attracted to women, but this is different, cara,” said Marco. “Call me bewitched, call me bedeviled, but you—”
“Sssshh!”
He heard the scrape of boots on the pebbled path and fell silent, his senses on full alert. Facing the challenge of a mission always sharpened his awareness. A rush of anticipation, intoxicating as any brandy, bubbled through his blood. Beneath him, Kate tensed. She, too, was primed for action.
Branches crackled as a man appeared from behind a thicket of gorse. A long black coat muffled his silhouette while his upturned collar and broad-brimmed hat hid his face.
“Damn,” muttered Marco, watching Lady Duxbury greet the newcomer with a voluble cry, only to be signaled to keep her voice down. “I don’t think we’ll be able to make out what they are saying.”
“Perhaps if we moved closer.” Kate tried to twist free.
He kept her pinned to the tree. “No, we can’t risk giving ourselves away.” Craning his neck, he tried to get a peek at the man’s features.
Kate swore softly as the stranger suddenly shifted his stance, turning his back to them. “Did you recognize him?”
“No.”
Lady Duxbury appeared agitated. Flinging up her hands, she fell back a step and shook her head.
A lover’s quarrel? wondered Marco.
Whatever they were discussing, the conversation quickly came to an end. After calming her with a kiss, the man spoke, rapidly and without interruption, then gestured for her to return to the manor house. Lady Duxbury looked reluctant to leave, but a small shove urged her on. Clutching her skirts, she lingered for a last look before starting back up the steep path.
The stranger remained at the edge of the clearing until the sound of her steps died away. Turning to retrace his steps, he kicked viciously at a sliver of stone, sending it arcing into the water. The splash shattered the glassy calm, sending black waves rippling across the silvery surface.
“Our unknown paramour did not come here for a romantic encounter,” murmured Kate. “Any idea who it was?”
“No.” Marco unknotted his cravat and turned his lapels to cover his white linen shirt. “But I intend to find out.”
“And so do I.”
He pushed her back against the tree. “Don’t be a bloody fool,” he said roughly. “You’ll only be in the way.”
“I’m just as good as a man in moving silently through the night,” she reminded him. “Maybe better.”
“Look, we don’t have time to argue.”
“Please.” A flicker of moonlight hung for an instant on her lashes, lighting the look in her eyes.
Marco forced himself to look away. “A diavolo—women!” he said through gritted teeth. “If you dare shed a tear I shall throw you into the lake.”
“I’m a very good swimmer,” she countered.
He bit back a harried laugh. He had never met any female as fearless as Kate. Her courage was fascinating. And frightening. It was one thing for a dissolute wastrel like himself to risk his worthless life. The thought of her charging into the unknown made him want to keep her wrapped in his arms, shielded from harm.
“It’s too dangerous,” he protested.
“I have faced danger for most of my life,” she said softly. “It’s my neck that is at stake, and I’d rather not trust it to anyone but myself.”
Don’t. The voice of reason warned Marco that it would be a grave mistake to give in to her demand.
“Please,” she repeated.
Ah, but when had he ever listened to wisdom?
“Don’t expect me to act like a gentleman. If we run into trouble, it is every man for himself.”
Kate tied the ends of her shawl around her waist. “Well, then, it’s a good thing that I am a female who can fend for herself.”
“Watch where you place your foot.” The whispered warning floated down from the top of the estate wall. “One of the stones is loose.”
Squeezing her fingers into a rough crevasse, Kate climbed nimbly past the trouble spot.
“Try not to make so much noise,” growled Marco. “It sounds as if a troop of Hussars is storming the gate.”
“Skirts are a cursed nuisance,” she replied through her teeth. “I should like to see you try to scale this height with silk flounces tangled around your ankles.”
“I have done so.” He caught her hand and pulled her up beside him. “On more than one occasion.”
“I don’t dare ask,” replied Kate, though she would have liked to. She was growing more and more curious about his past life. The rakehell wenching, the dissolute drinking seemed like a suit of armor rather than his real skin. But whether it was shielding