Elizabeth Boyle (3 page)

Giles looked directly into her eyes. Though she wore a mask like everyone else in the room, behind the concealing white satin sparkled a pair of startling sapphire eyes. Her lashes fluttered in recognition, as if she knew him intimately. The sensation of it—as if she had touched him rather than just glanced at him—rocked him out of his usual composure and into a stunned silence.

She looked back at Monty, who was still blathering away with his apologies. “There was no harm done, Your Grace. If you’ll excuse me,” she answered softly, her voice accented.

Monty and Giles did a double take, then stared at each other before straining to catch a last glance of the woman before she disappeared into the crowd.

“That’s her,” Monty breathed. “Giles, it’s really her.”

“Lord Trahern, I must speak with you,” blared an anxious voice behind them.

Giles turned to find himself facing the unmistakable Lady Dearsley. Unmistakable not so much by her formidable size, but by her ever-present yellow turban and strident tones.

He turned back to Monty. “Follow her, quickly.”

Giles tried to avoid Lady Dearsley’s onslaught, but he wasn’t quick enough. He’d done a good job of eluding the woman and her sisters since his return, but now, of all times, she’d finally succeeded in trapping him.

Though nearing her seventieth year, Lady Dearsley moved with the speed of a young girl. She wrapped her meaty arm around his, anchoring Giles in place before he could slip into the overwhelming crowd.

“Lord Trahern, I have been trying to see you for the last three days.” Lady Dearsley sent him a censorious frown. “It’s time we made the final arrangements. The wedding date is a month away and you need to sign the agreements.”

Curious stares followed in Lady Dearsley’s wake.

Instead of cursing his father aloud for entangling him in this betrothal, Giles tried smiling graciously at his future relation. This marriage would mean his return to the Service. But right now even that welcome thought placed a distant second to the brief image of the Brazen Angel burning hotly in his mind.

“How nice to see you, my lady.” He strained to glance over the woman’s feathers and turban, hoping to catch sight of Monty. “Is your niece here this evening?”

Lady Dearsley shook her head. “Sadly, she became indisposed and could not attend. She is a very delicate girl, a fact I hope you will remember when you are married. That she is
delicate
.”

Giles took a deep breath. “How can I forget, Lady Dearsley? With your ever-vigilant reminders I am sure not even the King with his shortcomings could forget such an important fact.”

“Just so you remember that she is delicate,” the woman added one more time. “Now, since it seems you are here in London, as is my dear niece, I know you must be anxious to meet her before the wedding. Under the circumstances, though, it might be better if . . .”

Giles nodded his head in distracted agreement to whatever she blathered on about. Across the room he spied Monty waving frantically for him and pointing toward an adjoining room. Without thinking he stepped rudely around the lady. Her endless chatter faded as excitement coursed through him.

The Brazen Angel was trapped, for the room she had entered had no other exit than back into the ballroom.

Their shared glance still held him captive. He couldn’t escape the notion that somehow he knew her, knew her intimately. But he couldn’t recall having ever had a mistress with such startling blue eyes. Once they’d unmasked her, he’d know for sure.

But his escape came up short. Lady Dearsley latched on to his arm with the tenacity of a sailor on holiday. “Then you are agreed, my lord? I can expect your solicitor tomorrow afternoon? My niece will be so excited to know her future is to be so secure.”

Prying his arm out of her iron grip, he nodded absently again. “Yes, yes. That will be fine. Tomorrow afternoon,” he repeated without another thought in her direction.

Giles quickly cut his way through the crowd. He didn’t care about the muffled coughs and sniffs following in his wake. Suddenly, more quickly than he expected, the milling aristocracy parted and he came face to face with his prize.

This second sight of her stunned him into an adolescent state of awe. He swallowed slowly. All of her victims’ poetic, flowery descriptions hardly did her justice.

In the flickering light from the chandeliers, her artfully designed hair shimmered with a silver hue. Over this rich creation of curls sat a tall hat, the wide brim riding low over her face. Undulating white feathers dipped even lower, successfully concealing what few features her white mask didn’t cover. Around her neck wound two strands of thick pearls, their luster competing with the rich glow of her creamy skin. The rounded curves of her breasts pushed to the top of her low-cut bodice. Her fashionable skirts ballooned out from her waist, ending just at her ankles. In a room filled with the bold colors of fashion, her choice of white and silver made her stand out.

She looked as fragile as porcelain, a deception he didn’t trust for a moment.

“Excuse me,” she said, her skirt brushing against him.

The rustle of fabric snapped Giles to attention. “May I offer you my assistance?” He held out his arm to her.

She shook her head slightly. “No, thank you.”

Giles did not miss the dismissive tone nor the slight accent to her speech. Though fluent in many languages he, too, had to admit he was stumped as to its origin. “Oh, I insist, my dear lady.” He took her hand and settled it on his forearm, holding her in place. “Besides, you appear to have been left alone. I wouldn’t call myself a gentleman if I didn’t help a lady in distress.”

She tugged her arm to free herself, but Giles only held on that much tighter.

“My lord, your reputation precedes you. My escort will not appreciate your efforts.” Again she turned her face from him, obviously searching the crowd for someone.

Her next victim, Giles guessed.

“And who is your escort? Perhaps I have seen him recently.”

Her sensuous pink lips pursed in concentration. “That is none of your concern. Now, if you don’t release me I’ll make a scene.”

“I doubt that,” he stated confidently. “A lady like yourself, so concerned with appearances, wouldn’t want to attract such untoward attention.” He started to stroll through the crowd, dragging her toward a side door. “Tell me your name, for I have a feeling before the evening is out we’ll be old friends.”

She did not reply.

“No name?” he teased. “What a terrible shame. Since I have never seen you before, I therefore must assume you are a princess from a faraway land, which would account for your accent and your shocking lack of a protector. Am I right?”

“A princess, my lord?” She shook her head. “I would have expected something much more original from you. I am hardly a princess in need of a knight’s rescue.”

“From your answer can I assume we have been introduced before?” he asked as they continued their halting procession through the room. As Giles towed her along he couldn’t help but notice how the lady resisted each step forward.

“Oh, in a manner of speaking.” She laughed, as if over some private joke.

Even as she enjoyed her jest at his expense, he began to notice subtle changes in her behavior. She still pulled against his grip, but the lady’s strategy started to change.

“Perhaps in Vienna?” he asked, searching his memory of all the ladies he’d met and tarried with on the continent.

Her face upturned, allowing him a chance to study her. Her hand on his arm relaxed, while a flirtatious light sparked in the mischievous blue fire of her eyes. The enticing fullness of her lips widened to an engaging smile.

“You don’t know me, do you?” she teased, leaning closer to him until her shoulder brushed ever so slightly against his arm. “I suppose I would be insulted if we had met before, but to be honest, we haven’t, my lord. Not formally.”

For once Monty hadn’t been exaggerating. The woman was an angel to behold. And he felt himself falling under her tempting spell. Obviously, he’d been out of the field too long if some misguided member of the
ton
could pique his professional curiosity so thoroughly with her antics.

“Then let me be so forward as to introduce myself,” he said. “With your escort unavailable to do the honors, I am—”

The Brazen Angel didn’t need any introduction to the man at her side. “—You are Lord Trahern,” she finished. “As I said, your name and reputation precede you.”

And did it ever, she thought. Of all the men to interrupt her this evening, why did it have to be this one?

She must get rid of him, and quickly. His gaze was too penetrating and at the same time too familiar to be risked. If he saw through her painstaking costume, everything would be lost.

“While your tone sounds like an insult, I instead will be honored that such a lovely lady knows me.” He smiled graciously.

It should have pleased her to finally meet the man who had puzzled her for so long. A year or so ago she’d seen a boyhood portrait of him at Byrnewood, his family home. Ever since that fateful afternoon she’d been fascinated by the determined slant of his mouth and dark eyes.

She’d often wondered what kind of man that stern child had become.

Now she knew. He was the same brooding, handsome, and devilish type of man she and her sister had giggled about and dreamed of eloping with when they’d been growing up. But in the safety of their convent school she’d never realized the dangerous passions a man like this could evoke in the corner of a woman’s heart.

His fingers, warm and firm, closed over her wrist with strength and authority. Hands that could guide a woman’s body into immortal danger—or heavenly release. She drew a deep breath and tried to step away from him. There were many men in the room who were handsome enough, men that attracted a woman with looks and charm. She knew enough about those types of men to be wary of their honeyed phrases and promises of undying love. Fools ripe for the picking, she discovered once she’d turned the tables on them.

But it struck her immediately that Lord Trahern may be different. Oh, he was handsome and charming, but the determined cut of his jaw and the wary look about him said that he’d seen enough of the world not to be easily deceived.

It was an expression she understood well. She saw it every time she looked in a mirror. It also meant she must be very careful.

“You seem far away, my lady,” he said softly. “Perhaps it is someplace
I
could take you?” His dark gaze assessed her as if he were cataloguing and memorizing her every reaction. “A quiet room where we could be alone?”

His suggestion ruffled down her spine in an anxious flutter and settled down so low in her soul that it was indecent. Never in the last six months had a man’s invitation left her like this—like she wanted to follow him.

More than flirtation lay hidden within his words. He was testing her. Trying to see if she would take his bait.

This isn’t the way it works
, she scolded herself. They followed her. On her terms. By her rules.

“Go somewhere alone with you?” She shook her head. “Not tonight, my lord. I have other plans.” Risking a glance back up into his eyes, she found they glittered like rich, dark emeralds, revealing nothing beyond their fire.

So what had she really expected to find?

“I’ve never been one to interfere with a lady’s plans. But I must warn you, I am not the only one in your way tonight.”

She stopped short, nearly tripping over her fashionably high-heeled shoes. He knew who she was and why she was here. And he knew Lyle and Rostland were also after her. If he knew that much about her, did he also know her identity?

Though she’d weighed the risks of coming out so openly in this crowded ballroom, she’d bet her luck would hold through one more evening.

Neither Lyle, nor Rostland, nor the man at her side could stop her. Not this night, her last as the Brazen Angel.

With the money she anticipated taking from her mark, she would be able to complete her work in France and let the mysterious lady fade into nothing more than the idle memory of foolish men.

But first she needed to get rid of the nuisance Lord Trahern was quickly becoming.

And she knew just how to dispose of unwanted suitors— her dear
maman
had taught both of her daughters the trick as they arrived at the French court. With so many secluded corners in Versailles, a young girl needed to know a thing or two about deterring a man’s unwanted attentions. She smiled to herself.

Heartless in her desperation to separate herself from her captor, she brought the thick heel of her shoe down on top of Lord Trahern’s boot with every bit of weight and strength she could muster.

He let out a loud curse. Even better, he let go of her arm.

She didn’t hesitate, cutting into the astonished crowd without as much as a glance back. “A rat,” she howled. “There’s a rat loose.”

Pandemonium broke out. Men and women alike panicked and scattered in every direction.

Picking up her skirts, she dashed through an opening.

As if fortune smiled down at her, Lord Delaney nearly ran her over. Her mark.

But she also knew enough of Lord Trahern’s reputation to realize he wouldn’t give up easily. She moved on Lord Delaney without her usual setup.

“Please, my lord. Can you help me?” she begged. “I’m in need of assistance.” She didn’t wait for an answer, instead catching the pimple-faced lord by the arm and pulling him toward the front door. The man coughed and choked, but he didn’t protest.

He went right along with her.

They always did.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she realized she hadn’t underestimated Lord Trahern—the man still pursued her.

His tall form and unadorned black hair cut a distinct figure against the white powdered wigs and ornate hats of the other guests. Though he was having a difficult time getting through the chaos, she knew he wouldn’t let that deter him.

Worst of all, a look of pure determination set his jaw and eyebrows into straight, hard lines.

Tugging her target’s arm even harder, she guessed she probably had no more than a couple of minutes before Lord Trahern caught up with them. Escape into the dark streets of London, where it would be impossible to find them, was her only hope.