Marquess of Menace (Lords of Scandal 10)

She placed her hands lightly on his chest. “I’m offering information in return.”

He gave her a confused stare, as his brows drew together. That was not at all what he’d expected. “Information? What knowledge could you possibly give me?” Her tongue darted out, licking along her top lip. He followed the movement, his brain barely working.

“Let me think. You’re here, even though you’ve never come to one of these parties before. What’s more, you were flirting with those ninny heads, surrounded by debutantes. That can only mean one thing. You’re looking to marry.”

He startled and took a step back, bumping his legs into the rock wall behind him. “How did you…” But he couldn’t finish. She’d taken him completely off guard.

She rolled her eyes, stepping back. “Please. I can read you like a book.”

Wait? Had she just been pressing against him in invitation or had she been manipulating him? “Did you just brush against me because you were offering me…” He trailed off again. He wasn’t usually at a loss for words, but tonight, he just couldn’t seem to make them come out.

“I am offering to help you if you help me,” Eliza quipped. “I have spent the last month learning every lord and lady and who has influence and who has money.”

His jaw dropped down and he snapped it closed again. “So why touch me?” If he were being honest, his pride had been wounded. He’d thought for a moment she wanted him as much as he desired her.

One of her brows quirked. “You’re awfully fixated on that.”

Because it had been delightful. His mind had become blank as… Damn. “You did it on purpose.”

“You were being very resistant.”

He shook his head. “You’re a she-devil. A curse to men,” he hissed.

She shrugged. “I just happen to understand the male mind. Not that it’s difficult. Which is why I know what you’re doing here. And how you need help.”

He scrubbed the back of his neck. “How is that?”

“Let me think. You’re looking for a wife. Not because you wish to marry. I know your type.” She tapped her chin. “Is it money or connections? I’m guessing money.”

Minx. A wave of frustration washed over him. He wished she were wrong. It disconcerted him how right she was. “So you’re suggesting that I keep you in the loop and in return, you help me with my search.”

“Exactly.”

He shook his head. Every part of him warned him against her proposal. “Besides the fact that Bash would actually end my life, and the information could be dangerous for you. You are the last woman who should be helping me to find a bride.”

“Why?” Her chin notched up again and he had the urge to run a finger along her jaw. Trace its outline and test the texture of her skin. Was it as silky as he imagined?

“Because you are far too smart and far too beautiful.”

To his complete amazement, she blushed. It might have been the most honest and vulnerable thing she’d done since he’d met her, and it stole his breath how stunning she looked with her cheeks stained, a pale pink that only enhanced her coloring. “Thank you.” She swallowed, her eyes casti

ng toward the ground. She crossed a hand over her front, grabbing the other arm. She’d gone from confident to vulnerable in a moment and he wondered if this was a trick again. But the tremble in her voice told him she meant her next words. “I’ve worked very hard to keep my sisters safe. I can’t just turn the feeling off that I need to protect them. I need to know what’s happening. Bash has been wonderful, and he wants to help but…”

He understood. “There is no word on the mystery man.”

“Will you tell me if you learn anything?”

Maybe. Probably not. “I’ll consider it. Now...” He drew up. “I’ve given you two important bits of information. Point me in the direction of a rich and eligible young woman.”

She gave a single nod. “See the punch bowl? There is a lady in a particularly interesting shade of tangerine orange.”

He looked over to the far side of the ballroom. Sure enough there was a girl in layers of orange lace and piles of matching hair ribbons. “I see her.”

“She’s the Earl of Westerly’s daughter. Richest man in England. Lady Carmella Dumbly.”

He swallowed. She was exactly the sort he was looking for and she was absolutely awful. Even from here, he hated her dress, her hair, the exaggerated way she drew attention to herself.

He looked down at the classic beauty in front of him. Eliza was the sort of stunning good looks mixed with intelligence and grit that could melt a man like him. And yet…she wasn’t for him. He’d have to repeat that a hundred more times before this ball was over.