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They made it sound so simple. So simple, in fact, that the idea was beginning to take root.
“What do I actually do?” she asked.
Andrew stepped forward into the hall, eyes fixed on her with an intensity that would’ve been seductive if she didn’t know how much he hated her. “Let Wark in. You want to string him along so subtly that he doesn’t know that he’s a fish caught on a hook.”
Like you did to me. He didn’t say it, but she knew that was what Andrew must be thinking.
Lavinia drew her shoulders back. He needed to know what he was asking her.
“He wants me,” she said.
Andrew hissed in a breath, but Moira and Miss Gibson just shook their heads, weary with the tale all too familiar to women of every rank and class.
“He’s not a stupid man,” she continued. “He might very well only tell me what you want to know if I make a commitment to him.”
“I’ll never ask you to compromise yourself,” said Andrew with a vehemence that surprised her.
“But that’s exactly what you’re doing,” she said. “Maybe you don’t mean for me to invite him into my bed, but by entertaining this man I could damage my reputation. If my clients believe that I’m a kept woman, they’ll flee to Mrs. McGloughlin or Madame Hollande.”
“Leave that to me. I can send such a steady stream of clients to your doors that you and your girls will hardly be able to keep up,” said Moira.
She knew Moira, who had sent clients to her in the past, was as good as her word. Still, the risk she would be taking was monumental.
She snuck a glance at Andrew, who still looked a little wild despite being land-bound. She knew this mission wouldn’t just be about persuading Wark. It would put her right in front of Andrew, tempting her to remember the heat of his breath on her neck when he would lean down to kiss her and the way their bodies fit together so intimately they were one. It would mean curling her fingers up when all they wanted to do was reach out and touch his jaw or thread through his thick hair. It would be dangerous on so many levels, yet she was considering it because he had asked her to.
And then there was the matter of Caleb.
“I’ll do it for two thousand pounds.”
Miss Gibson sputtered a laugh.
“My superiors will never agree to allocate that sort of money to an operation like this,” said Andrew.
“Then I’ll walk away.”
She placed a hand on the banister, but before she could take a step, he called out, “Wait.”
When she glanced over her shoulder, he looked positively murderous, but he nodded all the same. “I’ll figure out a way to get you your two thousand.”
“Paid out by the end of the month,” she said. “Regardless of whether the operation is successful or not.”
His lips fell into a grim line, but he nodded once more.
“Then it’s settled,” she said, but she couldn’t help feeling as though she’d signed a contract with the devil.
Chapter Five
LAVINIA PICKED UP her seam ripper, hooked the sharp, thin end under the stitches she’d just finished sewing, and pulled. She’d started using it after a salesman had come to her door a couple months before and convinced her to purchase the new invention, and usually she found it oddly satisfying to destroy incorrectly sewn seams with such brutal precision. That afternoon, however, it just signaled her distracted frustration.
Rip.
This was the third time she’d had to use the tool that day—two times too many.
Rip.
It was all Andrew’s fault. And Moira’s. And that short, curly-haired, horribly dressed Miss Gibson’s. All of them were to blame.
Rip.
