Dauntless (Gentlemen of the Order 1)

“And Mr D’Angelo found a runaway husband who faked his death and left his wife and five children destitute,” Noah continued. “He was living in luxury with his mistress in Salisbury.”

“Oh, the deceitful devil. Some men have no concept of responsibility, Mr D’Angelo.” Miss Dunn spoke as if she had experience of wastrels. She considered the lothario, the man they called Dark Angel. “I trust you pointed out the error of his ways. Pray he felt more than the sharp edge of your tongue.”

D’Angelo inclined his head and gave a mischievous grin. “The rogue received his comeuppance.”

“Excellent.”

So, Miss Dunn wasn’t opposed to a man using violence when necessary. Fascinating. Most women abhorred such savagery.

Noah cleared his throat. “Mr Cole’s case involved the murder of a maid in an alley near Seven Dials.” He waited for Miss Dunn’s horrified gasp—it didn’t come.

The lady raised her gloved hand. “Let me guess. The poor woman was killed by her employer. She was with child and planned to reveal all, no doubt.”

Miss Dunn did not scare easily. She wasn’t meek or fragile. So what wickedness forced her to seek their counsel?

“I cannot comment at present.” Cole pushed his hand through his black hair, part of the reason for his moniker Raven. “But I believe that an intelligent woman’s intuition is rarely wrong.”

Sly devil!

For men who were relishing the prospect of a few days’ rest and recuperation, they had soon changed their tune.

“And I recently solved a crime at—”

“Forgive me, Mr Ashwood,” Miss Dunn implored. “I do not mean to sound rude, but I have already determined your merits and cannot bear to hear another sad tale.”

Determined his merits?

What the blazes?

A desire to discover what Miss Dunn had learned of his character during the brief meeting burned in Noah’s veins. In the space of a few minutes, he had gone from hoping one of his friends took the case, to praying the lady picked him.

“My investigation involved greed, Miss Dunn. Nothing to tug on the heartstrings.” And yet he couldn’t help but feel somewhat inadequate. “Now, we’re busy men. Perhaps you might make your choice and take a seat in the study across the hall where you may explain your problem in private. Unless you wish to hear an extensive list of our credentials.”

“No, Mr Ashwood.” Miss Dunn smiled with the self-assurance of a duchess. “That won’t be necessary. I made my choice the moment I entered the drawing room.”

From the deep inhalations and amused grins of his colleagues, they were as eager as he to learn of her choice.

On first impressions, she might pick D’Angelo, the one with a kind face and a devilish twinkle in his eye. Most women thought they had the skills to tame him. Sloane had the look of a biblical hero who might throw himself into a pit of vipers and leave unscathed. Cole’s firm jaw and rugged countenance marked him as a man who got the job done, no matter the cost.

“Then put us out of our misery, Miss Dunn, so we can return to reading our newspapers and drinking our coffee.”

“Certainly. I want to explain my story to you, Mr Ashwood.”

“Me?” A rush of masculine pride filled Noah’s chest. He resisted the urge to punch the air and taunt his friends. “Then allow me to show you to the study.”

Noah ignored the men’s smirks and escorted the lady from the room. Later would come the barrage of questions and the playful banter bordering on ridicule.

“Please sit, Miss Dunn.” He followed her into the study and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Shall I have Mrs Gunning arrange tea?”

“Do not put your housekeeper to any trouble.” Miss Dunn scanned the walnut bookcases before her gaze came to rest on the trio of crystal decanters on the side table. “May I take something stronger? I’ve hardly slept a wink, and a little restorative would not go amiss.”

He couldn’t help but smile as he closed the door.

“Sherry?” he said, though expected her to ask for brandy.

“Sherry is perfect.” She sat, removed her gloves, took the book from her reticule and squinted at a page while he poured her a drink. “Will you not join me, sir?” she said, closing her book and accepting the dainty glass.

Their fingers brushed briefly. With any other client, the action might have gone unnoticed. But he was as captivated by the ink stains on her elegant fingers as he was by the sudden spark of awareness.