He was scrupulous.
She couldn’t afford scruples, either.
At least he wasn’t hard to look at. Tall, with wide shoulders and powerful-looking legs. He had a razor-straight nose, a firm chin, and his deep brown eyes were always assessing. Judging. His hair was so black it seemed to swallow all the surrounding light.
The tips of her breasts tingled. He was the archangel Michael come to life. Unfortunately for her, Mr. Strait looked at her as though she were the devil herself, needing to be cast out of heaven.
Cassie sank back onto the soft seat. “Are we almost there?”
A muscle ticked in Mr. Strait’s jaw. “We should have been there an hour ago. Someone made us start two hours late.”
Yes, whoever had failed to correctly tie his trunk down on the carriage’s roof did have much to answer for. The slightest jostle from her when she’d stood on the driver’s seat and reached for the bonnet tied to her bag had sent his trunk tumbling to the ground. Of course, Mr. Strait should have properly latched his baggage so the contents didn’t go spilling into that puddle of mud. And if he wasn’t quite so tall and broad, perhaps it might have been easier to find him a replacement wardrobe for their week-end’s pretense.
He sighed heavily. “Let’s go over it again. Who are we for the next couple of days?”
She couldn’t imagine Mr. Strait being anyone other than the priggish man beside her. He held his body so rigidly, it looked as though he sat upon a fence-picket. That would explain his sour expression, as well.
“You are Mr. Sargent, a man who made his fortune importing rum liquor from the island of Barbados.” Cassie tilted her head. “Do you think you made all your money importing rum legally, or did you smuggle some in to avoid taxes?”
“It was all done legally.”
She rolled her eyes. Even in the world of make-believe, Mr. Strait had to be law-abiding. “And I am your sister, Mrs. Alberto, recently returned from the continent after losing her poor husband. I’ve been so dejected of late you’ve felt it your brotherly duty to take me to engagements to try to raise my spirits. A failing attempt, of course. No amount of charming society can replace my darling Raphael.”
He sliced his gaze to her face, frowning. “Don’t make our story more elaborate than it needs to be.” He sniffed. “Wilberforce should have stuck with our original story, that you’re my unmarried sister I’m trying to get off my hands. Sticking closer to the truth is always more believable.”
Her face heated. The story she’d convinced the agency’s manager to go along with seemed much more believable to her. “There are some conversations married women might not have around a maiden girl. People will speak more freely around a widow.”
He merely grunted.
“My reasoning is sound.” She smoothed her palms over her skirt. “And you don’t have to worry about me. I am quite good at fading into the background.” A skill she needed to remember to use when around this man. Something about his starch brought out her inner imp. She wanted to ruffle him. She eyed his perfectly pressed cravat, and her fingers twitched. Both metaphorically and literally.
“Well, while you’re sitting silently in the background, let me know if you hear of anyone who seems to be spending more than they ought. Or has been seen somewhere they shouldn’t be. This thief has robbed three different homes during social gatherings. We’ve examined guest lists, the servants of each household. There is no one person who has been to each party.”
“A group of individuals working together?” she asked.
“Perhaps.” The carriage hit a large rut, and he swayed towards her. The scents of fresh grass and man filled her nose. “Remember, don’t ask questions. Just listen. I don’t want you to draw any attention.”
Cassie ground her teeth. Her whole life she’d never drawn anyone’s attention. She had only ever been her true self around Lydia. It had been almost a game between them. Lydia couldn’t help but draw the eye. Her beauty had been remarked upon wherever she went. Lydia would draw people to her like flies to honey, and Cassie would stand in the background making faces, pinning notes to skirts, or, on one occasion, slipping a mouse into a man’s coat pocket, while Lydia struggled not to laugh.
“No one will notice me.” She looked out the window. Gentle hills rose around them, their crests purpling in the dusk. “I am so completely average in appearance that I become nearly invisible. I’ve learned many a secret because of it.” And she hoped to learn one more. The only one that mattered.
He leaned into the corner of the coach and scanned her body. He pursed his lips. “You are rather nondescript. I suppose that could be useful in this business. Now, let’s go over your duties again.”
Needing fresh air, Cassie pulled at the window. It resisted her attempts to lower it gracefully and finally gave way with a crack of wood. The window fell into its pocket. She raised it an inch, removed her fingers, and it plummeted once more, broken.
She sighed. The success of her plan hinged upon her being nondescript. She should be glad he agreed with her assessment. Her plainness had never bothered her before. Her self-worth wasn’t attached to her beauty, or lack thereof. But annoyance burrowed deep under her skin, nevertheless.
His voice dropped to a low buzz.
Mr. Strait’s opinion didn’t matter. This assignment didn’t matter, either, except as a stepping stone towards her goal. All of her focus had to be turned towards her objective. Towards finding the man responsible for murdering her sister.
She clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms.
And once she found him, towards finding a way to kill him in turn.
Chapter Three
Charles forced an interested look to his face. He was supposed to have made his fortune in business; he should find the subject engaging.
