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Not if she was any good at her job. Angelique was always willing to believe people more capable than they appeared; indeed, it would be fatal to underestimate anyone in her line of work. Today Avery had proved himself more than the stuffy dilettante he had appeared in Bow Street, but he was not a professional. Even a motivated amateur would be more cautious. He left himself too open, too unguarded. He was approaching this with far too much amusement, and far too obvious an interest in her. Spying was often boring, with long hours spent waiting and watching. There was plenty of time for teasing and fun, but later, once the hard work of setting up the job was done.

Still, it was his commission they were on. If they failed, it would not matter much to her.

When he tugged on her hand, she allowed him to pull her toward him. “But you do not have to surprise me,” she said gently. “I am quite used to pleasing myself. I would beg of you, husband, to let me take you in hand, and let me guide you. Because you see, I know very well what I am doing.”

“I do so respect a woman with experience,” he murmured. “You may take me in your hands any time.”

“Good. We shall get on splendidly then.” He was doing lovely things to her hand, she had to admit. Angelique watched him feather his lips over the pulse in her wrist and tried to hide how that made her stomach flutter in spite of herself. He should be the one sent out to seduce. Not her, of course; his seductions would not work on her. But on another, unsuspecting woman…

He flashed a lazy, sensuous smile, and pressed a tender kiss to her now-throbbing pulse. “I am delighted to hear that. And we didn’t have to say one word of dressmakers.”

She laughed, pulling her hand free. She had let him hold it far too long already. “No, now that we are in agreement, there is no need for that.” She laid down her napkin and rose, folding her list into the pocket of her skirt. “I will see to these details, and leave you to your task, as you wished.”

He surged to his feet. “You’ve not finished eating.”

Angelique glanced at her barely touched plate. He had filled it with more food than she could eat in two meals. But of course it only proved that he knew nothing about her. “I have eaten enough. There is work to be done.”

Chapter Seven

Nate rather liked how things were going. It gave him a thrill to match wits with her and see her eyes flash fire every time he called her wife. He’d picked up her hand to tease her more, and instead ended up marveling at the scent and feel of her skin. Her racing pulse was very promising indeed. Surely it was far more important that they understood and trusted each other than that they learn the same sterile cover story.

But then she turned toward the door and he scrambled to catch her before she put the final touch on her condescending dismissal and left. “We have to be able to trust each other,” he said, just managing to get one hand against the door before she could open it.

Two thin lines appeared between her brows. “No, we must be able to work together. That is all.”

“More than that,” he exclaimed. “We’re supposed to act as man and wife. You say the servants know nothing of this, so we must persuade them at home, too.”

“We will act the same way as we act in public.” She, too, lowered her voice. “The English are reserved. They do not expect to see emotion on display, in affection or in argument. And the servants will be gone by tomorrow.”

He searched her face for a moment. Her expression was as cool as ever, but there was a bloom of color in her cheeks—put there, he hoped, by their veiled flirting. Prince would give him no end of torment about it, but Nate was in danger of being utterly fascinated by his dangerous, beautiful new “wife.” He knew she was trying to control him and remain in charge. He was aware that she hadn’t told him anything about Stafford’s true motives in sending her, or what exactly she planned to do to help capture Jacob Dixon. But he was stuck with her, and she with him—less than happily, perhaps, but stuck nonetheless. He would have to discover how to ingratiate himself with her, or risk the whole enterprise collapsing.

“We know nothing about each other,” he said instead. “Stafford said I was to act a wealthy American merchant with a bored wife—that leaves a great deal to the imagination. You said yourself we must talk, and better now than later. There’s no way we can think of a story that explains everything. We’ll have to invent as we go along, and that will be much easier if we share a certain perception of the situation.”

“You proved you did not care to be bothered by the tedium of that,” she retorted. “Instead you wish to tease and make fun and kiss my hand, as if that will do any good.”

“I enjoyed it,” he said. “And you did, too, no matter how much you glare at me now.”

Her mouth pinched, but the pink in her cheeks didn’t fade. Interesting. “It means nothing, and accomplishes even less.”

“What plans do we need to make?” Nate was determined not to be shut out of this. “Besides the dressmaker, of course. I refuse to have anything to do with dressmakers.”

She glared a moment longer, then her expression eased. “I see now. You are not one who prepares. You prefer to improvise.”

Nate considered. “That’s not wrong. I do plan, when I need to. But I must warn you, I’m terribly good at improvising.”

“Indeed,” she murmured. “How long have we been married?”

“Two years,” he said without hesitation.

“How did we meet?”

“You were shopping at the market when a runaway horse almost ran you over. I whisked you out of harm’s way, and you fell helplessly, instantly, deeply in love with me.”

“No doubt,” she said dryly. “Why are we estranged?”

“We are not estranged, we have simply drifted apart. I devoted myself to business and making money, you to shopping for ever more expensive clothing and jewels.” Nate suspected she wouldn’t like that—she hardly seemed like the society women he knew who would spend every waking moment shopping if they could—so he added, on impulse, “It’s nothing a trip abroad to England, where we must spend so much time alone together, won’t repair.”

“You are very sure of your charm. What is your business?”