He was so flummoxed by the sheer effrontery of the woman, it took him an extra second to realize everything she had just said. “Of course there is a Mr. Montgomery,” he snapped. “Madam, I do not know what game you are playing at, but I am not amused. I suggest you take your leave at once. I have neither the time nor the inclination to engage in riddles. Furthermore, I am the Duke of Arden,notMr. Arden. My correct form of address isYour Grace.”
She pursed her lips, and he noted—quite involuntarily—how full they were, how sensual. “I am aware of the proper form of address for a duke, Your Grace. I was merely making a point.”
What the devil?A disconcerting sense of unease slid down his spine.
“A point,” he repeated. “Would you care to elaborate, madam?”
She sighed. “I am beginning to discover your need for my aid, Your Grace. Very well, if I must explain, I chose the wrong form of address for you, just as you have done for me. As you can plainly see, I amMissMontgomery, decidedlynota mister.”
“Youare H.E. Montgomery,” he said, the unease blossoming, radiating throughout his entire body.
She smiled, and damnation if that smile did not hit him, first in the gut, then somewhere distinctively lower. “Miss Hazel Elizabeth Montgomery, Pinkerton agent, at your service.”
“But you are a woman,” he said stupidly.
An evident observation, but he could not keep it from bursting forth from him. In all his correspondence with the Home Office, in every debriefing he had suffered in the wake of The Incident, he had been told to expect the famed H.E. Montgomery, arriving to act as his partner in the Special League, being diverted from assignment in New York City.
He had never once been told to expect a female.
Miss Montgomery made a great show of glancing down at her person, feigning surprise as she did so. “Why, I am a woman. How shocking, Your Grace! Youdohave women in England, I presume?”
A maddening, ill-mannered woman, he added silently. He noted again the drawl giving her words their foreign lilt and wondered what part of her country she hailed from. And then he reminded himself it did not matter, for there was no way he was going to accept this creature as his partner in the League, and after today, he would likely never set eyes upon her again.
“Yes, Miss Montgomery,” he replied, careful to keep his tone as frigid as possible. “Wedohave women in England, and they are all far more refined than you.”
A mocking smile curved her mouth, drawing his attention to the fullness of her lower lip, the perfectly defined Cupid’s bow of the upper.Damnation, this would not do. He could not continue to notice the woman’s mouth. It was an aberration, surely, for a creature this bold, vexing, and masculine in conduct to possess lips so supple and pink. Likely, it was the only softness she possessed.
But then his gaze dipped to her bosom—also involuntarily—and he had to admit Miss Montgomery owned other distinctly soft areas beyond her mouth. And his trousers seemed suddenly tight.
A burst of self-loathing struck him square in the chest.
The mocking smile blossomed, growing wider. “I cannot argue the point with you, Mr. Arden, as I am woefully lacking in knowledge concerning refined English women. Undoubtedly, it would not be considered refined of me to acknowledge I noticed your gaze dropping to my bosom.”
He almost swallowed his tongue. His spine stiffened, and he pinned his most ducal, frigid stare upon her. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Montgomery.”
“Beg my pardon all you like, Mr. Arden.” She waved a hand in the air as if she were swatting a fly. Truly, the woman ownednot a modicumof grace. “You are staring at me in a manner I find insulting. More insulting than the thinly veiled slurs you have already delivered verbally, in fact. I will thank you to look upon me in the same fashion as you would any man.”
Mr. Arden.
He did not even know where to begin. Surely the woman before him was a poor jest on the part of the Home Office. Perhaps an attempt to test his mettle.
“You may address me asYour Grace,” he informed her coldly. “If I am to treat you with respect, I expect it to be reciprocated.”
“I will reciprocate when you begin,” she said with false sweetness.
Her voice, deceptively pleasing and mellifluous, the unhurried drawl of her words, all settled over him in a way he could not like. The woman was irritating. Unnerving. Maddening.
“Mr. Arden,” she added.
Damn it all to hell.
“Madam, you are one moreMr. Ardenaway from being tossed out of my home.”
She raised a brow. “Tossed? Truly? Who will do the tossing, Mr. Arden? Your guard dog? I cannot think him the sort to toss about ladies, despite the low regard his employer holds them in. Surely not you?”
Irritation lanced him. “It is anexpression, Miss Montgomery. Surely you have those in America?”
She continued studying him in that bold, assessing manner of hers, and the strange urge to sit straighter in his chair struck him. He could not shake the feeling this woman was taking his measure.
