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“He’s a charming fellow,” Hurst said. “You’ll like him. He just returned to England after a long absence—like you, my dear.”

Definitely their man. “He must be so pleased to be back in the civilized world.” She rolled her shoulders as if stretching, letting one sleeve slip down her arm. This gown was tight and low in the bodice, and only the small, wispy sleeves held it up. “I certainly am.”

“I can see that.” He could see the edge of her corset, too, judging from the way his gaze fixed on her bosom. Angelique was suddenly tired of dancing around him and his leering eyes. She didn’t think he would tell her more about Dixon anyway. It was time to finish this conversation.

“Everything is better here…” She drifted toward the bench, her steps wobbling. “Especially the wine. It makes me a little”—she waved one hand in the air, letting it carry her off-balance—“dizzy! Oh!” She put one hand to her head. “Perhaps I should sit down,” she mumbled.

“Of course.” He guided her to the bench, and sat far too close to her.

She sank down, sliding one finger inside the neckline of her gown, dislodging it even more. “I cannot breathe,” she said fretfully. “My corset, it is too tight…”

“Let’s see about that.” His hands were at her back, loosening her bodice. Then he was bearing her down onto her back, quietly shushing her murmured protest, easing down the front of her dress. Angelique closed her eyes as cool air wafted over her breasts, and let her arm fall limply to one side. She made herself lie motionless as he breathed heavily over her. Hurst made a crude noise in his throat, guttural with victory. He squeezed her breast with one hand and caught a handful of her skirt with the other.

Then he slumped heavily across her, unconscious from the blow she had struck with a rock on the side of his head.

Chapter Thirteen

The bad thing about being agreeable was that it sometimes left one in a very disagreeable position.

Nate had seen Angelique with a man who must be Davis Hurst and he played his part, merely nodding to her. He knew she meant to flirt and cajole information from Hurst, and he knew that Hurst would probably fall for her ruse without a thought. Really, what man would be able to resist her when she looked like she did tonight, in a rich mulberry gown that barely contained her breasts and somehow managed to cling to her slim waist and hips? Her dark curls spilled from the knot on top of her head to fall around her shoulders, a startling contrast to her fair skin. She seemed to glow with a gauzy, sensual aura that caught the attention of more men than just Hurst.

A ripple went through the circle around him when Nate nodded to her. “Your wife, Avery?” asked one man, awe apparent in his tone.

“Yes,” he said carelessly. “How delightful that she seems to be enjoying herself.” He made himself look away from her as his companions murmured in shock. Angelique didn’t look like she was enjoying herself, she looked tipsy and receptive to whatever Hurst was saying to her.

She was acting, of course. She didn’t need his help. His job was to stand here and let her lure the man out of the pavilion to see if she could tease Dixon’s name or location from Hurst. His job was not to charge across the room and break several bones in Davis Hurst’s body, even though his hand curled into a fist where it rested on his hip. His job was to act a bloody fool, as she had so pointedly reminded him in the hackney, and he hated it. If anyone should be tracking down Dixon by quizzing slime like Hurst, it ought to be Nate. Instead he was left to stand here and wait while Angelique did it, by God knew what means.

But after a while he quit caring about his assigned role and what he had promised to do. She left the pavilion with Hurst—all according to plan—and then she didn’t return. Neither did Hurst. Nate resisted the urge to pull out his watch and see how long they had been gone, but the minutes ticked by and still there was no sign of either. Hurst wasn’t an exceptionally large fellow, but he still outweighed Angelique by a few stone. No matter how she assured him she could take care of herself, Nate couldn’t root out his last bit of chivalry. After all, if something happened to her while he stood idly drinking wine and discussing the finer points of horseracing, he would never forgive himself.

He excused himself from his companions and strolled through the well-lit pavilion. At the punch table he paused to help himself to a glass of the nasty stuff, then walked out into the Grand Walk as if he had no more pressing interest than getting some air. A few couples stood chatting nearby, and not far away a woman sat on a bench, fluttering her fan at a pair of men who looked bewitched. Nate went past them, nodding politely as he passed the trio, and sipped his punch without tasting it. His eyes scanned from side to side as he walked. Where was she?

Instinctively he headed for the darker part of the garden, the shadowy recesses where no lanterns glowed. There was no sign of Angelique or Hurst. He glanced down the wider, better lit path and saw nothing there, either—not that he had expected to. The moment he turned a corner and was out of sight of the other guests, he gave in to the urgency roaring inside him. The punch glass landed with a faint thud on the grass. Without a sound Nate melted into the shadows and went in search of Angelique.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness away from the lanterns, but there was a sliver of moon in the sky, and soon he could see well enough to move silently but still quickly. The gardens were a maze of twisting paths, and every now and then he passed a couple engaged in various private activities. The soft sounds of passion and seduction made his gut twist; God help him if he came upon Hurst and Angelique in such a position. If she was willing to seduce Hurst, even fake a passionate response to the man, Nate didn’t want to know about it, let alone witness it. Just the thought made his muscles tense with fury—and even worse, jealousy.

His vision sharpened and he caught a glimpse of white, and he heard a quiet moan, then a thud. He paused, listening, then turned in that direction and ran. No longer wary of being quiet, Nate tore through the shrubbery with his hand on his dagger hilt, expecting to see Hurst holding Angelique’s unconscious body under him. Raw rage burned his every nerve. If the bastard had touched her, even without harming her, he would be dead before he ever saw Nate coming⁠—

Instead he saw Angelique on her knees, calmly searching Hurst’s waistcoat pockets as the man lay sprawled on his side on the grass. Disconcerted, he froze, checking what he saw. Hurst was out cold. She was fine.

Thank God.

He shoved the knife, already pulled out an inch, back into the sheath and scowled. Now pain burst forth in earnest in his calves and side, and he inhaled a deep, raspy breath. Thank God she was unhurt. And she apparently hadn’t needed him in the slightest.

He rested his hands on his hips and glared at her. “You should have waited for my help.”

For the first time she glanced up at him. Her eyes, those deadly calm dark eyes, flicked from his face to his just-replaced knife. “I did not need it.”

That only inflamed his temper, not only that she would say it but that it appeared to be absolutely true. “You should have waited anyway, damn it.”

“Why?” With that carelessly cutting word she turned back to her task, rifling the contents of Hurst’s pocket. “He does not seem to have anything of interest. Imbecile!”

“I presume you learned something to warrant…this.” He put his foot on Hurst’s shoulder and shoved the man over onto his back. A fist-sized rock lay near Hurst’s head, and Nate guessed it was the felling weapon.

“Of course,” she said evenly, turning out the rest of Davis Hurst’s pocket. “He knows Dixon and helps him invest his money. I told him you were anxious for new investors and tried to persuade him to bring Dixon to you for advice.”

“You did what?” Shock immobilized him. For a moment he felt as though she had clubbed him in the head, too.

“It might encourage him to bring Dixon to us. How much easier it would be, if the man would come to us instead of hiding like a rat afraid of sunlight.”