He did not like being taken aback, and it seemed for the past few months, his life had been rocked by one surprise after the next. First, his incorrect belief the Duke of Strathmore was a double agent, when in truth, the man he had taken under his wing was the true traitor. Then, his sister Violet, not just taking up the cudgels for Strathmore, but running away with him and marrying him.
The discovery, too late, that his own trusted man, Swift, had betrayed him. The inevitable reaction of the Home Office to his failure. Learning he would share his duties with a partner. Discovering the partner in question was a female. It never seemed to end.
But now, Miss Montgomery—correction,The Abomination—was surprising him as well. He especially did not like being surprised by his enemies. And he had no doubt the woman staring at him now was his foe. He recognized the hunger burning inside her. If he let her, she would not just share the reins with him, she would steal them from his hands and drive the carriage herself.
Straight into the ditch.
“I am certain Arden will devote himself to the task of reading your notes, Miss Montgomery,” Winchelsea said pointedly, casting a sharp glance toward Lucien. “We are fortunate indeed to avail ourselves of the incredible mind and investigative abilities of Miss Montgomery. I trust the knowledge she brings us will enable us to make further arrests and secure the safety of not just London, but all England as well.”
Winchelsea wished toavailhimself of far more than The Abomination’s mind and skill as an investigator. That much was apparent to Lucien. The ordinarily unflappable, relatively quiet, always serious duke had transformed into a smiling, blistering-eyed Lothario, who could not seem to wrest his gaze from Miss Montgomery for any length of time. His admiration was clear.
For a brief, sickening moment, Lucien wondered if perhaps The Abomination had ever sought purchase against the Duke of Winchelsea’s wiry frame when she was not wearing a corset. If Winchelsea too knew the sensation of her generous breasts and her tight nipples grazing his arm. Had the duke kissed her? Had he already been beneath her skirts?
Because he could ill afford to exercise his anger, Lucien forced the unwanted thoughts from his mind. He could not worry nor wonder. And even if Winchelsea had already found his way beneath Miss Montgomery’s skirts, what effect did it have upon Lucien? He was still just as determined as ever to rid himself of her.
“I trust your judgment,” he said to his superior.
That, too, was a prevarication. But a necessary one. Lucien possessed enough experience with Winchelsea to know the man expected resolute loyalty.
“I am deeply honored by the faith you both place in my abilities,” The Abomination said then, drawing Lucien’s attention once more.
She was still pale, but also beautiful. Her neck was a smooth, elegant column. Her creamy skin called for a mouth. Her dark hair was swept into a haphazard chignon beneath her hat, but the rushed style did not detract in any manner from her allure. Even in her loose-fitting, unattractive gown, her inherent loveliness shone through. He could not seem to cease staring at her throat now that he had begun. Could not stop imagining pressing his lips there, his tongue flicking over her skin to learn the taste of her, the fragile beat of her heart beneath his mouth.
He did not want to be having these thoughts, did not wish for one moment to feel his cock stir as he sat before his immediate superior on an uncomfortable chair in Winchelsea’s office. And yet, The Abomination met his gaze without hesitation, the blue of her eyes sinking into him like a blade.
“I have nothing but faith in your abilities, Miss Montgomery,” he offered smoothly.
“In that, we are in complete agreement, Arden,” Winchelsea said, sounding pleased.
Lucien noted the man’s eyes had never once strayed from Miss Montgomery. And why should they? She was an entrancing woman. There was something about her which was quite unlike any lady Lucien had ever encountered: an assuredness, a confidence. She did not make any apologies for herself and who she was. Had she not been chosen as his unwanted partner, perhaps he would have been capable of appreciating her more. As it was, he dared not allow himself to feel even the base rush of lust which coursed through him whenever he was in her presence.
He told himself his reaction to her was foolish. After all, he had proven to himself this woman was not untouchable. She was susceptible to pride, to suggestion, to manipulation. Not the picture of womanly perfection Winchelsea would paint her. Not the solution to the dire straits in which they now found themselves, as the Fenians and their push for Irish Home Rule, by any means, grew more vociferous by the day.
“I am humbled by your faith in me,” The Abomination said then, and while there was a distinct note of humility in her tone, he could not help but doubt her. “I hope I can prove myself to the both of you.”
“I have no doubt you will,” said Winchelsea with confidence, his statesman’s smile and his gaze both fixated upon Miss Montgomery.
Everything Lucien longed to say roared through his mind, demanding to be said, and yet he subdued it all. Banished it. Forced himself to be polite.
“I second that sentiment,” he told Winchelsea, as they all three got down to the business at hand.
But like his superior, Lucien’s eyes were firmly upon Miss Montgomery when he spoke the words.
Chapter Four
Because her headwas still aching as much as her pride, Hazel decided the best course of action was to ignore Arden. Following her meeting with the duke and Winchelsea, she slipped away and left the building, intent upon hiring another Hansom cab to take her back to Lark House, so she could pack her belongings and make her way to the hotel. Arden had proven himself a worthier opponent than she had initially supposed, and she did not like it.
He had made a fool of her, in fact.
And Hazel did not like that either.
“Miss Montgomery,” his familiar baritone called out from behind her.
She spun about, somehow unprepared for the imposing sight of him, although she had just spent the better part of two hours in his presence. Even on the busy London street, he stood apart. He stared at her in that rude fashion of his, his gaze impervious, looking at her as if she were beneath his notice. An irritant. A pebble which had worked its way into his shoe.
“Mr. Arden.” This time, she did not force a smile as she acknowledged him.
Nor did she bother to hide her displeasure. This man was her enemy. He had made that more than apparent when he had plied her with port the previous evening. His clear intention had been getting her so thoroughly drunk, she would be incapable of attending their meeting this morning.
