“I don’t see how you can,” he replied coolly.
“To begin with, if any one of your suspects is a lady—and I would wager that’s a good possibility—I have a far better chance of entering her room for a clandestine look around. My presence in that part of the castle will draw no undue attention, while you will have a much harder time of gaining access.”
She had a good point. He was not anxious to initiate another amorous encounter with Lady de Blois. Sacrifices for King and country wer
e all very well, but the idea of taking her to bed had lost its allure.
Still, what she was suggesting was too…
“And as for the men,” went on Anna. She paused to flash a brilliant smile. “I can employ certain wiles to charm information out of them that you cannot.”
His jaw tightened. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because. It. Is. Dangerous.”
She uttered an oath that he had not ever heard outside the slums of Southwark. “Oh, and you are not facing peril if there is an assassin among us?”
“It’s different,” he muttered.
Her gaze sharpened to a steely stare. “If you are implying that I am helpless because of my sex, I just might fetch my book knife after all.”
Bloody Hell. How was it that Anna Sloane always found a way to put him on the defensive? He was usually adept at dealing with women and the diabolically complex way their brains worked. She, however, had gears and levers he had never encountered before.
Reminding himself that he was good at figuring out new mechanisms, he tried another approach. “Anna, this is not one of Emmalina’s exciting little adventures. It’s all very well to go dashing around courting danger on paper, but it’s quite another thing when the stakes are real.”
When she didn’t answer right away, Devlin began to congratulate himself. Conundrums were easy to solve if one simply exercised some patience and fortitude—
“Adventures on paper.” She stopped abruptly and perched a hip on one of the stone urns dotting the path’s verge. “Come to think of it, a prince in danger would add a very exciting element to my book. Emmalina has just arrived at a remote Scottish castle, and…”
“You swore an oath to tell no one!” exclaimed Devlin, adding a few words that ought never be uttered in front of a lady.
The breeze had tugged a few locks of hair free from her bonnet. Gleaming gold in the sunlight, they waved like tiny naval flags signaling the start of a battle.
Sure enough, the rumble of the big guns rolling out immediately followed.
“I swore to tell no one about this specific mission,” pointed out Anna. “Using it to inspire fiction was not part of the agreement.”
“The devil it wasn’t!” he snapped.
She lifted a brow.
“You are an imp of Satan in disguise,” he growled.
“Then we are well matched, aren’t we?” she countered.
Devlin sucked in his cheeks, trying to control the fierce twisting in his gut. It wasn’t just anger but fear. Fear for her safety…
Fear for his own detachment going up in smoke.
“I’m not a feather-headed widget,” she added. “I won’t do anything to imperil your mission.”
“And what of yourself, Anna?”
She looked away. “Lord Davenport—Devlin—I have become quite skilled at playing a role. You have seen for yourself that London Society sees me as a demure, dutiful young lady, a perfect patterncard of propriety, when at heart, that isn’t the real me at all. I am tougher than I might seem, and more of a pragmatist than you might think, because my family circumstances demanded I be so.”
It was true, conceded Devlin. She had unselfishly accepted a heavy responsibility, and had proved herself strong and steady with its weight on her shoulders.