And finding him lacking.
“Of course we do.” She began plucking off her gloves then, one finger at a time, and he watched, mesmerized and horrified. “See here, sir. We have wasted enough precious time on circling each other with our daggers drawn. There is far more important work to be done, so let us be candid. If we are to be partners, you cannot think of me as a female.”
Partners. He swallowed a bitter lump of resentment. “Madam, we will never be partners.”
“We are already partners, sir.” Her tone was cool. Stubborn.
No, they damn well were not. Nor would they ever be, if he had any say in the matter. And he certainly intended to have one. A very long, very precise, very vehement say.
“Prospective partners,” he said. “The Home Office will need to issue final approval, as will I.”
The last was not true, for The Incident had significantly reduced his authority, but this creature need not know that. Inexplicably, his gaze settled upon her hands. They were small, the nails neat. She wore a gold ring, studded with a small pearl, upon her left hand, but no other adornment. Her fingers were fine-boned, almost delicate, in stark contrast to her brash personality. He had not previously found this part of a woman’s body intriguing before, but he could not deny the subtle rush of warmth the sight of them provoked within him.
“Have you found fault with my hands, Mr. Arden?” she asked in her airy drawl.
Confound it.
“Your Grace,” he corrected. “You have removed your gloves.”
“I cannot turn pages whilst I am wearing gloves.” She bent down to retrieve something from the floor, then re-emerged with a satchel he had somehow failed to notice upon her earlier entrance. “Perhaps it is because I am notrefined.”
The woman had a true gift for nettling him. He had never in his life met a female more irksome than this one. Lucien watched as she produced a thin gold chain, hidden at her neck by the high décolletage of her gown, by plucking it free from her bodice. A key hung from the end of it, which she thrust into a lock on her satchel.
Astounding.The woman had secreted a key in her bloody bosom. What was next? A pistol beneath her hat? A dagger from her shoe? And why did the sight of that key, which he knew instinctively would be warm from the heat of her flesh, taunt him? Why did his own fingers itch to touch it?
“Precisely what is it you are doing, madam?” he asked, forcing an edge of steel into his tone.
She rummaged about in the satchel, before extracting a leather-bound journal. She placed it atop his desk, then slid it toward him. “Producing some case notes I have prepared for you. While I do not officially begin in my capacity as your partner until tomorrow, you will have had ample time to review the results of my recent work in New York City. I have made some interesting discoveries concerning future plots here in London.”
Her response, and the journal itself, took him by surprise. Despite her brazen nature, she appeared to take her work seriously. And if the notes he had read regarding her past cases were any indication, she was an excellent agent.
He flipped the journal open to a random page. Her penmanship was tidy and concise, bereft of ornamentation. He snapped it closed. “While I appreciate the offer, Miss Montgomery, I am afraid I do not believe our…partnershipwill be necessary.”
The mere word “partnership” felt bitter and distasteful upon his tongue, far more because it was being used in conjunction with this conundrum of a female. She locked her satchel and dropped her key back into its hiding place—snug in her ample breasts—once more as he looked on in horrified silence. Slowly, methodically, she pulled her gloves back on.
“Madam?” he prodded into the silence, pushing the journal back across his desk. “I believe you will want to take this with you on your return journey to America.”
“You will wish to read it,” she said. “Do not be pigheaded, Mr. Arden. It ill becomes you.”
She had just delivered two more insults to him without batting her long dark lashes. He ground his teeth. What in the hell had the Home Office been thinking, saddling him with this…this…
Damnation!He could not even think of a word in the English language fitting enough to be used to describe her.
“I very much doubt you could have uncovered any evidence I have not already received from my own men in New York City.” He gave her a tight smile, refusing to descend to her level this time.
It was true, after all. He possessed a vast network of agents scattered across America, Ireland, and England. He knew the Fenians were plotting once more. Thus far, most of their bombing campaigns—efforts to strong-arm England into giving Ireland Home Rule—had either failed abysmally in their ability to inflict damage, or had been stopped by Special League investigations.
There was nothing, he was certain, this vulgar American Pinkerton agent could tell him which he did not already know.
“Of course, Mr. Arden.” Her expression became pinched. “Yourmen.”
He did not like the implication in her tone. It was true he had been shocked to discover H.E. Montgomery was in factMiss Hazel ElizabethMontgomery, rather than the man he had supposed her to be. But he did not entirely object to her being female, though admittedly, he had been taken aback to discover H.E. Montgomery was a woman. Rather, he objected to the notion of being forced to share his power with anyone, let alone her.
Plainly put, he did not like her. He had not liked her when he had supposed her to be Mr. Montgomery, and neither did he like her as Miss Montgomery. The Special League was his now, and given enough time to make reparations for The Incident, Lucien was certain the Home Office’s faith in him as a leader would be restored. The Incident aside, his record was impeccable. He had imprisoned dozens of Fenians since taking on his position, ensuring the safety of the queen’s men, women, and children to the best of his ability.
“I mean you no insult, madam,” he said, making his best effort at kindness, though Lord knew the creature before him deserved none. If she called himMr. Ardenone more time, he would gather her over his shoulder and personally haul her from his home. “What I meant to say, is that I fear the Home Office made the wrong decision in bringing an American agent to London to aid our cause. You are best served in your homeland. Our concerns here are better answered by myself and the agents beneath me. I will be speaking to the Home Office later today, and I am confident they will agree with my concerns in the matter.”
“The Home Office was very clear on the matter when I spoke with them prior to my arrival here,” she said, flashing him a smug smile. “I enjoyed a lovely discussion with the Duke of Winchelsea, Mr. Arden. It is the reason for my tardiness.”
