the earl and countess’s house party, which would have made his task a bit easier. His lips twisted in a rueful grimace. His deliberately constructed reputation of a depraved libertine was simply too clever and believable for the countess to have invited the likes of him to her home. Many matrons who dreamed of landing a wealthy, even if disreputable, marquess for their daughter were happy to open their doors to him.
But the reputedly very proper and exacting countess tended to sniff her nose and lift her chin as high as possible whenever she saw him, showing the lines in her now wrinkly neck and décolletage clearly displayed to all the world. From his foot-taller height, Nicolas still got the sensation she stared down that pointy, oh-so-elegant nose at him.
Pausing, he stooped and collected the paper that had dropped from the lady’s pocket. It was carefully folded, like a letter to a secret lover. Interest stirred, for he was a procurer of secrets, believing every information necessary when dealing with powerful families who thought themselves untouchable in the empire.
The gardens were too dark for him to read it now, so he slipped it into his pocket as footsteps crunched over fallen leaves and echoed on the chilly night air. He surged to his feet only to falter as the girl returned, her willowy frame as she strolled toward him graceful and perhaps even a bit dangerous.
Odd that this slip of a girl gave him momentary pause.
Sheathed in a light blue ballgown, she appeared at times ethereal in the shadows. Her figure, though slender, had more than a handful in all the right places. Her hips were lush, and from what he’d seen earlier, her derriere was just as sensually rounded. The pale mounds of her breasts at her lace décolletage invited his eyes to linger, then he lowered his gaze, wondering what was in her hands.
There was a flash of silver, and his heart jolted.
What in God’s name?
Chapter Two
Nicolas blinked, but the apparition of his mysterious lady gripping a shovel with its glinting sharpened edge did not disappear. The gardener was overzealous to possess such a damn sharp shovel. And the lady, she was no longer scared but filled with determined anger. It delineated every inch of her body, and that small pointed chin lifted high to give the appearance that she stared him down.
Suddenly he knew this to be the countess’s daughter—surely no one else in the country could imitate that arrogant and disdainful mien.
“Intend to bash me over the head for frightening you?” he asked.
The shovel was lifted higher with surprising ease and steady arms. The waif was stronger than he would have imagined.
“I will impale you if you do not reveal to me the whereabouts of my brother.”
Her brother was clearly the man Nicolas had come upon with the bucket in his hand. “Ah, so it wasn’t your sensibilities I offended?”
Her stance shifted, and he expected to hear her feminine cry of en-garde any moment. How unusual—she possessed some skill and was not afraid to wield her knowledge.
“You are wearing my brother’s mask, so what have you done with him?”
The slight tremble in her voice had an odd sensation twisting through Nicolas’s gut. “How brave you are,” he murmured, taking a step closer. “You are clearly frightened but ran for the nearest weapon and returned to save him. Brave but foolhardy. What if I am the dastardliest villain?”
The eyes behind the face mask narrowed. She did not back away from him but thrust her weapon forward, holding it steady despite its evident weight. He waved carelessly to encompass the privacy of the gardens. “We are alone, and I can easily disarm you.”
Her wide lips curved, and for a precious moment he forgot even his own name.
Nicolas knew then he would never forget that smile, even if he had only been treated to a mere glimpse of its full ravishing potential.
“You can try,” she invited darkly. “But I promise you shall lose a limb in the process. Now I demand—”
“Maryann?” a voice creased with astonishment asked.
She whirled around. “Crispin! Upon my word, you are safe!” The shovel was dropped, and she rushed toward the man tumbling from the hedges, rubbing the back of his neck.
The threat of Nicolas’s presence had been dismissed with astonishing speed. How insulting. Nicolas melted into the darkest pocket of shadow in the garden and waited, all his senses attuned to the night and its possible dangers. Yet a part of him remain fixated