Dancing With Danger (Goode Girls #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,14
the lovely ringlets surrounding said item. A charming coiffure held in place by butterfly combs and garnished with baby’s breath.
Detective Eddard Sharpe would be proud of this intrepid investigator. He was often quoted in his books as saying that when a necessary implement was not readily at hand, a true investigator improvised.
Opera glasses of all things. Raphael couldn’t fight the tremor of a smile softening the corners of his lips.
Christ, but Mercy Goode could not be more endearing.
She’d, no doubt, donned her taupe, high-necked coat in the hopes of blending with the crowd. However, the light color actually caused her to stand out amongst people swathed in grey or black wool jackets against what had once been intemperate weather.
Who wore beige to the zoo on a wet day?
Of course, she’d understood the conversation he and Gabriel had in her presence. Gentle ladies were taught French, weren’t they?
Marco, realizing that Raphael’s notice had been directed elsewhere, glanced behind him to find the culprit. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Raphael said, shifting his gaze to the side. “I saw someone I recognized.”
“Not the police, I hope. They are searching for you in every nook and shadow of the city.”
“Which is why I’m hiding in the sunlight.”
Marco chuckled and tapped his temple. “Always a step ahead, Jefe. That’s why you’re in charge.”
Raphael put a hand on Marco’s solid shoulder, only half meaning the fond gesture as he drew the gangster toward the lion’s den—in the opposite direction of the curious girl. “I’m avoiding a woman,” he explained as he ducked them behind a shed and then quickly changed their direction.
“Say no more.” Marco winked conspiratorially and kept up with nimble strides.
Raphael got to business as he led Marco toward a back gate. “I had you meet me here because Dorian Blackwell is said to be fond of taking his children to Regent’s Park in the late afternoon. Sometimes they come to the zoo, sometimes not, but I need you to find him and invite him and his most trusted men to the masquerade.”
Marco’s eyes widened. “Dorian Blackwell? The Blackheart of Ben More? He and his men ruled this city not so long ago, but everyone says he’s reformed since he married a Countess. Retired, even.”
Raphael inclined his head. “I think he would be interested in a market share of this product. He still holds enviable economic influence, from the dregs of the underworld all the way to Parliament.”
Marco’s eyes flashed with greed. It was something Raphael knew he could always rely upon...a man’s own self-interest.
“Consider it done.” Marco crushed his cigarette beneath his bootheel and strode toward the zoo’s gate, one hand on the lapel of his dandy plaid suit. He held said gate open to a fine elderly couple who thanked him with wide smiles.
They’d miss their valuables later.
Raphael doubled back toward the wolf exhibit.
Flattening his back against the reptile enclosure, he peered around the corner to find exactly what he thought he would.
Mercy Goode standing before the wolves, forehead wrinkled and plump lips tightened into a recalcitrant frown.
He’d lost her and she resented him for it.
Poor thing. He wanted to tell her it didn’t detract from her considerable detective skills. He was a professional criminal, and she little more than an inquisitive girl.
She had no chance of capturing him.
It surprised him to find that his hand had found its way inside his suit coat, to rest over his chest.
She made the muscles around his lungs squeeze at the same time his heart seemed to double in size and radiate a confounding warmth.
Kissing her in the carriage had been a mistake.
And yet, when he searched what passed for his conscience, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.
Since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been transfixed.
Beguiled.
No one that bold and brash should have such innocent eyes.
She was a force of nature, like a firestorm or an earthquake. Something that left the terrain forever altered in her wake.
She was unforgettable. Indescribable. Delectable.
How could he go to war without tasting that for himself?
Especially when she’d looked at him in that way. With the heavy-lidded gaze of a woman who wanted to be kissed but was too proud to ask and too untried to take what she wanted.
Raphael bit into his fist. He couldn’t tell which was a more exquisite hell. Wanting to taste her? Or having sampled her flavor, knowing that a more sublime pleasure awaited the man who unlocked the passion roiling beneath the barely contained surface of her propriety.
Knowing, without