It was Dante’s turn to frown. What the hell was Daventry thinking? Employing an innocent to catch cutthroats and villains? She looked as if she might hurt her fingers snapping open her fan.
He considered this delicate creature, with her smooth skin and magnificent breasts. “But you’re no older than twenty. What could you know about chasing criminals through the rookeries?”
Miss Sands gave a disgruntled huff. “I am three-and-twenty and have survived in the rookeries these last six months. Have you ever lived amongst harlots and murderers, Mr D’Angelo? No, of course not. You own an impressive townhouse on the eastern side of Fitzroy Square.”
Dante was about to speak, but Miss Sands continued berating him.
“Have you ever trusted someone implicitly, only to have him abuse his position in the most diabolical fashion? Have you ever wandered through stench-filled alleys worried you might not find a bed for the night? Discovered gainful employment means spending most of the evening on your back? No, of course not. You’re a man. A man of wealth and means and the strength to murder anyone who steps in your way.”
Anger bubbled in Dante’s chest. “I know horror, Miss Sands. I know what it’s like to be a victim of one’s circumstances.” He’d had everything precious ripped from him in one fell swoop.
The sudden flash of pity in her eyes said she knew a thieving blackguard had slaughtered his parents when he was a child.
Damn it all!
Had Daventry told her?
“You’re plagued by nightmares.” She spoke as if she were a silent visitor to his bedchamber and had witnessed his restless writhing. “And yet you’re an extremely skilled agent with an ability to think logically. What I’m trying to say is we all have our weaknesses, Mr D’Angelo.”
They fell silent, the hum of music and laughter in the distance reminding him this was a party, not a night to resurrect ghosts. Despite the fact he planned to conclude the evening with a few hours of rampant bed sport, he was here in a professional capacity, too.
“Then let us not dwell on the past, Miss Sands. Let us focus on the reason we’ve been assigned the same damn case.”
He was more than interested to know what she had discovered, although he doubted she knew how an incident of fraud related to the murder of his parents. Did Lucius Daventry know? Was that why he’d hired this woman to interfere?
Dante gestured to the cushioned bench tucked away amid the shrubbery. “Would you care to sit? Perhaps it might be easier if we work together tonight, for our goal is one and the same.”
Her wary gaze flicked over his black shirt and coat. “Your suggestion makes perfect sense, sir, but it causes a minor problem. While you’re an extremely competent agent, and most certainly a man who takes command of every situation, this is my first case. If you fail to solve it, you will be assigned another. Should I fail to provide any evidence of a crime, I might find myself mopping up ale at the Bull in the Barn.”
Standing before him dressed in sumptuous silk, he could not imagine her scrubbing floors in a tavern. Judging by her eloquent speech and dignified deportment, she’d been raised in a respectable household. And yet now she had no option but to chase blackguards for a living. Why?
His heart softened—just for a few fleeting seconds.
“Then, in light of this being your first case, and the fact I’m feeling benevolent, you may present our findings to Daventry.”
Her grateful smile had an odd effect on him. A strange shiver rippled across his shoulders, which he quickly attributed to the chill in the air.
“It would help my cause tremendously.” She caught herself. “Oh, but you must let me take the lead. I couldn’t lie to Mr Daventry, couldn’t make a false claim.”
Devil take it. The women Dante entertained would lie and cheat and kick a starving child from the pavement to get ahead. Miss Sands wished only to be rewarded for her own honest achievements. Impressive.
“Very well. You take the lead.” Dante was interested to know if they shared similar suspicions about the widow’s case. “Perhaps we should sit, and you can explain what brought you here this evening, tell me what evidence you hope to find.”
Having been rescued from the rookeries, she could explain how she could afford an extravagant gown, how she’d secured an invitation to a notorious ball. As a man of integrity, Lucius Daventry would never send a virgin to a party for degenerates.
“We can barter, Mr D’Angelo. One of my secrets for one of yours. Though I warn you, I have many.”
He might have laughed and offered a witty retort were it not for the brisk patter of approaching footsteps echoing from the shadows.
“Damnation. Someone is coming.”
He wasn’t sure why he captured the hand of a woman who had no need to protect her reputation. He wasn’t sure why he dragged her into a shady corner amid the overgrown shrubbery and high hedges and insist she hide. He knew exactly why he pressed her back against the greenery, why he shrouded her body, why he stood so close their energies collided.
“Don’t move. We’ll soon be rid of them.”
Miss Sands inhaled deeply but struggled to find her voice. She placed her hands on his chest, a means for him to maintain some distance, not for her to explore the muscular contours.
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