"Now what business would that be of yours, Mr. Kent?" she said.
"Er, am I missing something?" Brows lifted, Fines looked back and forth between them. "Why do I feel as if I ought to make myself scarce?"
Because you bloody well should, Ambrose almost snapped.
He was saved from thatfaux pasby Lady Harteford. "Supper is served," their hostess announced gaily. "Since you are already conversing with Lady Draven, Mr. Kent, would you take her in? Mr. Fines, you must accompany dear Miss Sparkler."
Paul Fines shot one longing look at Lady Marianne, then strode good-naturedly over to the divan. Ambrose hadn't even noticed the young woman sitting there. Her quiet demeanor and plain frock had made her blend into the cushions.
"If I may have the pleasure?" Fines offered his arm with a flourish.
Flushing to the roots of her brown hair, Miss Sparkler put down her embroidery hoop. Ambrose noticed how the chit's thin fingers trembled against the rake's jacket. Their hostess had paired a lion with a lamb.
"Well, Kent, is it to be your pleasure to take me in?" Lady Marianne inquired.
Turning to his own supper partner, Ambrose's lips compressed. No lamb, this one. Best he keep his wits about him and remember his purpose: he was here to monitor Lady Draven. To gather objective evidence about her behavior. Thus far, his main observation was that she was a woman fully capable of eating a man alive.
"Shall we continue our discourse over supper?" he said, jaw clenched.
Her elegant fingers skimmed his sleeve. "By all means, let us havediscoursetogether."
Her words shot heat through his veins. His bollocks drew taut; his member stirred. With a silent curse, he prepared himself for the long evening ahead.
14
Seatedacross from Kent at the lavishly set table, Marianne slid him a surreptitious glance over the elaborate floral arrangement. He was engaged in conversation with Miss Charity Sparkler, who sat to his left. Not only had he managed to draw words from the retiring chit, but whatever he was saying made roses bloom in her thin cheeks. Marianne's hands curled in her lap.
Something about Kent brought out the oddest instincts in her. No man could beas earnest and upstanding—as bloodygood—as the policeman appeared to be. She'd behaved outrageously toward him last week, yet he was sitting there, the picture of polite equanimity. In fact, he didn't even seem to register her presence. For some reason, this compelled her to test the limits of his restraint. To force this paragon to show his true colors.
Every man she'd ever known had had weaknesses and ulterior motives. Her father, for instance, had posed as a respectable country squire; beneath, he'd been a man obsessed with gaming, to the point where he'd happily sold his only offspring to his old friend Baron Draven for a hefty marriage settlement. Draven, of course, only proved the point further: he'd pretended to be a kindly rescuer, prepared to forgive her disgraced condition and offer her the protection of his name.
She'd fallen for his act—been so pathetically grateful. She'd sworn to be the kind of wife he deserved. Soon after the marriage, however, the cruelties had begun, and she'd found herself trapped in a hell beyond anything she could have imagined.
All because she'd trusted—stupidly and blindly. Well, once burned, as they said. She'd never make the same error again. Best she forget the business of males altogether and concentrate instead on her plans for after supper. At present, Lugo was conducting surveillance of Leach's office and would return for her at the meal's conclusion. Together, they would search the solicitor's premises to discover the identity of Primrose's captor.
Yet Marianne found herself distracted. Her eyes wandered back to Kent, who wasstilltalking with Miss Sparkler. Piqued, Marianne catalogued his deficiencies. He wasn't handsome… although she had to admit that he looked disturbingly masculine in evening clothes. For once, his garments had a decent fit, molding to the breadth of his shoulders and showcasing his whipcord-lean frame. The casual disarray of his unruly hair lent him a raffish air. Miss Sparkler said something, and he smiled.
Her pulse skipped as his entire countenance transformed. With his eyes crinkling at the corners and that sensual mouth of his curved and relaxed, Ambrose Kent was unexpectedly, undeniably attractive. Not in the usual manner, but one far more compelling. Remembering the flames in his eyes and the possessive way he'd touched her, she felt her breasts tingle, the tips puckering beneath the violet satin.
"Asparagus soup, my lady?"
Chagrined at the direction of her thoughts, she gave an absent nod to the footman. Lud, she was supposed to be listing Kent's faults, not waxing on about his charms. The problem was that what she would typically consider shortcomings in other men seemed oddly favorable in Kent. He was poor and a member of the working class, and yet he had more dignity and pride than men who were his supposed betters. He was righteous, had tried on multiple occasions to govern her behavior; at the same time, if she was honest, he'd protected her from harm—even taking a bullet because of her.
The footman came to Kent and ladled the creamy green concoction into the shallow bowl. As she watched, a line deepened between Kent's dark brows as he studied the array of silverware at his disposal. A daunting selection, no doubt, for a man who looked like he might eat cheese off the knife with which he'd sliced it. At the baffled expression in his amber eyes, something in her chest went soft.
"Mr. Kent, you have yet to regale us with tales of your exploits with the Thames River Police." Gaining his attention, she selected the proper soup spoon from her own setting with deliberate care.
His brow cleared as he mirrored her choice of silverware. And, lud, if she didn't find it endearing that he actually counted his way to the correct spoon. She dipped her utensil into the soup in the proper direction, hiding a smile as he did the same.
"I do not wish to bore present company," he said.
"Oh no, Mr. Kent," Miss Sparkler piped up in an annoyingly eager manner, "I should love to hear about your work. It must be so exciting."
His cheekbones turned ruddy. "'Tis not as exciting as it seems, I'm afraid. Most days, I deal with disquieted lumpers and petty thefts."
"You are too modest, Kent." Harteford spoke from the far end of the table. Addressing the other guests, he said, "Over the years, Mr. Kent has helped Fines & Company to recover a substantial amount of stolen cargo. His work is highly esteemed by all of us at the West India Docks."
"Not to mention all Mr. Kent has done for us personally," his wife added. Helena was seated at the closer end of the table, and Marianne could see the gratitude in her friend's eyes. "You, sir, have kept those I love safe from harm, and for that I cannot thank you enough. Harteford, would you lead a toast?"
