“The keys,” he said.
His words had Isabel flummoxed.The keys?Was that code for something? “Keys?”
“To this establishment.”
“But—”
“But?”
“Don’t you want—”
A single dark eyebrow lifted above his hooded gaze.
“—me?”
His brow furrowed, and he shoved forward in his chair, his ear cocked to the side as if he hadn’t heard her properly. “You?”
The way thatyouemerged from his mouth, the utter disbelief behind it, sounded alarm bells inside Isabel. If not her, thenwho? Something had gone very, very, irreparably wrong. What on earth could—
It hit her.Oh.
The awful words streamed forth with a will of their own. “You’re the—”
His mouth twisted in disgust. “Do not call me by that silly name.”
“—wrong man.”
Chapter 3
Percy’s hackles stood on end. He knew two facts at once.
He’d been correct. This was a trap.
But not for him.
Blast.
He’d experienced a frisson of unease that all wasn’t what it appeared with this place, and he’d ignored it. Because he’d wanted to. Because the feeling charging through his veins at the prospect of this night wouldn’t let him.
Now he’d landed squarely in it. What game was Montfort playing?
No time for that now. He needed to get out of here, quick.
But there was the not insignificant matter of the woman opposite him. His initial view of her had been the accurate one, he simply hadn’t been observing her from the correct angle. She was young, lush, and possessed of the sort of beauty one didn’t soon forget. It wasn’t just her remarkable green eyes or her full lips the hue of a ripe cherry or her luminous skin, olive and radiant. It was the expression within those eyes—fear—and the way her teeth bit her bottom lip—uncertainty—and the blush that pinked her cheeks —soul-deep shock.
That she was no madam was obvious to anyone with eyes.
Bloody hell.He saw, too, that she was his only lead.
His hand shot out across the table and grabbed her wrist before pushing to a stand. “Put on some decent clothes.” If that flimsy shawl slipped off, he lacked the fortitude to keep his eyes trained on hers a second time. The first had tested him to the limit.
She braced herself against the table and angled her body back, trying to wrest away from his grasp. “I”—she pulled, twisted, tugged, all to no avail. He wasn’t letting her go—“I don’t know where they are.”
He hauled her to her feet. “You’re coming with me.” He strode toward the door, strumpet in tow, her steps scrambling to keep up behind him.
“Don’t I have a say in the matter?”
“No.”
