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“Might I escort you?” Without waiting for her reply, Hurst took her arm.

Angelique blinked at him, still playing tipsy, and then laughed as if embarrassed. “Oh, please do. Some quiet would be most welcome. I feel flushed and…very unlike myself. That wine punch is stronger than it seems.”

He steered her out of the pavilion. “Your husband won’t miss you?”

She waved one arm expansively. “Miss me? He won’t notice I’m gone! When there is money to be made, I do not exist, sir.” She was slurring her words a little now, hanging on his arm.

Hurst chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her indecently tight against him. She could almost feel the excitement building inside him and had to steel herself against the urge to slide her dagger between his ribs. Lecherous scum; he deserved to be cut for leading—dragging, even—an apparently intoxicated woman out into the secluded garden. She knew very well what he planned, and it made her stomach knot in fury that if she were as she seemed, he would get away with it.

“A man who ignores a woman like you deserves to lose her,” he murmured in her ear, his breath hot on her cheek. “Someone else will be tempted to sweep her away…”

Angelique giggled again and ducked her head. “Only if he is also rich! I should hate to be poor.”

He chuckled again. “So that’s Mr. Avery’s attraction? I wondered how he could have ensnared such a lovely dove as you.”

“Oh, yes.” She shortened her breath and leaned more of her weight on him. As expected, he was leading her away from the pavilion and toward the darkest part of the garden. “Do you know, he came here tonight to meet more investors?” She hiccupped again. “He’s mad for some new”—she fluttered her hand in the air, trying to think of a plausible, yet enormous, figure—“some new scheme to make another million. As if one is not enough!” she finished with another tipsy laugh.

“So much?” Like a hungry fish, Hurst snapped up the bait. He stopped on the path, looking at her with more calculating eyes. “A million dollars?”

She shook her head and made a face. “Pounds! He keeps most of his money in England, after the crisis in America with the money.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “It must be a risky venture.”

“Lord, no.” She pulled out of his arm and staggered toward a bench a short distance ahead. It was deep in shadow under the trees and remarkably quiet; perfect. “He doesn’t chance the risky ones now. Or maybe he does have a magical touch. I only know he makes money when everyone else is ruined. Why?” She turned to bat her eyelashes at him. “You don’t want to invest in his madness, do you?”

He followed her more leisurely. “Perhaps.”

Angelique laughed. She switched her hips from side to side with each slow step. “Is that why you have lured me out here?”

“No,” he said, that rapacious smile on his face again. “But if one could combine pleasures…” He caught her arms and hauled her up against him, studying her face through shrewd eyes. “How do you know so much about your husband’s investments?”

She heaved a sigh, letting her head roll back on her shoulders. “He talks of nothing else. Can a man not think of anything to say to a woman in bed, except ‘this was profitable,’ and ‘that will make a mint’?” She shook her head, stroking her fingers across the points of his shirt collar. Hurst wore his cravat fashionably high, and her fingers just trailed along the edge of his jaw. “Surely you are not so absorbed by finances…?”

He paused. She waited, still smiling blankly. Hurst was not a rich man, but he had rich tastes. Silently she willed him to say something, anything, that would give her the opportunity to ask about Dixon. He had already helped Dixon convert some jewels into funds. He must be thinking of the man now. He thought she was drunk; he wouldn’t attach much weight to it, but she couldn’t say the name herself…

“A man I know is looking for rewarding places to invest an inheritance,” he finally said. “Discreetly, of course.”

“My husband is very good with secrets,” she said. “I daresay he must be, given whose money he handles!”

His eyes glittered. “Whose?”

“Oh, I…” She lowered her eyes and laughed nervously. “I shouldn’t say. I don’t want him to be arrested… Not that he is a criminal— Oh dear!” She laughed again, covering her mouth.

“I see,” Hurst muttered. He was quiet for a moment. “Perhaps I shall call on him, to see if my friend might wish to invest.”

“He won’t tell you anything, unless it is your money,” she said, thinking quickly. “Just bring your friend.”

He smiled thinly. “My friend is something of a recluse.”

“Mr. Avery would be willing to come to him.” She ran her fingers up and down the lapel of his evening jacket. “For his investors, he is always willing.” Another artful sigh. “For his wife, less so. Who is your friend? Have I met him?” She gave him a coy smile. “Is he as charming as you are?”

The avarice faded from his face. “You’re a bored little strumpet, aren’t you?” he said with amusement. “You’re out here with me so I’ll invest with your husband, and now you’ll set your sights on Dixon, too.”

There it was. Angelique ignored the thrill of triumph, and gave him a delighted smile. “William Dixon? Why, I met him the other night! Such a handsome gentleman…”

Hurst chuckled. “No, you’ll not have met him, I wager.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Why? Is he dull, like my husband? Spare me any more dull men.”