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“There is plenty of room for that, and a great many other things. But enough arguing. I will learn where we can find this Mr. Hurst, and we shall see for ourselves whether your fanciful scheme has succeeded or not.” She tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully. “I will leave you to deal with the question of the actual necklace.”

Nate bowed his head. “Thank you, my love.”

She sighed and shook her head. “No more endearments, please.”

“But how else shall I address you?” He feigned bewilderment. “I cannot call you Madame Martand. Do you prefer Mrs. Avery?”

“If you wish.”

“And yet we Americans are not so formal as the British,” he went on thoughtfully. “My father calls my mother Bess, not Mrs. Avery or Elizabeth. I rather fancied such close affection in my own marriage.”

“You might yet find it, when you are married.”

The streets were bustling with people. They had joined the flow of pedestrians and kept their voices low, so no one would overhear, even if anyone could see what they did. So far Madame had strolled along with an expression as serene as if they discussed the weather. Nate felt somewhat free to bedevil her, since she could do little to respond at the moment.

He bent his head until he could smell the rosemary scenting her hair. “I’m happy enough at the moment,” he murmured. “There’s one solution to my quandary: I shall call you Angelique.”

She pinched his arm in warning, but only smiled. “If you wish.”

There. He’d made one small inroad. Content to savor that victory, Nate patted her hand, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

Angelique—Nate decided he liked calling her that—sent out her maid when they reached Varden Street, saying Lisette would discover Davis Hurst. To Nate’s mild astonishment, it didn’t take long. Lisette reported to her mistress before dinner the next day.

Hurst lived in a modest house off Broad Street; he was a bachelor of middle years; he wore a distinctive wolf’s head signet ring on one hand; and he spent much of his time, including dinner most nights, at his club in St. James’s Street. For entertainment, he preferred the Vauxhall gardens, although he was also known to frequent the theater during the Season.

“Despite what Mr. Smythe said, Hurst is not always so discriminating,” Angelique told him. “He has a reputation for selling things of behalf of young men who have gambling debts, and he does not reliably take care to establish that the item being sold is a true possession of the person who engages him. Most times it is within a family, and they do not wish to kick up a row over the missing silver teapot or Mama’s pearls. Monsieur Hurst has encountered a bit of trouble from time to time, but always manages to wiggle out from under it. He is a clever one.”

Nate leaned back in his chair. “Vauxhall,” he repeated thoughtfully. “A public pleasure garden?” When she nodded, he rapped the table. “That’s our best bet to encounter him.”

“I thought you wished to call on him.”

He shook his head. “Why draw that much attention to ourselves? A chance encounter at a public garden won’t raise any suspicions that might cause him to warn Dixon.”

“If he is even the man who can lead us to Dixon,” she reminded him. “We must not presume he is the answer.”

“Of course not. We should keep visiting shops in search of the jewels. Part of my purpose is to recover them as well as Dixon’s miserable person.” Nate studied her. He still couldn’t tell when she was mocking him or teasing, and when she was completely serious. He decided this time she’d made a good point, which must be acknowledged seriously, but that she also enjoyed needling him every chance she got. “I shall be very well educated, should I ever need to purchase jewels myself.”

A small smile crossed her face. “Perhaps for your affectionate marriage.”

“Ah, yes. Unlike the one I enjoy now.”

“Enjoy?” She was amused. “Endure, perhaps.”

“Now, darling, you mustn’t think you’re that great a trial to me,” he replied.

She sighed. She leaned forward, her dark eyes soft and bright, no trace of anger in her face. Nate felt himself listing toward her, as if pulled by some invisible force. “You must stop flirting,” she said evenly. “Or I shall be forced to retaliate.”

He thought about that for a moment. “How?”

She stretched out her neck, almost as if she meant to kiss him. Her lips curved in a smile of pure sin, and her eyes half closed in sensual invitation. Nate’s breath stuck in his throat and he stared in suspenseful anticipation.

“I shall start flirting back,” she whispered.

She might have just shown him Medusa’s head. Nate wasn’t sure if he should try to provoke her into doing it, just to see…or if he should ward her off like the devil come to steal his soul. As he sat like a statue, dumbstruck and aroused by the threat, her smile changed to one more kindly.

“Do not be overly alarmed,” she said, getting to her feet. “I will remember you are an inexperienced colonial, and be gentle with you.” And then she was gone, sweeping past him and out of the room.

Chapter Ten