“Oh, I can imagine the sort of wifeyouare looking for.”
His quirked brow heightened his aura of arrogance. “Enlighten me.”
“An obedient, demure creature,” she said scornfully. “Who lives to do your bidding.”
His smile was humorless. “If I were looking for a wife, I would settle for one who helps me fulfill my duty.”
“A broodmare. How lovely for her.”
“As this conversation is degenerating,” he said coldly, “shall I return you to your parents?”
“I would not dream of inconveniencing you,” she retorted. “I can find my own escort.”
To prove her point, she donned a come-hither smile and cast her glance around. Several gentlemen took the bait, wading through the crowd toward her.
“Don’t let me keep you, my lord,” she said sweetly.
Hawksmoor clenched his jaw.
Deliberately, she turned her back on him to greet the new arrivals.
Five
Hawk arrived at Garland’s Curiosities and Collectibles before noon. Located on a busy street in Holborn, the shop had a striped green awning and an unassuming air. As Hawk entered, a tiny bell tinkled overhead. Inside, cabinets lined the border of the shop, filled with everything a collector’s heart could desire: snuff boxes, coins and stamps, and antiquities from around the world.
Hawk headed to the counter where the proprietress was waiting. A handsome widow, Anne Garland had a robust figure and silver hair worn in a habitual chignon. Although Hawk had known her for years, she greeted him like he was a new customer.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she said. “May I help you with anything in particular?”
“I am interested in specimens of Roman glass,” Hawk replied with equal formality.
“You have come to the right place, for we have a new shipment in. Please follow me.”
She led the way to a door at the back of the shop. Unlocking it, she ushered Hawk through.
A twinkle in her eye, she said in a hushed voice, “You know where to go from here, my lord.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Garland.”
He continued down the corridor to the first room on his right. The chamber was used as a storage area and filled with boxes and crates. As Hawk passed one straw-filled container, he glimpsed a granodiorite tablet carved with hieroglyphics; he resisted the urge to examine it.
Until Fiona Garrity, Hawk had had no problems resisting urges. He prided himself on being a rational fellow, not one prone to foolish impulses. The troublesome Miss Garrity, however, tested his self-discipline. Last night, their waltz had felt more like foreplay than a dance. Her sensual vitality had ignited his basest instincts: he’d wanted to toss her over his shoulder, find the nearest bedchamber, and do unspeakably carnal things to her. No sooner had he gotten his lustful impulses in check than she had provoked him into an argument.
Devil take it, she was a little minx.
He’d never been comfortable around vivacious coquettes, and Miss Garrity was a case in point. Her assumption that she knew what he wanted in a wife was maddening, especially since he had no intention of remarrying. His brothers could provide an heir to the title. All he wanted was some bloody peace…which was clearly not something to be found around Fiona Garrity.
All the more reason to stay away from her,his voice of reason said.
Striding to the door nearly hidden behind a stack of boxes, he inserted a key. The space inside was the size of a water closet, with a flickering lamp mounted on the wall. He closed the door and pulled on the arm of the lamp, activating a hidden mechanism. As the room began to descend, Hawk was pleased to note the smoothness of the ride. He’d designed the elevator using a system of counterweights and belt-driven mechanics.
When the elevator came to a stop, he exited into a large room. Upon the walls hung assorted maps of London, England, and the Continent. Several desks and filing cabinets sat at one end of the room while an oak table took center stage.
The five men at the table rose at Hawk’s entry.
“Right on time,” the man at the head seat said.
The Quorum was a covert organization created before the Napoleonic Wars; its sole purpose was to maintain the interests of the Crown and country. The man speaking was the leader of the group, spymaster Charles Swinburne. With steel-grey hair and sideburns, Sir Swinburne had a militaristic bearing from his years in the army.
