The Trouble With Misbehaving. Victoria Hanlen

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СКАЧАТЬ like the games. The darling poppets and toy prizes make nice rewards.”

      “Poppets? Toys?” He sounded confused. “Something must be amiss. The letter said highest rewards and benefits?” He quickly cut her a glance and said in astonishment, “You have children?”

      “They’re not mine, exactly. They live at the Freesdale Orphanage.”

      “You keep looking around. Is your husband aware of this meeting?”

      “Husband. Dear me, that is funny.” She attempted a laugh. “I’m looking for an empty bench where we can sit and talk.” She gazed down the long line of couples strolling the pathways. “So many people are here tonight.”

      His white teeth flashed mischievously. “We probably could find someplace more secluded if you like.”

      Her pulse launched into an uneven skip. Oh he was a rascal. This meeting at Cremorne was beginning to look more and more misguided. For goodness’ sake, she’d taken such care with everything, including her no-nonsense business attire: a worn shopkeeper’s gown, hair in a plain style and a brush of coal dust. All to avoid recognition by acquaintances and hopefully ensure Captain Tollier took her seriously.

      She drew herself up primly. “Since you didn’t answer either of my first two letters, I assume something in them didn’t meet with your liking.” Tonight she was determined to discover what those things were. “If we can find a calm, quiet place to discuss my proposal, I feel confident we can come to an amicable agreement.”

      ***

      Beau extended his arm to point. “Look, there in the fog, I think I see a bench.” As they made their way toward it, they passed under a lamp allowing him a closer examination. Nothing about this mysterious woman added up. Not a bauble or jewel adorned her person. Her coarse shawl and worn, dark-purple, high-necked gown might indicate any number of occupations.

      What was she? A shopgirl? A governess? A Union spy? A tart? He studied her entrancing lips. A kiss might identify one vocation. Yet the way she carried herself shouted prim, proper and upper crust. If he were to needle her in the right manner, he’d not be surprised to find the airs and graces of a ‘papa’s little princess.’

      Enough. He needed some answers. He pulled her to a stop. Taking her hand, he kissed a gloved knuckle. Her enticing vanilla and honeysuckle perfume blossomed through his senses—the same fragrance as on the letter. Lord, she smelled good. How long had it been since he’d even noticed a woman’s perfume?

      Clearing his throat, he said, “Now then. Would I be correct if I said your initials are C.C.?”

      “Yes, they are,” she said with an air of self-possession.

      He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he never would have imagined a woman like her. “Why have you asked me to meet you here tonight?”

      She waited for a couple to walk past before leaning in to whisper, “Did you not read the letters?”

      He pulled the note from his jacket pocket and held it up. “I read this one.”

      Her features tightened. “You should have received two more. Did you read them?”

      Rather than deny he’d gotten the letters, he merely said, “No.”

      Two elegant brows drew into a frown. She lifted her chin. “Why not?”

      He almost laughed at her presumptuousness. Who was she to take him to task for not reading her letters? She reminded him of an autocratic Greek tutor he’d once had, although he found her much more interesting. “Madam, before a few minutes ago, you were a total stranger. When I receive unsolicited letters from unknown addressees, alas, they go into the fire.”

      “Into the fire!” She rocked on her feet and glared up at him, her ringlets bouncing to and fro. “If you’d bothered to read them, you would have found that my man of business set forth the whole proposal in detail!”

      Well, well now wasn’t she a feisty one…so direct and so…different. “Perhaps you could give me the short version,” he drawled, unable to keep the smile from tugging at his lips. Ordinarily he might take offense at her plain speaking. Instead, her uninhibited boldness made him want to laugh. He could almost see sparks sputtering around her tight hair coils and rather enjoyed ruffling her.

      She glanced about them again, waited for another couple to pass and said in a quiet clipped tone, “The short version is that I am in desperate need of your help and expertise.”

      “To do what?” He grinned.

      Cannon blasts pummeled the air and shook the ground. The percussion slammed him in the chest and knocked him back a step. All the air disappeared. He clutched his arms to his sides, gasped for air and hoped to God this very attractive woman couldn’t see how his nerves were fraying.

      In the distance, a stentorian voice announced the reenactment of a battle. Even though his mind knew the cannon fire was only an exhibition, his body couldn’t be so easily convinced.

      Concern etched C.C.’s countenance. “Are you all right?” She gently placed a gloved hand against his cheek, tipping his head down.

      He had the oddest sensation of falling into fathomless eyes filled with compassion, calm strength and a steely will—a mooring of sorts.

      Rifle volleys sent sharp waves screaming through him. He clenched again, and struggled to mirror her slow inhale and exhale. Gradually, his rigid sinews began to loosen.

      “Do you have difficulties with London’s air, too, Captain?”

      “How did you do that?” he gasped.

      “Kipp, a little boy at the orphanage, has weak lungs. His brother showed me how to help him when he has an attack.”

      Beau had never experienced anything like it. In those silent, breathless moments he’d sensed a connection form between them. But was it an illusion? Another trick from a lady of the evening or a spy?

      The cursed prickles began treading up his spine again. Cringing, he slowly peered over his shoulder. If C.C. was standing in front of him, who was spying on him from behind?

      Several couples strolled toward them out of the fog.

      Clutching her elbow, he led her across the manicured lawn into a copse of trees.

      “What are you do—”

      He swung them behind a tree and peered out. Whatever she wanted to talk about suddenly lost importance. The villains following him were the more immediate problem.

      “Tell me—”

      “Shhhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips.

      Two men in top hats stepped off the gravel path and picked their way across the lawn.

      Beau marched C.C. deeper into the grove around trees and shrubs. Then through an archway of fragrant vines to a fountain struggling to reflect hazy moonlight. They needed to stay quiet and hidden.

      “Before you drag me any further into the bushes—”

      Didn’t СКАЧАТЬ