McKenna was correct about that, for although Lucien was familiar with the Emerald Club’s existence from his League connections in America, this was the first time he had ever heard of the man himself.
He frowned. There remained something deeply disturbing to him about the notion of Miss Montgomery infiltrating the ranks of such brutal men without any protection. “Did you conduct your investigation of the Emerald Club alone, or were there others?”
“Alone,” she said simply, her stare turning challenging. “Although a fellow agent posed as my husband, it was deemed best by all that I infiltrate the Emerald Club alone. I have a flair for covert operations.”
He would not argue the point, for there was no need. Miss Hazel Montgomery was clearly much more than he had initially supposed. He had to inwardly admit to a grudging respect for her, though he could not say for certain his pride would allow for a vocal affirmation. After all, he was still quite perturbed at having been forced to share his duties and authority with her.
Not, as she had suggested earlier, because she was female. But because he did not wish to be forced to adhere to the wishes of another, particularly when his greatest fear remained that those wishes could well be horribly wrong. However, he was quickly coming to a great many realizations where Miss Montgomery was concerned, and whilst he did not necessarily enjoy those realizations, he recognized their necessity.
As an agent himself, he no longer harbored any doubt that her reputation was as pristine as Winchelsea, and the documents he had been provided, suggested. Likely even more so. Scratch that.Definitelymore so.
Her mind was formidable. Her determination was voracious. And when the woman wanted to find the answer to a question, she was relentless. Ruthless.
Breathtaking.
He struck the last thought from his mind, for it was unworthy, and the last thing he ought to be doing in this moment was waxing poetic over the partner he had never wanted. The partner he did not require. Indeed, the partner who had been unceremoniously forced upon him by a Home Office regime, which had lost its confidence in his abilities far too quickly. He could not forget that, nor could he allow himself to forget who she was.
“Your flair for the covert is not in question by me, Miss Montgomery,” he told her.
“But my capability as your partner is?” she queried, sharp as a blade.
He hesitated. The answer was complicated. “Not your capability, so much as my necessity for a partner.”
Particularly one who made his cock stiff simply by sitting at his dinner table and calmly sipping coffee. His reaction to her was not just unwanted. It was wrong. Miss Montgomery may have a lovely face, a sharp complex mind, dark hair he wished to bury his face in, a lush bosom, and long legs he yearned to feel wrapped around him, but she was hispartner.
The partner he had never, ever wanted.
The partner he now,somehow, desired. Merely not in the way he should. But lust had no place in his life. Reason, ration, fact—these mattered. Emotion, desire, vulnerability—these, he abhorred. These, he plucked from his life with attentive precision, never allowing one to remain long enough to bloom and produce fruit.
For the fruit would be rotten. Lucien’s blood was tainted, and he knew it.
She took a sip of her coffee again now, and he could not help but note the manner in which she pursed her lips, then flicked her tongue over them to remove any traces of her drink.
Would she taste of coffee, bitter and dark? Would she taste of the raspberry fool they had consumed for dessert, sweet and light, slightly tart?
“There is a reason for my presence here,” she reminded him, effectively piercing the fog of lust which had begun clouding his brain. “One you have alluded to, but have yet to share with me. After such a productive day, I cannot help but to hope you have changed your mind.”
He took a fortifying sip of his port, hesitating with his response. “One productive day does not entitle you to my confidences, Miss Montgomery.”
“I expect not.” She watched him with a frank regard. “But I would rather hear it from your lips, than borrowed from the Duke of Winchelsea’s.”
The notion of Miss Montgomery having anything at all to do with Winchelsea’s lips was irksome. Belatedly, he realized his hands had clenched upon the table. He forced them to relax, then indulged in another drink of port.
“We were not finished discussing the railway targets,” he reminded her.
The woman was vicious when she set her mind upon something. That much, he could discern already. She circled back to the source in relentless pursuit.
But somehow, his prompt had the desired effect. Miss Montgomery’s mind returned to another favorite topic of hers, detective work. He could almost see the wheels of her mind begin to churn. Her eyes widened, an expression he was coming to realize indicated she had stumbled upon an idea.
“Have you any maps showing the railways, Arden?” she asked, her drawl cascading over his senses. “Being new to this city, I cannot help but to feel rather discombobulated after having been squired about in your carriage all day.”
“I do,” he confirmed, before he could think better of it.
The hour was growing later, after all, and closeting himself in his study, without the barrier of a dinner table and the possible disruption of servants dancing attendance upon them, seemed the very worst sort of idea.
“Excellent.” She stood, beaming a smile at him that also brought with it a host of other worst sorts of ideas. “I find I have had more than enough coffee. Lead the way, if you please.”
Turrets, he reminded himself with grim intent.
