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Or at least not blinded.

Or, at the very, very least, not stupid.

Chapter Twelve

The next night Angelique made plans to return to Vauxhall Gardens. Nate said nothing, just looked at her for a long moment before nodding. She kept her own feelings to herself. Their best link to Dixon was Davis Hurst; they knew he liked Vauxhall; and they had little else to go on.

They visited more jewel shops that day, but learned nothing more. No matter that Barings could be at Vauxhall again, or that if he had recognized her, someone else might as well. She knew they had to go back, and go they would, but this time she would be ready for anything.

Anything, that was, except another kiss.

“Remember what we have planned,” she said in the hackney. “Do not take it on yourself to confront him.”

He shot her an unreadable glance in the dark carriage. “Of course not.”

“Even if someone should recognize either of us,” she said, as coldly and bluntly as she felt. It could be disaster if Barings were there again, but she reminded herself that it was her lapse, not Nate’s. If it happened again, she would deal with it more appropriately.

Just as she would deal with any other kisses more appropriately, should they occur.

He looked out the window for a while. “I don’t think I proved myself useless last night.”

He hadn’t. She’d thought her heart would explode in relief when he appeared beside her. “No, you did not,” she said gently. “But we agreed this was the best way to flush Hurst out, and nothing has changed that.”

“Nothing,” he echoed in a flat tone. She kept her expression neutral despite his probing gaze. It was only a kiss, after all. “Clear enough.” He took a deep breath as the hackney drew to a halt, then turned to her with an urbane smile. “Are you ready, my dear?”

As long as you don’t kiss me again.

She rolled her shoulders and gave him a smile as false as the one he gave her. She had to stop thinking about the kiss. They had work to do tonight, and she needed to be on guard every moment. Her dagger was hard and reassuring against her thigh. “Of course.”

They separated almost immediately. Walking the grounds together last night hadn’t helped, and tonight she wanted to operate alone, as she was used to doing. As planned, Nate headed for the largest group of people. He really could talk to anyone, anywhere, she thought as she watched him strike up a conversation with one man, and within minutes become part of a circle of men.

Affecting complete boredom, she wandered around, peeking into the darkest part of the grove before approaching the pavilion. She looked at the paintings, refused a few murmured propositions, and finally ended up across the pavilion from Nate. There she settled with a glass of wine, keeping the bored expression fixed on her face even as she let her gaze sweep around the room.

From this distance she could catch an occasional glimpse of Nate without being near enough to betray herself. Why oh why had he kissed her last night? She could almost hate him for it, except for the sheer beauty and breathless pleasure of it. She’d lain awake last night, insisting to herself that she felt so shaken because of what had happened with Barings; it was relief and gratitude, she told herself, and perhaps some acknowledgment of his unexpected skill. Most men kissed as if they wished to eat a woman in big, sloppy bites. Nate kissed her like a man tasting a rare delicacy, as if he would savor every morsel she fed him instead of falling on her in a frenzy of hunger.

She wondered what he would be like as a lover, in bed, and then reminded herself that there would be no more kisses, let alone kisses in bed. Her needs were her own, she had told him, not his. As long as she remembered that, perhaps she could escape this unscathed. The last thing she needed was to have her head turned by that man, with his easy laugh and his merry eyes and his wicked, tempting mouth that kissed her so dangerously sweetly.

Thankfully, she caught sight of a man who fit Hurst’s description. It was a relief to focus her thoughts on her work again. Medium height, lean and dapper, he was a dandy, from the top of his graying hair to the polished toes of his shoes. She wandered through the crowd a bit more, passing directly by him at one point and managing to catch a glimpse of the carved wolf’s head ring he wore on his little finger. It must be their man, she thought, and let her elbow brush his. He glanced over his shoulder, his irritation melting away when he saw her.

For a cagey man, he was shockingly easy to lure. Within twenty minutes she had got him to introduce himself, offer his escort, and fetch her some wine punch, at the same time she thoroughly convinced him she was looking for some risqué adventure to escape her dull marriage to an American buffoon, whom she duly pointed out. That seemed to intrigue him the most, which worked well for her purposes.

“America is utterly savage, I’ve been told,” he said to her. She had managed to lead him on a meandering stroll through the pavilion toward a quieter area, all the better to give him the right impression of her intentions. “The politics are all corrupt, the country is brimming with barbarians, and even the best society wouldn’t pass in a Cheapside pub.”

She laughed. “You have been well-informed! I would believe you’ve been there yourself.”

“No, no,” he said indulgently. “All learned from someone who lived there for some time before returning to England. I certainly never wished to venture in that direction.”

Dixon, Angelique thought. “The contrast is more pronounced when one has become accustomed to American ways.”

“No doubt. Americans are different, aren’t they?” He turned to study Nate again, who was still talking with the men across the room. “Quite…savage, in some instances.”

Angelique followed his gaze, silently agreeing with his statement, although for very different reasons. Nate chanced to look up then and caught her eye. Politely he inclined his head in her direction, and she smiled vacantly and took a sip of punch. The candlelight shone on his sun-bleached hair and darkened his skin to an almost olive hue. He did look like a savage here among the pale Englishmen, no matter how elegantly attired he was—but it was far from repulsive. And it was immensely reassuring to know that Nate, with whatever savagery he might possess, was close at hand, should she need him again.

“Lord, yes,” she said, pulling her mind back to Mr. Hurst. “I had almost forgotten how refined Europeans are in comparison.”

Hurst turned to her. His was the terrifyingly tender smile of a predator about to strike an unsuspecting victim. “I wonder that you’ve endured so long.”

She pasted the limpid smile back on her face and laughed lightly. “I have no choice now.” She gestured with her glass and leaned toward him until his gaze dipped to her cleavage. “At least he is rich!” She gave a tiny hiccup and pressed her fingers to her lips. When he looked at her again, she swayed on her feet and giggled. “Forgive me. I think the wine has overcome me…” She spun around and walked away, taking care to make her steps slow and too careful. Her glass dangled from her fingertips as she headed for the punch table, conveniently next to the entrance to the Grand Walk. A dark part of the garden would do nicely, she thought, affecting a small stumble as she reached the table and set down her glass.