The Lady Chosen (Bastion Club 1)
Her determination rang in her voice.
They’d reached the gate of Number 14. Tristan halted, met her gaze. “I suppose there’s no point insisting you leave the matter of the burglar in my hands?”
Her periwinkle blue eyes hardened. “None.”
He exhaled, looked away down the street. He wasn’t above lying for a good cause. Wasn’t above using distractions, either, despite their inherent danger.
Before she could shift away, he caught her hand. Turned his head and trapped her gaze. Held it while with his fingers he sought, then flicked the opening in her glove wide, then raised her wrist, the inner face now exposed, to his lips.
Felt the quiver that raced through her, watched her head lift, her eyes darken.
He smiled, slowly, intently. Softly decreed, “What’s between you and me remains between you and me, but it hasn’t gone away.”
Her lips set; she tugged, but he didn’t release her, instead, with his thumb, languidly caressed the spot he’d kissed.
She caught her breath, then hissed, “I’m not interested in any dalliance.”
Eyes on hers, he raised a brow. “No more am I.” He was interested in distracting her. They’d both be better off with her concentrating on him rather than on the burglar. “In the interests of our acquaintance”—in the interests of his sanity—“I’m willing to make a deal.”
Suspicion glowed in her eyes. “What deal?”
He chose his words carefully. “If you promise to do no more than keep your eyes and ears open, to do no more than watch and listen and report all to me when next I call, I’ll agree to share with you all I discover.”
Her expression turned haughtily dismissive. “And what if you don’t discover anything?”
His lips remained curved, but he let his mask slide, let his true self show briefly. “Oh, I will.” His voice was soft, faintly menacing; its tone held her.
Again, slowly, deliberately, he raised her wrist to his lips.
Holding her gaze, kissed.
“Do we have a deal?”
She blinked, refocused on his eyes, then her breasts swelled as she drew in a deep breath. And nodded. “Very well.”
He released her wrist; she all but snatched it back.
“But on one condition.”
He raised his brows, now as haughty as she. “What?”
“I’ll watch and listen and do no more if you promise to call and tell me what you’ve discovered as soon as you discover it.”
His gaze locked with hers, he considered, then let his lips ease. He inclined his head. “As soon as practicable, I’ll share any discovery.”
She was mollified, and surprised to be so. He hid a grin and bowed. “Good day, Miss Carling.”
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then inclined her head. “Good day, my lord.”
Days passed.
Leonora watched and listened, but nothing of any moment occurred. She was content with their bargain; there was in truth little else she could do beyond watch and listen, and the knowledge that if anything did occur, Trentham expected to be involved in dealing with it was unexpectedly heartening. She’d grown used to acting alone, indeed eschewed the help of others who in general were more likely to get in her way, yet Trentham was undeniably able—with him involved, she felt confident of resolving the issue of the burglaries. Staff started to appear at Number 12; Trentham occasionally called in there, as duly reported by Toby, but did not venture to knock on the Carlings’ front door.
The only factor that disturbed her equanimity was her recollections of that kiss in the night. She’d tried to forget it, simply put it from her mind, an aberration on both their parts, yet forgetting the way her pulse leapt whenever he came near was much harder. And she had absolutely no idea how to interpret his comment that what lay between them hadn’t gone away.
Did he mean he intended to pursue it?
But then he’d declared he wasn’t interested in dalliance any more than she was. Despite his past occupation, she was learning to take his words at face value.