A Daring Liaison. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ curve of her breasts and the sensual way her lips curved into a smile when she saw him across the distance.

      To his dismay, he suddenly realized that he wanted her. Despite her rejection. Despite the intervening years and marriages. Despite that she could be a cold-blooded killer and may have contracted the murder of his best friend and his wounding, he still wanted her.

      That thought disturbed him. She was an assignment. No more. She was a potentially murderous female who’d gotten away with two crimes, perhaps four if her aunt’s death had not been natural and Booth had been one of her casualties. She was intelligent, clever and forthright—a lethal combination in a woman. And because of those things, she could easily have stymied the authorities. However he dealt with her, he would have to keep on his guard.

      He noted the eager light in Richardson’s eyes and the interested spark in Wycliffe’s expression and sighed. “Come on, then.”

      Within moments, the introductions were performed and several conversations were struck up, leaving Charles free to watch. Hortense and Harriett quickly snagged Harry Richardson’s attention, and after a few quiet words with Mrs. Huffington, Wycliffe turned to greet Jamie and Gina. Seizing the opening Wycliffe had given him, Charles nodded to the widow as she raised her fan and snapped it open.

      “You look flushed, Mrs. Huffington. Are you feeling well?”

      “Very well, thank you, Mr. Hunter. Just a bit warm.”

      “I believe there is time for a breath of fresh air, if you’d like.”

      “Thank you. That should be just the tonic I need.” She retrieved a cream cashmere shawl from the back of her chair and took his arm.

      Charles was pleased to find that none of the others followed them. A few moments alone with Mrs. Huffington would seal their friendship and relax her suspicions. He couldn’t help noticing the heads that turned to watch them descend the double staircase to the rotunda and exit the building. Tongues would wag, he was certain, but gossip would work to his advantage, discouraging other potential suitors by signaling his own interest.

      Once they were on the street, he draped the shawl over her shoulders against the cool night air and turned her toward the square. Covent Garden, alive with excitement until the wee hours, always had something interesting to offer.

      “I never grow bored in London,” Mrs. Huffington said as if reading his mind.

      “And yet you’ve spent most your life shut away in the countryside.”

      She laughed and looked up at him, stopping his breath with her beauty. “Aunt Caroline was not comfortable in London after her accident. I might have made another decision.”

      Ah, yes. Her disfigurement. “When did that occur?”

      She shrugged and her shawl slipped down one creamy white shoulder. “Aunt Caroline said it happened the year before I was born. She did not like to speak of it, so I did not ask more. And as much as she dreaded London, the dear woman made certain I had my come-out. She so badly wanted to see me happily married that she brought me to town to husband-hunt.”

      A task she had excelled at, evidently. “How gratifying you had no problem finding one. Or two. Still, ‘tis a pity she did not live to see you happily married.”

      “She did. Twice, remember? It was only after my last fiancé’s tragic death that she lost heart for my future.”

      He looked down at her to see if she was serious. They had touched on this subject before, but she had never admitted to having a fiancé. Perhaps he was making progress in gaining her trust. He decided not to pursue that particular subject just now since Booth’s death only angered him. “Did she believe you were happily married?”

      “Though I scarcely knew the men, I was quick to assure her that I was more than content with the matches.”

      “And were you in actuality?”

      “I had no particular objection to them, and Aunt Caroline was so eager for my happiness that I could not disappoint her.”

      “Is that why you married so quickly each time?”

      “I married because she urged me to. I’d have been perfectly happy to wait for …”

      “Wait for what, Mrs. Huffington?”

      She sighed and shook her head. “For her death, sir. I would rather have stayed with her and eased her old age, just as she eased my childhood.”

      “Is that why you returned to Kent after each of your husbands’ deaths?”

      “Yes, and there was nowhere else to go. I could have stayed at Mr. Huffington’s estate, but I was quite alone and did not know anyone in Yorkshire. Aunt Caroline sent for me, and I was happy to go.”

      “I must say that I find your equanimity refreshing,” he said. “Most women go on about marrying for love, and yet you managed to find contentment, brief though it was, with two men. And a fiancé?”

      She laughed at his assessment. “I was not married long enough to be disappointed, Mr. Hunter. As for love …” She shrugged. “Perhaps that requires a certain fierceness of character that I do not possess. In regard to my … equanimity, I have a practical nature. And practicality tells me that marriages are seldom made for love. They are made for gain, position, consolidation, convenience or simply to produce an heir.”

      “So you’ve never loved deeply?”

      “Certainly I have. Lady Caroline. My darling spaniel. The memory of my mother and father.”

      “But not a man?”

      “Once I thought …” There was a long pause before she stopped and looked up at him. “No. Not a man.”

      The moment stretched out as Charles wondered what it would be like to be loved by such a woman. If she loved, would she love fiercely?

      “Flowers fer the missus?”

      He turned to find a young girl staring up at him. She had a small wooden box filled with posies slung around her neck and was holding one made of violets and lily of the valley. Innocent, yet provocative, like Mrs. Huffington. He took a sixpence from his waistcoat pocket and flipped it to the child. She snatched it out of midair and gave him the posy before dashing off down a side street, not even offering change.

      Basking in her brilliant smile and with a small bow, he presented the flowers to Mrs. Huffington.

      She accepted them and lifted them to sample their fragrance. “Thank you, Mr. Hunter. You are the first to ever give me flowers.”

      A muzzle flashed. Instinctively, he pulled Mrs. Huffington into his arms before he dove for the ground. The deafening report of a pistol shattered the night as the bullet whistled past his left ear, and fury filled him.

      Bloody hell! The flower girl had been sent to distract him.

       Chapter Four

      A shrill scream split the air in the echo of the gunshot even as the sound of running feet increased. Help arriving? Or pedestrians escaping the chaos?

      Georgiana СКАЧАТЬ