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At the corner she raised one hand at a passing hackney. By lengthening his stride, Nate was able to catch the edge of the door just as she reached out to shut it behind her. Without waiting for an invitation, he swung himself into the carriage, pulling the door closed behind him.

“This carriage is taken,” she said. Her voice was calm, but he caught the spark of irritation in her dark eyes.

“I know.” He settled into the seat opposite her, not making any effort to hide his scrutiny.

She gave a faint shrug. “Then go on. Ask your questions.”

“You aren’t surprised that I want some answers?”

“I never promised answers,” she said. “But ask and be done with it. It is not a long ride.”

“Oh? How far are we going?” He leaned back and stretched out his legs, as much as he could in the narrow hackney. His boot collided with her foot, beneath the edge of her skirt. Her expression didn’t change, but she lifted that foot, placed it on top of his boot, and pushed down until he thought she was trying to break his ankle. He braced his toes and flexed his foot, resisting. His boots weren’t the thin leather ones Englishmen were wearing now, but tougher, waterproof ones meant for a seafaring man. He just sat and waited, smiling until she let up.

“I am not going far,” she said. “I don’t know where you are going.”

“Apparently I’m not going anywhere without you, if your Mr. Stafford has his way.”

“He may not,” she replied gently, as if breaking bad news. “You may still hope.”

Nate raised his eyebrows. “He didn’t seem the type to take disappointment well.”

“But he will, if he has no choice.” She glanced out the window.

Nate hadn’t heard the direction she gave the driver, but he didn’t know distances in London anyway. He might have only another minute or so to take her measure. “He might accept it, but I won’t. I intend to find Jacob Dixon and return him to New York to stand trial, no matter what you or Stafford have to say about it.”

“I never suggested you do otherwise,” she said, the faintest bit of scorn shading her tone. Unflappable, but annoyed.

He grinned. It was obvious from her expression she’d like to tell him what to do, and not just in regard to Dixon. “I only want us to understand each other. Should you decide to agree, that is.”

Her eyes gleamed at him. “Yes, I can see you are concerned.”

As strange as it was to think of a woman as a cold-blooded spy, he began to see it in her. It wasn’t enough to assure him this was a good idea, but he was willing to reserve judgment. He wanted to know what she was made of, and he couldn’t while she kept up this distant, controlled manner. He leaned forward, trying to unsettle her.

“You’re not at all what I expected,” he said, and it was true. Her eyes were as dark as a moonless night, her skin as fair as fresh honeysuckle blossoms. She looked like a New Orleans belle. Up close she wasn’t quite as young as he had first thought, but she still didn’t look anything like the bloodless clerk he had expected to be given.

Her only reply was a faint, indulgent smile, as if she were listening to a child—and not all that attentively.

“I thought he’d send someone more imposing,” Nate went on, trying to provoke her. “Someone older, perhaps, or more…seasoned. You may think Dixon is just some petty thief, but he’s much worse—clever and charming and utterly without morals. Stafford assures me you’re competent, but I confess, I would have preferred someone else.” Someone more predictable.

She gave a small sigh, that infuriating smile still fixed on her lips. Her eyes wandered to the window as if his every word bored her to tears.

“I just hope I don’t have to spend the entire time saving your pretty little neck,” he added, more as a jibe at her silence than a real concern. He didn’t intend to spend his time looking out for her, not when he had more pressing matters. If she couldn’t take care of herself, so much the worse for her.

Finally he seemed to have pierced her demeanor. She leaned forward, looking directly at him. She crooked her finger at him, and he, too, leaned forward. Up close she was almost exotically beautiful, with long-lashed eyes and a pert, full mouth that was now pursed up almost in a kiss. He edged a little closer, unconsciously breathing deeply to catch the scent of her skin.

“I don’t care what you expected or what you would prefer,” she whispered in her French-flavored voice. “I will do my part, and you can do yours—or not. I do not care a great deal what you do. But if you chatter so indiscreetly in public again, I’ll cut your throat myself.” She sat back and turned her face to the window once more.

In spite of himself, he found a slow smile forming on his lips. He liked her much better already. “Ah. Then we understand each other better than I thought.”

“As if that is a concern.” The carriage had stopped. She gathered her skirt in one hand and reached for the door. Feeling more cordial now, Nate opened it himself and jumped down, offering her his hand. She took it and let him help her down. He caught a glimpse of slender ankles and calves as her skirts swished back into place. Very fine, he thought; a spy with lovely legs and plump, pretty breasts. If he was to be saddled with her, at least there would be some compensation.

She turned and walked up the steps of the neat little house without a backward glance at him.

“Au revoir, Madame,” he called after her, grinning as she completely ignored him. She let herself in and closed the door without looking back, but he knew she’d heard him just the same. He could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was refusing to turn back and glare at him.

Instinctively Nate glanced at the window nearest the door, wondering if she would peep out at him once she was safely inside. He couldn’t tell—was that a shadow just beyond the curtain swaying so gently in the breeze? He touched the brim of his hat and smiled, just in case.

“That’s a shilling, guv,” said the cabdriver then, interrupting his thoughts. Nate started, then laughed at himself. What a clever girl, sticking him with the fare. But what was the cost of the hackney, when it had shown him where she lived?