wrapping around both of them. “Charity” Carstairs wanted him, probably about as much as she disliked him. Which was a considerable amount. She most likely hated herself for being attracted to him, probably even refused to consider the possibility. It was part of the reason she was skittish tonight.
He smiled in the darkness. He was going to enjoy himself after all. “I suggest we not worry about what people imagine concerning our relationship. They’ll think what they want. We need to discover who among them are involved in the current incarnation of the Heavenly Host, if the absurd worries you’ve brought to me have any validity, and if so, where and when they’re meeting next.”
“Don’t we need to discover if your brother is truly part of them? Or do you believe me on that one?”
“If the organization is as you’ve described then I have no doubt that my brother is involved. He’s…he’s troubled. The Afghan war was very difficult for him, and he was grievously wounded. It’s taking a long time for him to pull himself together, and I’m certain anything nihilistic would appeal to him. Apart from that, he’s been quite secretive recently, and I’ve had reason to worry.” He was telling her more than he wished to, and he wondered why. She had a calm demeanor that was oddly soothing. Soothing, when he wasn’t consumed by lust.
Which he could ignore, he reminded himself. He’d come to London to assuage that lust, and so far he’d had very little success. It was only natural he would look at Melisande Carstairs and her magnificent breasts and think wicked thoughts.
Though to be truthful, he’d had those same thoughts when she’d been decently covered and looking like a nun.
“I’ll tackle Lord Elsmere. You approach his wife,” he said.
She frowned. “And when did we decide you were in charge of this investigation?”
“When you asked for my help. This is my world, Lady Carstairs, the world you’ve walked away from. I know it, and its inhabitants, quite well, and you’d be a fool not to listen to me. And you’re many things but not, I think, a fool.”
She glowered at him, then her expression smoothed out. She didn’t want to let him know how much he annoyed her, a mistake on her part, he thought. The more she withstood the more determined he was to ruffle her.
“No, I’m not a fool,” she said. And she wasn’t. Except, he hoped, where he was concerned. He was finding her more and more tempting, and he wasn’t in the mood to fight it too strenuously.
The coach had drawn to a stop, and one of his footmen had already jumped down, and the sound of the steps being dropped was like a death knell, he thought with lazy amusement. He was being fanciful, but he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that this was the point of no return.
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here, Dante’s welcome to hell read. Do what thou wilt, read the entrance to Rabelais’s fictional Abbey of Theleme.
The door opened, and he looked up at the Elsmere town house, then back at the woman with him. And he wondered which greeting was more accurate.
10
“Benedick, old man!” Harry Merton would have to be the first person they ran into, Benedick thought with resignation. Melisande had her back turned as she was handing her shawl to the maidservant when Harry came in the vestibule, a broad grin on his slightly foolish face. “Just the fellow I was wanting to see, don’t you know. I’ve found just the right piece of crumpet for you—a girl with the most amazing flexibility. You wouldn’t believe what she could do with her…”
“Good evening, Harry,” Benedick said hastily, though he wasn’t quite sure why.
Harry blinked. A gentleman never showed his liquor, and it was only the slight owlishness of his eyes that gave any hint that Harry had already been drinking steadily. “Good evening,” he managed to reply. “Any luck with Charity? Now there’s a field I might like to plow, assuming I could pry those legs apart…”
Melisande turned, her vivid blue eyes sparkling with something dangerous, and Harry blinked again, clearly embarrassed. “Beg your pardon, old man,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize there was a lady present. Been an ass. Excuse me.” He sketched an unsteady bow. “Your servant, ma’am.”
Melisande Carstairs surveyed his old friend for a long moment, and he half expected her to attack. Instead she managed a seraphic smile and held out one gloved hand, which