Dark Angel (Gentlemen of the Order 4)

“You did not mistreat me, Dante.”

“It’s a gift, a gift given from a desire to keep you safe.”

Curiosity danced over her delicate features. She accepted his gift, smiled when she lifted the lid and stared at the object inside.

“A silver and agate letter opener.”

“A practical gift to keep under your pillow.”

“When did you have time to make the purchase?”

“I went before returning home this evening. I hammered the door, dragged the proprietor from his supper and paid over the odds for the inconvenience.”

He had never given anyone a gift, yet the sheer joy on her face played havoc with his heart.

“Thank you. I shall treasure it always.” She cupped his cheek with her cold hand and pressed her lips to his. It was a chaste kiss—an intimate thank you—but he felt the essence of the woman infuse every aspect of his being.

“Good night, Miss Sands. I shall wait here and watch until you’re safely inside. Perhaps it’s unwise for us to meet at a coffeehouse tomorrow.”

Her smile slipped.

“I mean, we must insist on privacy when discussing the case,” he explained. “I suggest we meet at the office in Hart Street at noon, command use of the study.”

They needed to begin their investigation despite the fact he found the evidence distressing, regardless of the fact he couldn’t concentrate in her company.

“That’s an excellent idea. Until tomorrow, Mr D’Angelo. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Dante watched until she entered the house. He ignored the tug in his gut that would have him racing after her, sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to bed. Indeed, he’d struggle to be alone with her without thinking about that kiss. In Hart Street, his colleagues would be flitting back and forth, making it impossible for him to devour her mouth with the same reckless abandon. At least he prayed that would be the case. Above all else, he did not want to hurt a woman who’d suffered enough.

Chapter 10

To Beatrice’s surprise, she found Mr D’Angelo sitting behind the desk in the study when she arrived in Hart Street. She’d come half an hour early, needing to focus her mind on their investigation, needing to maintain a professional air after their intimate interlude last night.

But the sight of him roused thoughts of his bare chest, scarred and bruised, of her need to press her mouth to his bronzed skin and kiss his wounds. Similar thoughts had kept her awake most of the night, as had the memory of his tongue slipping into her mouth and luring hers into an erotic dance.

He looked up from whatever he was reading, and her heart lurched. “Miss Sands? Forgive me, I didn’t hear you come in.”

She might have challenged him. How could a skilled agent not sense her presence? But there was something different about him today, as if his muscles were restrained by a straitjacket worn beneath his expertly tailored coat.

She motioned to the papers littering the desk. “You’ve started without me, I see.”

“I am merely reading through your father’s notes.”

Was that why he seemed so stiff, so reserved, so formal? Was he battling to keep his emotions at bay? Was this his way of coping?

“Did Mr Sloane have a chance to study them?” She began unfastening her pelisse, but her fingers seemed incapable of gripping the buttons. “Did he offer an opinion?”

From Dante’s awkward pause, she knew Mr Sloane had discussed the reason he’d almost found them in a passionate embrace, and not his thoughts on the case.

“Something occurred to me after speaking to Sloane last night.”

“It did?” Her pulse thumped in her throat. Would he advise they keep their distance? Did he regret offering to help her forget her trauma?

Oh, he’d made her forget everything but the taste of him.

“You said my parents hired your father because of a previous attempt on their lives. They believed someone wanted them dead. Correct?”