‘Sun Tzu. You’ve readThe Art of War?’
Killian’s eyebrows winged up, and he inhaled sharply. ‘You’vereadThe Art of War?’
Miss Simmons shrugged once more. ‘Don’t look so surprised.’
‘The only copies I’ve found are written in French.’
‘Oui.’ Miss Simmons was a multilingual little minx with violent taste in literature.
‘So, you shoot men in the street, carry blades in your pockets, and are versed inThe Art of War? Truly, Miss Simmons, you are a fascinating woman.’ He rose from his seat. ‘But are you brave enough to accept my offer?’
‘I’m far from fascinating, Your Grace. Let me see if I understand your motivation. You wish us to pretend a romantic interest to keep an eye on me. Presumably, I will reciprocate by keeping my own eyes on you.’
‘Precisely.’ Killian held his breath, waiting for her answer.
She rose from her seat. Killian’s breeding forced him to stand with her.
‘I don’t think it requires courage to accept your offer, just an acute sense of confidence. Because despite what you think or how closely you watch me, I will find Sarah Bright’s killer first.’ Miss Simmons walked to the door and paused. Killian joined her, stopping a few feet away. Distance. Distance and decorum were key.
‘I accept your proposal on one condition.’ Miss Simmons eyes were the colour of amber garnet when they caught the light.
Killian’s tongue must be broken, for he couldn’t form words. Instead, he gave a curt nod for her to continue.
‘In public, we will conduct ourselves as any courting couple might, but privately, there will be no such flirtation. No false charm. This is a business deal between two opposing forces. Let’s not pretend otherwise. Do you agree to my terms?’ She stuck her hand out to shake.
Killian grasped her small hand in his larger one, wishing again he could remove his gloves and feel her skin against his. She had the firm grip of an equal. When he squeezed her hand and shook, her shoulders relaxed. Until he brought her fingers to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. While he wore gloves, she did not. Her bare skin brushed against his lips. He relished her gasp. ‘I don’t believe it possible to pretend charm with you, Miss Simmons.’
She pulled her hand away, her lips hardened in a tight frown as she opened the door. ‘Finding Sarah Bright’s murderer first and killing him before you can save him from his fate will be the greatest of pleasures, Lord Killian.’
‘The satisfaction of finding Sarah Bright’s murderer first and delivering him to the House of Lords where he will experience true justice shall only be eclipsed by the pleasure of your company, Miss Simmons.’
‘Bastard.’
‘I’m beginning to appreciate your expansive vocabulary. You say the sweetest things when you’re angry.’
‘You haven’t glimpsed the spectrum of my rage, sir.’
‘Something for me to look forward to, then. The Somerset’s annual ball is Thursday next. I shall come for you at six. One can only hope you own a ball gown in shades other than brown or grey.’
He felt the heat of Miss Simmons’s gaze and it warmed him as he walked away.
Buggering bloody bollocks!
Eight days had passed since his invitation. The Duke of Covington was arriving within the hour to escort Hannah to the Somerset Ball. A firing squad would be preferable.
‘Hannah, if you keep frowning so fiercely at poor Betty, she’ll think you don’t like her handiwork.’ Philippa smacked Hannah with her fan.
‘Ow!’ Hannah put down the blade she had been polishing and rubbed her arm. ‘Sorry, Betty. You are doing a wonderful job.’
Betty was new to the household and studying to be a lady’s maid. Hannah liked her immensely, though the fifteen-year-old was as naïve as a lamb and hopelessly lacking in confidence.
Hannah tried to force her freshly reddened lips into a smile as she spun the blade on the table.
‘You really are becoming quite the lady’s maid, Betty.’ Philippa nodded approvingly at the young woman, who blushed so fiercely, the tips of her ears turned crimson.
‘It’s me who should be thanking Your Grace for this opportunity. It’s ever so kind of you.’ Betty’s clever fingers twisted another curl into Hannah’s complicated coiffure. ‘Miss Delacroix’s recipefor lip salve is wonderful. I never would have thought to tint it with beet juice, but Miss Simmons’s lips look ever so natural.’
Her mouth was lusciously red. No less than a million pins held Hannah’s hair together. Each one dug into her scalp like angry daggers, but the effect was rather magnificent. Her shining, copper hair was piled high, decorative jewels glittering throughout the mixture of braids and curls. Delicate tendrils spiralled around her face. She felt both vulnerable and elegant.
