wondered at the ways they might cling to him.
Tonight.
Forever.
The word slid through him like opium smoke, curling and insidious. And unwanted. He pushed it aside as she replied, “I should not like to bore you, Mr. West.”
There was absolutely nothing about this woman that could bore him. Indeed, he could spend a lifetime in this carriage, without the benefit of sight, and he would still find her fascinating.
He ached to touch her, and it occurred to him that he could do that. That she’d designed a scenario that would allow touching and more. Indeed, there was nothing stopping him. Not even her, if he had to wager.
But touching her would end the game they played, and he was not ready for that. He pressed himself back against the lush velour seat, resisting his baser urges. “Tell me,” he said. “Now that you have me, what do you intend to do with me?”
She lifted a flat, wrapped package from the seat next to her. “I have a delivery for you.”
He froze, suddenly irritated that Chase had infiltrated this quiet place, this evening, that promised so much. “I told you I did not want you involved in deliveries from Chase.”
She set the package on her lap. “Are you saying you do not wish to receive it?”
“Of course I want it. I simply don’t want it from you.”
She fingered the strings of the parcel. “You don’t have a choice.”
“No, but you do.” He heard the accusation in his voice. Disliked it.
She lifted Tremley’s file and extended it toward him. “Take it,” she said, the words firm and something more. Something sadder.
He narrowed his gaze. “Come into the light.”
She took a deep breath, and for a moment, he thought she might not. For a moment, he thought that this whole night might end here, now. That she might stop the carriage and toss him out. That she might rescind her offer for a harmless affair.
Because suddenly, it did not seem very harmless at all.
She leaned forward, her beautiful face coming into view.
She wasn’t wearing paint.
She might be dressed in Anna’s frock and wearing Anna’s wig, but she was Georgiana tonight. Come to him freely. For an evening of pleasure. A week of it. Two weeks. However long it took for her to secure her husband and her future.
A life away from this one, where she played messenger between London’s two most powerful men.
She extended the file. “Take it, and return the evening to something more than business.”
He looked at the parcel. Tremley’s secrets, which he needed to protect his sister. To protect his life. Tremley’s secrets, more valuable than anything else he owned, because they were the key to his future.
And yet a part of him wanted to toss the damn file out the window and tell the carriage to keep driving. To get her far from Chase. To get himself far from his truths, truths that seemed to haunt him more and more each day.
If not for his sister, would he do it?
He took the package. Placed it on his lap as she leaned back, returning to her shadows. “Something about it – about you being a part of it – makes the evening business whether we intend it or not.”
And he hated that, even as he opened the parcel, eager to see what was inside. He extracted a pile of paper, written in Chase’s familiar hand. Held the top sheet up to the small candle in its steel and glass compartment in the wall of the carriage.
Funds removed from the exchequer.
He turned a page.
Missives from a half-dozen high-ranking members of the Ottoman Empire.
Secret meetings.
Treason.
He closed the file, his heart pounding. It was proof. Undeniable, perfect proof. He returned the pages to the envelope in which they had come, considering the implications of their contents. The sheer value of this information was nearly incalculable. It would destroy Tremley. Wipe him from the earth.
He lifted himself into the carriage, seating himself across from her as the door closed behind him, throwing them into quiet perfection. She was dressed as Anna, wearing a beautiful black gown, the skirts full and spread wide across her seat, the bodice tight and low, revealing a long, lush expanse of pretty, pale skin. A shadow slashed across her neck and one shoulder, hiding her face so thoroughly that he could not make out any of her features.
She had told him the previous night that she preferred the dark, and now he saw why. Here, she reigned. And damned if he did not want to get down on his knees and vow fealty.
“I was told not to be late.”
He warmed at the words. At the battle in them. He had expected her to be late. He’d prepared for it, having received the contrary note earlier in the day. She’d made it clear by the missive that she was not interested in being controlled. That their time together would be equal, or nothing.
He’d read the damn thing a half dozen times, feeling as though he hadn’t been so well matched in years. Possibly ever. He was reminded of it again now, as he stared into the darkness, the easy sway of the carriage beneath them.
He’d replied, wanting to win, and somehow not wanting that at all.
He’d expected her to be late, nonetheless.
She was not late, but he still had not won.
Indeed, she was early. So early that she’d come to his office to collect him. Yes, he could grow used to the way they matched. “You are ever a challenge, my lady.”
A moment passed, and she shifted, the sound of silk against silk like cannon fire in the dark carriage. The fall of her skirts brushed against his leg, and he remembered watching the way they clung to Langley on the ballroom floor.
Wondered at the ways they might cling to him.
Tonight.
Forever.
The word slid through him like opium smoke, curling and insidious. And unwanted. He pushed it aside as she replied, “I should not like to bore you, Mr. West.”
There was absolutely nothing about this woman that could bore him. Indeed, he could spend a lifetime in this carriage, without the benefit of sight, and he would still find her fascinating.
He ached to touch her, and it occurred to him that he could do that. That she’d designed a scenario that would allow touching and more. Indeed, there was nothing stopping him. Not even her, if he had to wager.
But touching her would end the game they played, and he was not ready for that. He pressed himself back against the lush velour seat, resisting his baser urges. “Tell me,” he said. “Now that you have me, what do you intend to do with me?”
She lifted a flat, wrapped package from the seat next to her. “I have a delivery for you.”
He froze, suddenly irritated that Chase had infiltrated this quiet place, this evening, that promised so much. “I told you I did not want you involved in deliveries from Chase.”
She set the package on her lap. “Are you saying you do not wish to receive it?”
“Of course I want it. I simply don’t want it from you.”
She fingered the strings of the parcel. “You don’t have a choice.”
“No, but you do.” He heard the accusation in his voice. Disliked it.
She lifted Tremley’s file and extended it toward him. “Take it,” she said, the words firm and something more. Something sadder.
He narrowed his gaze. “Come into the light.”
She took a deep breath, and for a moment, he thought she might not. For a moment, he thought that this whole night might end here, now. That she might stop the carriage and toss him out. That she might rescind her offer for a harmless affair.
Because suddenly, it did not seem very harmless at all.
She leaned forward, her beautiful face coming into view.
She wasn’t wearing paint.
She might be dressed in Anna’s frock and wearing Anna’s wig, but she was Georgiana tonight. Come to him freely. For an evening of pleasure. A week of it. Two weeks. However long it took for her to secure her husband and her future.
A life away from this one, where she played messenger between London’s two most powerful men.
She extended the file. “Take it, and return the evening to something more than business.”
He looked at the parcel. Tremley’s secrets, which he needed to protect his sister. To protect his life. Tremley’s secrets, more valuable than anything else he owned, because they were the key to his future.
And yet a part of him wanted to toss the damn file out the window and tell the carriage to keep driving. To get her far from Chase. To get himself far from his truths, truths that seemed to haunt him more and more each day.
If not for his sister, would he do it?
He took the package. Placed it on his lap as she leaned back, returning to her shadows. “Something about it – about you being a part of it – makes the evening business whether we intend it or not.”
And he hated that, even as he opened the parcel, eager to see what was inside. He extracted a pile of paper, written in Chase’s familiar hand. Held the top sheet up to the small candle in its steel and glass compartment in the wall of the carriage.
Funds removed from the exchequer.
He turned a page.
Missives from a half-dozen high-ranking members of the Ottoman Empire.
Secret meetings.
Treason.
He closed the file, his heart pounding. It was proof. Undeniable, perfect proof. He returned the pages to the envelope in which they had come, considering the implications of their contents. The sheer value of this information was nearly incalculable. It would destroy Tremley. Wipe him from the earth.
