‘The prime minster has utmost faith in me.’ Killian leaned infinitesimally closer. Her heart rate and the temperature of theroom simultaneously increased. ‘I will sing your praises as a modern-day heroine. Will that garner you favour amongst the peerage? Probably. Will questions be asked about why a young lady was alone and unchaperoned in an area as dangerous as Bethnal Green? Presumably. Will it bring you enormous attention and make it impossible to disappear? Most assuredly.’
‘Bastard.’
He backed her against the papered wall. ‘Careful. Words like that could get you into trouble. A man would be called out to duel for such an accusation against a duke.’
‘But I’m not a man.’
Lord Killian’s pupils dilated. ‘No. You certainly aren’t.’
‘Besides, I would best you in a duel of pistols or swords. You can’t intimidate me, sir.’ Her voice was husky, and a drip of perspiration trickled between her breasts. Breasts that had become unaccountably heavy. And when did her nipples decide to develop extra nerve endings as they tightened and chafed against her corset?
He startled her, reaching up and tracing an escaped curl from her chignon with his gloved finger. The whisper of soft leather danced along her skin. ‘Is that a challenge?’
‘That’s a fact.’ Hannah’s breathing was too fast. Bergamot and leather invaded her senses. Heat from his body engulfed her, and something electric crackled in the air between them. She was in the eye of a terrible lightning storm, both dangerous and exciting.
‘Perhaps I can’t intimidate you with threats. But charm? That’s another story.’ He leaned closer, his body not quite touching hers. Their breaths mingled as his fingers explored her cheek, pausing at the scar. She hated that it made her self-conscious. ‘You feel safe with violence, but softer emotions terrify you, don’t they, Miss Simmons?’
Yes.
‘No.’ When faced with danger, Hannah always attacked. And this moment was laced with peril.
She put her hands flat on his chest and shoved him hard. He stumbled backward, almost catapulting over the back of the couch before regaining his balance. Hannah squared her shoulders and tucked the traitorous curl behind her ear. ‘Youdo notterrify me, sir. You don’t know me, and you certainly don’t wish to court me. What is your game?’
5
Killian recovered quickly despite the strength of her shove. Dark satisfaction in unnerving the indomitable Miss Simmons eased his bruised pride at almost landing arse over teakettle on Lady Winterbourne’s patterned rug. Her impressive shields hid a vulnerable core. What possible forces created such a contradictory woman? Killian was determined to find the answer.
But perhaps distance was advisable. Something about the woman made him want to lunge forward when he should hold back. If he was going to win a battle of wills against Miss Simmons, he needed to keep a cool head and let logic, not lust, lead the way.
Killian loathed manipulation and despised blackmail. But at least he could be honest with Hannah about his motivations. And for reasons he did not wish to examine, he didn’t want to lie to her. He tugged down his vest and sat on the overstuffed chair opposite the couch. ‘You are correct, Miss Simmons. Courting you is not my primary goal. Finding a killer is. But you know that because you are seeking the same man, aren’t you?’
The confounding woman pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders.
‘You refuse to answer?’
‘You don’t seem particularly amenable to my answers, Your Grace.’ Miss Simmons curled her lips in the imitation of a sweet smile. She had a dimple in her right cheek, just below the scar.
Killian had noticed the pearl-coloured crescent marking her otherwise smooth cheek the night before. Questions burned about how she sustained the injury. And if the person responsible for hurting her had suffered, or if Killian could still exact punishment on him. But his thoughts were getting off track.
‘Fine.’ Killian wished he could remove his gloves and loosen his cravat. The room was insufferably warm. ‘Your admission is irrelevant. I know we are focused on finding the same culprit. What is less clear is who you are working for and why.’ He raised his eyebrows in a question.
Miss Simmons remained stubbornly silent.
‘You won’t tell me. But I will find out, Miss Simmons. According to a certain young master Bright, while I seek justice for the crimes this gentleman committed, you plan to kill him. Murdering a murderer? Hardly honourable.’
‘That depends entirely on your definitions of justice and honour, Lord Killian.’ Miss Simmons walked around the couch and sat on the edge of the cushion. Deep pink flowers were stitched into the material and her agile fingers worried at the pattern, the only betrayal of her nerves.
Killian wondered how many blades were hidden underneath her skirts. A man could spend hours scouring every inch of her body to discover her weapons. He shifted in his seat, willing his libido to behave.
Force wasn’t working. He would try logic. ‘Accepting my offercould be as beneficial to you as it is to me. If we work together, there’s a far greater chance we’ll find this man.’
Miss Simmons sighed and glanced out the window behind him. ‘I don’t need your help.’
‘But you do need my silence. If I expose your actions from last night, you will gain notoriety amongst the very group of nobles you hope to infiltrate. Hardly beneficial to your mission.’ It was a powerful argument. She could not dispute his reasoning.
She narrowed her eyes in undisguised loathing, pinning him with her glare. ‘You haven’t answered my question. How does pretending to court me bring you any closer to finding this man?’
Killian smiled and leaned back in the chair. ‘What’s that delightful saying? “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”’
