"My lord?"
Dominic paused, glancing impatiently over his shoulder. Farley cleared his throat. "Pardon m'lord, but a . . . er . . . lady called a short time ago. She insisted that she be allowed to await your return. I informed her you would not be home till late."
Dominic's lips twitched at the accusation in his servant's tone, but his curiosity was piqued. In spite of his rakish habits, women seldom appeared on his doorstep uninvited.
"Well, who is it, man?" he asked when Farley hesitated.
"A Miss Crowell, my lord. I have put her in the small parlor."
Surprised and a little puzzled, Dominic bounded up the stairs. Cassandra Crowell was a well-known figure among London Cyprians. A beautiful woman with raven hair and a voluptuous figure, she possessed an allure—as well as a reputation for having a charming bedside manner—that had attracted half the men in town to her side at one time or another. Dominic had escorted her to the theater earlier in the week, but nothing more. Even though Cassandra had pouted and become angry, he had not been interested enough to take what she so willingly offered.
He entered the parlor without knocking and let his gaze sweep the small room. It was quite empty.
Farley, who had followed, exclaimed in bewilderment. "But she was here but a moment ago! I brought her a tray. See, the tea is still warm."
"Perhaps she grew tired of waiting and left."
"Oh no, my lord. I would have heard her."
"Then," Dominic said slowly, "she must still be in the house. Search the ground floor, Farley, while I take this one. And go quietly. If she has a weapon, it would not do to startle her."
Farley swallowed. "A weapon, did you say?"
"Never mind. Just stay out of range and call out if you find her. Now move, man," he ordered as Farley continued to stand there staring.
Dominic began his search along the upper hall, his footsteps making no sound on the carpet as he carefully opened each door.
He wasn't sure what to expect from Cassandra when he found her. His first thought, when he had realized she was in his house, had been that she was still anxious to ply her trade. But her disappearance had fostered a suspicion that Germain had hired her as an assassin of sorts. It would not be the first time Charles had used a female to further his own ends.
Dominic found Cassandra in his bedroom. She was making no attempt to cover the sounds of her movements as she rummaged through his personal belongings, so it was easy for him to quietly enter the room and observe her hurried search. He could tell she was unarmed. The gown she was wearing was designed to expose as much flesh as possible and could not possibly have concealed a weapon.
Dominic was puzzled. His jewel case containing some diamond stickpins and such was lying open, the items in plain view, but he saw enough to convince him it was no treasure hunt Cassandra had in mind.
"Had I known you were so hungry for me, chérie, I would not have kept you waiting."
A pistol shot could not have startled her more than Dominic's sardonic drawl did. Giving a gasp, Cassandra whirled to face him, hastily crossing one hand over her breasts while hiding the other behind her skirts. "My . . . my lord," she croaked. "I was not expecting you so soon."
Dominic's eyes glittered like cool diamonds. His gaze flicked around the room, then returned to her pale face and heaving breasts. "I can see you weren't," he remarked acidly, closing the door with his heel. He moved toward her unhurriedly, a panther stalking his prey. Cassandra retreated, shrinking from his tall, menacing form, but Dominic prevented her from moving by clamping his hands over her shoulders.
Reaching down, he wrenched her hands from behind her back. An object dropped from her grasp, making a dull thud on the thick carpet. Dominic recognized it immediately—a heavy gold seal ring that had once belonged to his father.
His eyes narrowed to mere slits. "I think that you will tell me why you are here, chérie," he said, his tone deadly.
Cassandra whimpered, then began to plead as his hand tightened around her wrist in warning, but Dominic only increased the pressure on her wrist, twisting slowly.
"All right!" she cried.
"Well?"
"I . . . I was looking for the deed to your property in France."
"Why?"
"I don't know why! I only was supposed to find it."
Dominic studied her face, ignoring the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. His left hand slid upwards, his long fingers winding around her throat. "You have a lovely neck, ma belle," he murmured, "but I doubt it would retain its perfect form when stretched by a rope. Who sent you?"
Cassandra clawed at his hand as his fingers tightened their grip on her throat. "Please, you are killing me!"