Chapter Two

      In a secluded alcove in St James’s

      Jake was still sulking when he arrived at Almack’s. Seducing an innocent, wide-eyed chit didn’t sit right with him. And, if he was being entirely honest with himself, neither did flirting with one. While he was supremely confident in his ability to do both with exceptional finesse, he made it a point of principle never to dally with nice young ladies. Bawdy young ladies, experienced older ladies and anyone who ran the gamut between was fair game, but impressionable virgins had always been off limits.

      For all the many notches on his bedpost, he had not been a single woman’s first lover, nor had he ever wooed a woman who didn’t know how the game of illicit courtship was played. He might well be a scandalous good-for-nothing scoundrel, but even scoundrels had standards. A line in the sand which they did not cross. Yet now he was being asked to cross it for King and country—another standard he held sacrosanct. Despite a whole day to ponder the moral dilemma he still wasn’t entirely sure he was prepared to make an exception.

      Lord Fennimore had no such reservations, but then Lord Fennimore was not the one who was going to be whispering sweet nothings into her inexperienced ear or trying to trick her tender heart into trusting a man who shouldn’t be trusted. But if his gut instinct was correct, then her uncle deserved all that was coming to him. Aside from the French double agent, every single person who had brought them closer towards the dangerous smuggling ring had wound up dead. All in very believable circumstances, of course—a carriage accident, a nasty fall, drowning in the docks while roaring drunk—but all cases a little too convenient and too close to their investigation to be dismissed. It positively reeked of foul play and Rowley was at the heart of it. And they did have to stop him, the sooner the better, but Jake sincerely hoped not like this. The whole situation left a very bad taste in his mouth.

      Careful to stay in the shadows in the alcove, he scanned the room for the latest crop of debutantes. Fortunately, they were easy to spot. They were all obscenely young, eager and clad in the palest silk gowns. They were also all wearing permanently awestruck expressions. With no clue as to what Miss Blunt looked like, he instead searched for the Sawyer sisters, a task which didn’t take long. The two ladies were glued to the refreshment table, clearly enjoying their matching glasses of lemonade too much for the contents of their glasses to be purely lemon.

      Lady Daphne was sporting what resembled a whole peacock’s tail on her head, while Lady Cressida’s coiffure sprouted ostrich plumes dyed pink to match her garish dress. The weight of both headdresses, and perhaps the hard spirits the two women had a legendary fondness for, was making the feathers list. Or perhaps it was the ladies who listed. From this distance, Jake couldn’t be sure. He watched them closely for a full ten minutes before he could say for certain they had already misplaced their charge. With nothing else to do, he propped himself against a pillar and settled in for a long wait. With any luck, the chit would have already been waylaid by a handsome fellow who’d have already swept her off her juvenile feet, thus providing Jake with a ready excuse to throw in Fennimore’s face when Jake failed in his unsavoury mission. Surely they could get to Rowley another way? He could work his way through the man’s changing parade of mistresses, seduce a willing and lusty maid—hell, if it came to it, Jake was even prepared to whisper sweet nothings into the ears of Rowley’s housekeeper as long as the woman was not a complete hag. Anyone, in fact, but an innocent child.

      It was the perfume which distracted him first. The heady scent reminded Jake of fat summer roses, fresh air and sunshine. Nothing like the stuffy smell of Almack’s. His nostrils twitched as they sought the source until his eyes located her.

      Now this was more the kind of woman he would choose to seduce. Too bad she was not his assignment. He’d even go as far as admitting the tantalising vision that had just turned the corner would be pure pleasure, for once, rather than business. Thick honey hair, sultry almond eyes and the lushest pair of lips he’d seen in a long time. And the sensuous way she moved drew his eyes and imprisoned them. Her own had a faraway look in them as she hugged the wall, trailing the tips of her gloved fingers along the plaster as if she had all the time in the world and was in no hurry to go anywhere. He liked that about her.

      Here in Almack’s the ladies always had a higher purpose. To be seen. To be noticed. To make a good impression. To find a husband. This woman preferred the shadows and had no interest in the nonsense going on outside the alcove. Just like him.

      She still hadn’t noticed him, despite the fact he stood barely ten feet away, so Jake watched her gaze out towards the dancers and sigh. There was a distinctly dreamy look about her, as if she wished she was somewhere else, something he also empathised with. If he hadn’t been working, he might have walked over and suggested they go elsewhere together. But alas, he was on a mission and needed to see it through as swiftly as possible no matter how distasteful he found it. Something which would not happen if he gave in to the overwhelming temptation to talk to her. Jake watched her scan the room again, this time with very narrowed eyes which made him wonder exactly what it was she suddenly disapproved of until she clearly saw something—or someone—she didn’t want to. She darted behind a pillar and straight into a potted palm.

      The clumsy manoeuvre made him laugh out loud. Her head whipped around in alarm at the sound.

      ‘Don’t worry. I shan’t tell whoever it is that you are hiding from them.’

      ‘I am not hiding.’ But she didn’t move from the safety of the pillar. ‘Oh, all right, I am. Have they gone?’

      Jake scanned the area and nodded. ‘There’s nobody here but you and me. If it’s any consolation, I’m hiding, too.’ Hiding from the inevitable. ‘What are you hiding from?’

      ‘The gentlemen my chaperons appear intent on introducing me to. What are you hiding from?’

      ‘Responsibility and duty.’

      Those lush lips instantly turned up in a smile and she was prettier for it. ‘You can’t hide from those.’

      ‘I can and I have for the better part of a decade. What’s wrong with the men your chaperons are foisting upon you?’

      ‘Nothing, I suppose, other than the fact they are being foisted upon me. I didn’t come here to meet gentlemen.’ That in itself set her apart from the sea of eager hopefuls in the ballroom.

      ‘Then what did you come here for?’

      She sighed and looked miserable. ‘My mother. Apparently, it was her dearest wish that I visit Almack’s—among other things. Although I fail to see the appeal of the place.’

      ‘Such enthusiasm.’

      ‘I have no enthusiasm.’ The corners of those plump lips twitched again. There was the vaguest hint of the north in her accent, more northern than where he came from in Nottingham. Yorkshire, perhaps, or Lancashire? ‘That is part of the problem. I got lost half an hour ago and I find myself surprisingly content with being lost and by default reluctant to be found again just yet.’

      Intriguing. Much more intriguing than the onerous task he was meant to be doing. ‘What is it about this quintessential society ritual which has forced you into hiding?’

      Her nose wrinkled endearingly before she spoke. ‘I find the whole thing pointless and a little shallow, if I am honest.’ Something he had a feeling she always was. A northern trait. Brutal honesty and the inability to suffer fools or foolishness gladly.

      ‘I can see how the attraction soon wears thin. Especially as Almack’s has so many tiresome rules one has to obey. How many visits to this stifling