“You believe you are any safer under my roof?” His voice deepened as that growingly familiar heat flowed through his blood. Brianna Quinn might be a stubborn, unruly wench, but she stirred his passions to a fever pitch. To have her sleeping just a few doors away would bring a certain end to her innocence. “I am not the oh-so-honorable Stefan. I do not rescue damsels in distress without expecting some sort of reward.”
She trembled, but not with fear. She might be a virgin, but she was vibrantly aware of the sizzling heat that pulsed between them.
“You do not have to remind me that you have always been a cad and a scoundrel.”
He arched a raven brow. “Well, then?”
“I do not gain control of my inheritance until my birthday in the spring, but I do have several jewels…”
His husky laugh filled the shadowed room. “I have no need for your money or jewels.”
She frowned in confusion, revealing just how innocent she truly was. “Then what sort of reward do you demand?”
Edmond deliberately allowed his heated gaze to run over her ivory features before lowering to rest on the slight swell of her breasts.
“Obviously, you have nothing to barter but your feminine charms.”
She attempted an expression of outrage, but Edmond did not miss the darkening of her magnificent eyes. She would never admit it, but she was not entirely averse to the thought of having those charms tasted. Perhaps even devoured.
“You are no better than Thomas,” she accused in a shaky voice.
Edmond smiled with cold intent, abruptly stepping back and tugging her from the door. He had wasted enough time. He was here to discover a murderer, not to seduce his brother’s ward. Stefan was far better suited to deal with such a mess.
He still intended to kill Thomas Wade. That was a given. But tonight, his priority was Howard Summerville.
“Then I suggest that you remain with your stepfather, where you belong, or find some other accommodations,” he informed her, releasing his hold so he could pull open the door.
“Damn you,” she hissed.
Edmond paused to cast a mocking glance over his shoulder. “You are too late, ma souris. I was damned years ago.”
IT WAS JUST PAST THREE in the morning when Brianna and her maid slipped through the back gate of the Huntley town house and made their way to the kitchen door.
Although only a few blocks away from her stepfather’s home, the two establishments could not be compared.
The entire area had once belonged to Westminster Abbey and had been taken into possession by Henry VIII. Later it was developed by the Curzon family, who named the neighborhood Mayfair after the annual fair that had once been held in the open fields.
Unlike many of the grand homes, Huntley House had been built by James Stuart, who preferred a plain exterior of pale stone and wrought-iron fencing to the more elaborate style of Robert Adam. The elegant interior, however, was a lavish display of wealth.
As a child, Brianna could recall entering the home and marveling at the split staircase that led to a formal landing that boasted heavy marble pillars and Grecian statues. A perfect setting for the Duke and Duchess to greet their guests in a truly regal fashion.
The jewel of the house, of course, was the neo-classical drawing room with its series of tall windows that extended the length of the house and overlooked Hyde Park. It was a room that had been near overwhelming for young Brianna, who had been terrified of destroying some priceless work of art.
And now here she was, about to enter the house as a thief.
More unnerved by the realization than she cared to admit, Brianna set down the heavy bags she had carried from her home, and watched as her maid bent over the door knob to study the lock in the faint moonlight.
The two women were currently hidden in the shadowed alcove of the servants’ entrance, having slipped through the mews to the back of the grand town house. Behind them, the silence of the sunken rose garden offered the sense of being isolated from the hustle and bustle of London, but Brianna was no fool. Huntley House employed over a dozen servants, any one of which could make an untimely arrival.
“Can you do it, Janet?” she whispered.
Janet straightened, her round face somber. “Aye, it be a simple enough lock.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“Are ye certain this is a wise notion, Miss Quinn?” the maid demanded, her words abrupt. “The way ye speak of the gent makes me fear that ye are leaping from the frying pan right into the fire.”
Brianna suppressed her instinctive shudder.