Hortense gave the landlady a nod, and she and Sir Bacon brushed past. The visitor was likely Nick, and the horse outside was his. Early this morning, she’d sent a note informing him that a report on his brother was ready at his earliest convenience.
Yet one detail niggled at the back of her mind. Nick had never entered the front door of Mrs. Hayhurst’s establishment, always opting for the back stairwell directly to her rooms when he’d needed to see her.
Hortense poked her head inside the drawing room and was relieved to see she’d been correct, for there at the opposite end of the room stood Nick staring out the window that overlooked Little Peter Street. She considered the wild possibility it could be the brother.
She gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t think about the brother. Because if she thought about the brother, she would think about last night and the job. And if she thought about the job, well, she might think about the couple beyond the curtains going at each other like a pair of badgers in heat…and the man stuck with her in hiding. And his delicious scent and his long, masculine fingers and the deep, attractive rumble of his voice and the unbearable heat that had streaked through her at the combination of all of the above.
The fact was simple. The man held an attraction for her.
She was no virginal miss, but neither was she the sort who tupped every man she found attractive. That behavior only got a woman in trouble, of either the family variety or the diseased. Neither option held an ounce of appeal.
So, yes, it was a very fine thing that it was Nick who was paying a call.
Sir Bacon leading the way, she strode confidently into the room, a greeting on her lips. He turned at her approach, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth snapped shut.
It wasn’t Nick at all.
It was the brother.
Lord James Asquith, the Marquess of Clare.
Jamie, as he’d requested to be called.
And, somehow, he was more attractive in the light of day, dressed in the typical finery of the London gentleman: gleaming Hessian boots, buff buckskin breeches, hunter green morning coat, and impeccably knotted white silk cravat. Yet the way he filled out the finery with his broad shoulders and muscular thighs was, well, anything but the usual.
And she’d calledthisman unimpressive?
By contrast, ’twas she who was unimpressive, with her dull gray dress, dull gray cloak, and dull brown boots. All clean, but decidedly plain, as they were intended to be. She didn’t dress to attract attention. Quite the opposite. So why should she feel shabby? She’d never cared before; why should she now?
She cleared her throat, even if her mind was less easily ameliorated. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Her tone implied anything butpleasure. “I believed our association with one another to have reached its natural conclusion.” Irresistibly, she added, “Again, I didn’t abscond with the silver.”
He jerked his chin toward Sir Bacon. “He is still in your care?”
“Indeed.” Impossible to mask her pique.
“And I see my cravat continues to serve its new purpose.”
Her gaze landed on the length of white silk. “Oh.”
Of course, he would want such a fine garment returned. She dropped to a crouch and began tugging at the knot at Sir Bacon’s neck. The feisty canine gave a fleeting growl but submitted. “Let me just—”
“There is no need.”
The knot was proving its mettle and not giving. “I’ll have it off—”
“Keep it.”
Her fingers stopped. Simple, quiet, and sure, Clare’s command wasn’t to be nay-sayed. She glanced up and found him watching her. Was that a glint of humor in his gray eyes? Warily, she rose to a stand.
“You never did thank me last night for wooing this beast,” he said.
“I put it down to luck.”
“I put it down to the slice of bacon I happened to have in my pocket.”
She shrugged one shoulder, as if indifferent, when, in fact, she was well aware the blasted man had rescued the job from certain disaster. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. Or thank him for it. “The nature of the business can be fickle.”
His eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “You truly are going out of your waynotto thank me.”
