“A proposition?”
He couldn’t miss the lilt of interest inflecting her voice. The fourth and fifth buttons slipped free, and he tamped down a stab of disappointment when he saw that she wore a corset beneath her dress. He should have felt relief that another layer of fabric stood between his skin and hers, but he didn’t.
Her corset was black. And lace. It was the corset of a trollop. Lust, pure and strong, shot straight to his cock.
He must ignore that he stood close enough that the fine strands of her upswept hair fluttered with each word he spoke. And that the heat from her body permeated him at an elemental level. And that she wore the corset of a trollop.
“It would be of considerable use,” he began, hoping the formality of his words would neutralize the decidedly informal bent of his thoughts, “if you were to remain in Paris and further your acquaintance with the Comte de Villefranche.”
“Further my acquaintance?” she asked. “Why would I do that?”
“We have no agents so conveniently placed.”
“Is that what I am? A convenience?”
“I wouldn’t go quite so far as that.”
Her response was a resounding silence. Nothing was ever easy with Mariana. She didn’t wilt or defer to his authority. She stiffened her back and challenged his every word. Most men found this sort of woman exhausting. Not Nick. She tended to invigorate him.
The buttons were coming loose in a steady little rhythm now.Six . . .Seven. . .Eight.
“You would be in a position,” he continued, “to collect information.”
“Ah, a collector of information.” A thread of mockery wove through her voice. “What sort of information?”
He began reciting possibilities as if ticking items off a list. “Names . . .”—Nine—“Dates . . .”—Ten—“Rendezvous points . . .”—Eleven—“Snippets of conversation you might overhear . . .”—Twelve—“Notes you might read by chance. Idealism often disguises the deeper motivations of the major players. You would place yourself in the position to get at the core of the intrigue.”
“And how exactly will I accomplish this?”
“By earning Villefranche’s trust.”
Thirteen.
“And how do I go about that?”
Fourteen.
His fingers hesitated above the soft curve of her waist. Could he say to her the words he’d come here to say? After all, they were the same words he’d spoken to countless agents, both male and female, over the years. Never mind that the law stated she was his wife. That particular detail had been a minor technicality for years.
He let the words come. “By any means necessary.”
The air went still in the way it did before a storm broke. Nick braced himself.
“By seducing him?” she asked in an incredulous half-whisper.
Fifteen.
“Any means,” he repeated, his voice hollow to his own ears.
No buttons remained unbuttoned, yet his hands lingered at the small of her back.
“Now my corset,” she said, her words a quiet command.
“Pardon?” Impossible that he’d heard her correctly. A litany of curses, he expected, but not this.
“Loosen my stays,” she stated more firmly.
“Mariana . . .”
