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Now the viscount’s expression turned calculating, hard and contemptuous. “Not anymore? Bethwell tossed you out. I know. He told me,” he said as she continued to look at him with bewilderment, despite her thundering pulse. “He said you grew hysterical.”

“You have confused me with someone else,” she said. “Excuse me, I must find my husband.”

“He couldn’t get you in bed, could he?” He followed her as she turned and walked away. “I knew he’d never hire a fine piece of skirt like you and not try to get between her legs.”

“Sir!” She whirled around, hoping the heat in her face would be mistaken for outraged modesty instead of the killing urge it was. If he hadn’t approached her in full view of dozens of people, she could have dealt with him easily enough. Unfortunately, some of those people were sure to notice if she pulled a knife from beneath her skirt, so she was reduced to escaping. “That is indecent and insulting! How dare you?”

He laughed. “Insult a woman who makes her living on her back? I don’t think that’s possible.”

Her fingers twitched, aching to feel the hilt of her dagger. Or the stock of a pistol. Even if she hadn’t known him to be twisted and depraved, she would hate this man and want to hurt him for the way he looked at her, as if she were an animal he could abuse and leave to whatever suffering he had inflicted. Fury burned in her blood that a man like this could freely roam the finest parts of London, respected and admired.

A little of her control slipped. “I believe,” she said evenly, “you have made a mistake.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, smirking again. “But if you don’t want to be exposed, I’m sure we can come to an…agreement.”

“What sort of agreement?” asked a deadly quiet voice behind Angelique.

Like a bird released from a cage, her heart soared and she gasped in a full breath for the first time in minutes.

The viscount hadn’t noticed Nate approaching, either, from the way he started at the question. “A private arrangement,” he replied, drawing himself up stiffly.

“Private?” Nate cocked one eyebrow and looked at Angelique, slipping his arm around her waist in a gesture of familiar possession. “Anything you say to my wife is my concern, sir. What sort of agreement?”

The viscount hesitated. Angelique leaped in. “He said I had no morals, and made my living on my back,” she said, inching closer to Nate’s comforting bulk. “He claimed I have been a nurse.”

“Indeed,” said Nate in surprise. “And we’ve only been in London a few days.”

The viscount had recovered from his surprise. Nate’s accent marked him as an American, and to an English nobleman, that meant he was nobody. His physical presence wasn’t especially fearsome; he was no taller than the viscount, and was leaner of build. “A misunderstanding,” he said with a trace of condescension. His pale, glittering gaze drifted once more over Angelique’s face. “My mistake.”

Nate smiled. “Ah, of course.” He released Angelique and took a step forward to clap one hand on the viscount’s shoulder, as if they were old friends. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

The viscount stiffened. His shoulders hunched and he let out a gulping squeak. Angelique dared a glance around Nate, who was almost chest to chest with the viscount, and realized his other hand had gone to the man’s groin. He was holding the viscount by the ballocks, unless she missed her guess, and very firmly so. “But if you even look at my wife again, I’ll tear them off,” Nate added in a silky murmur she barely heard.

“No,” gasped the viscount, his face turning purple. Nate nodded, still smiling, and released him. The viscount staggered back, looking as though he would be sick all over the grass.

“Very good. Are you ready to go home, darling?” Nate offered his arm.

She let him draw her close, tucking her hand securely into the crook of his elbow. “Yes.”

“An old friend of yours, I presume,” he said when they were several yards away, walking as briskly as they dared toward the exit. Neither one looked back, although it seemed to Angelique she could still hear the viscount’s heaving breath.

“Not precisely.”

“He seemed interested in renewing whatever the acquaintance was.”

She hated to tell him, after all she had said and implied about his abilities and preparation for this job. “He recognized me. From another assignment.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. They walked past the orchestra and the supper boxes, back toward the road where they could hail a hackney. “Should I go back and kill him?” he finally asked. “I’d rather do it now, if it must be done, before he has a chance to ruin things.”

“No,” she said on a sigh. She could feel the blood pounding through her veins, now in relief but still hard enough to make her hands tremble. “But we must be more careful. He is a disgusting bête who likes to abuse women, to feel he is master and owner of them.”

Again she felt old and tired of her job. She must be slipping, if the viscount had recognized her so easily and she had done such a poor job of eluding him. She was normally quite careful to change her appearance on each assignment. Only on this one had she gone more or less as herself, because she was tired of the wigs and cosmetics and padded clothing. Now her own face had betrayed her.

Nate stopped. They had almost reached the entrance of the gardens, and she looked toward it with yearning. Even without the cursed viscount’s presence, they had no reason to linger. There was no sign of Hurst, and it was too late to reasonably expect him to arrive. They would stand out if they stayed and kept circling the gardens all night. At the moment, nothing sounded more appealing than leaving Vauxhall and going home to a hot cup of tea. How she wished it were Mélanie’s lemon and mint tea, but Lisette’s English tea with a spike of brandy would do almost as well. She looked at her companion with a trace of impatience.

“What did he do to you?” There was no inflection of any kind in Nate’s voice. She had never heard him sound so utterly chilling, and perversely it annoyed her.

“Nothing,” she snapped. His face didn’t change. “He stared at me, touched my arm, nothing more. If he had tried anything else, I would have gutted him already and he would no longer trouble us. Now, shall we go? I have had my fill of Vauxhall, and do not think we will find Hurst tonight.”