Extraits

Extrait offert par Sabrina Jeffries :

Leaning back against the wall behind the counter, Captain Pryce finished his apple, then tossed the core into a slop bucket. “You should have stayed away as I asked you to.”

Lady Clara Stanbourne ignored his threatening tone, forcing herself to breathe calmly, speak rationally. “I’m only here to retrieve the watch and demand that you stop your illegal activities, at least with regard to my charges.”

“What ‘illegal activities’? I’m but a humble shopkeeper—”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense.” His smug confidence sparked her temper. “The one thing you are not, sir, is humble, and if you’re a shopkeeper, I’m the queen. You refuse to accept that I’m not some naive girl foolish enough to believe all your ridiculous lies.”

“That’s one thing we both agree on.” He pushed away from the wall, then leaned forward to plant his elbows on the counter, putting him at her eye level. His gaze slid slowly down her, devouring her. “You are hardly a girl.”

“Stop that!”

“What?” he asked in mock innocence.

“Looking at me as if you want to eat me up.”

His crooked smile was the very essence of wolf. “That’s exactly what I want.”

She fought down a blush. “You’d find me quite indigestible.”

“I doubt that seriously, mon ange.”

“I’m not your ‘angel,’ sir. I’m not your anything.”

“You could be,” he said suggestively.

“Don’t be absurd.” But a secret thrill coursed through her at the thought, making her scowl. Only her cursed Doggett blood would make her even consider such an outrageous possibility.

She forced herself to ignore his speaking looks. “And don’t try to distract me with such nonsense. I have proof that you’re lying about the true nature of your activities. You’ve bought goods from enough thieves in the neighborhood to acquire a reputation.”

He lifted one wolfish brow. “I see Johnny has been very talkative.”

“That’s what happens when you deal with children. They talk.” She held out her hand once more. “Now give me that watch.”

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“Return it to its rightful owner, of course.”

“Who might that be?”

Flustered, she glanced away. “I don’t know.”

“That might hamper your efforts to return it, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’ll find out who it belongs to,” she retorted. “Johnny would only say that it was a ‘gentry cove in Leadenhall Street,’ but there are ways to learn these things.”

“Oh? And what are these mysterious ‘ways’?”

“I’ll go to the police offices and see if anyone has reported a stolen watch.”

If she’d hoped that mention of the police would frighten him, she was sorely disappointed. “Then they’ll ask how you came by stolen goods, and your little Home will be put under immediate suspicion.”

Curse him, he had a point. “All right, I’ll tell them I found it.”

He straightened from the counter with a mocking smile. “Then they’ll take the watch, promise to find its owner, and keep it for themselves. One of them might even come sell it to me. Then you’d have gone to all that trouble for nothing.”

She feared he might be right. Some of the police at the Lambeth Street Office must be corruptible, judging from the number of receivers of stolen goods who thrived in Petticoat Lane. She might appeal to the magistrate who headed the office, but he’d simply send her back to his underlings for such a petty concern.

Still, it annoyed her to have this… this scoundrel pointing out the truth. “You are very cynical, sir.”

“Why? Because I see the disadvantages to your plans?” A sudden mischief leaped in his face. “Or perhaps you’re not disclosing your real plan. Perhaps you don’t intend to do anything with the watch at all.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Except keep it for yourself.”

“What! You dare to imply—” She broke off when he burst into laughter. “I see. You find this all so amusing. Very well. You won’t think it’s amusing when I bring an officer here to arrest you.”

Though his laughter died, he didn’t look worried. “If it satisfies your notions of morality, by all means bring one.” He edged around the counter until he was next to her.

Leaning one hand on it, he stood there loose-limbed and nonchalant… and still taunting her with a smile, curse his hide. “But you have no proof, as you well know. Besides, what police officer will take the word of a meddling lady reformer over that of a military man who served his country in our late glorious war? And yes, despite all your claims to the contrary, I was indeed a naval captain.”

“I know,” she muttered. “I found you in the navy lists.” She’d spent half the afternoon scanning the huge volume for his name.

He looked surprised. “I’m flattered. I must have impressed you very much if our encounter sent you straightaway to learn all you could about me.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “Five years ago, you captained a third-rater—the Titan. No mention of you appears after that, although rumor has it that you spent the time with smugglers and pirates. Not exactly the sort of thing to endear one to the police.”

“You shouldn’t listen to rumors.”

“So you deny it?”

“I don’t have to. The police won’t take gossip as proof.”

His smug self-assurance only drove home the futility of this debate. Threats wouldn’t work with a hardened villain like him, especially if he had a police officer in his pocket.

But there was one incentive Captain Pryce and his kind always responded to.

“I’d hoped to avoid this, but you give me no choice.” She drew herself up straight, trying to project a business-like demeanor. “What if I make it worth your while for you to leave Spitalfields?”

“That sounds interesting.” He crossed his arms over his chest, fire leaping into his gaze as he lounged back against the counter with a sensual smile. “I can think of one way you could make it ‘worth my while.’”

Oh, bother, she shouldn’t have put it like that. “I’ll give you two hundred pounds if you’ll close up here and reopen your shop elsewhere, preferably outside London where you can’t corrupt my charges.”

At last she’d managed to wipe the mocking expression off his face. “What?”

“Consider it a fee for moving expenses if you wish. Two hundred pounds. But only if you leave by tomorrow.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Possibly. But thanks to a generous uncle, I can afford to indulge my mad whims.”

“To pay me off.”

“Precisely.”

He searched her face as if to gauge her sincerity. Then he shook his head. “I like London. I like Spitalfields. I have no intention of leaving.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t expected him to come cheap. “Three hundred pounds then.”

“Ah, so that’s why you stationed your footman outside. You wouldn’t want him to hear you offering money to a scoundrel. Tell me, do you pay off everybody capable of corrupting your charges? If so, you must be very rich.”

“Quite the bargainer, are you? Fine. Five hundred pounds. But that’s the most you’ll get out of me.”

“Sacrebleu, I don’t want—” He broke off, dragging his fingers through his hair with a look of frustration. “See here, I can make that sum in a matter of days. Your paltry offer is beneath my consideration.”

“Aha! So you admit that you’re receiving stolen goods.”

“I admit nothing.” He shoved away from the counter, his expression stormy. “Is this the purpose of your offer? To trap me into confessing to a crime?”

“No, truly it isn’t,” she said hastily. “It’s an honest offer.”

“I’m still not interested.” His gaze flicked past her to the front of the store. “You’d better leave before your watchdog wanders off. He’s presently flirting with a milk-woman and has probably forgotten you’re even in here. Good day, Lady Clara.”

He turned on his heel and strode into the back room.

She hesitated. Though a quick glance at Samuel showed he was indeed preoccupied, she refused to give up. Throwing caution to the winds, she headed into the back room after her quarry. He was lighting a lantern, his head bent at the task.

“I’m not asking you to stop your activities, you know,” she said.

He froze with his broad back to her.

She hastened on. “I merely wish you to do them elsewhere. It’s a good opportunity for you to make easy money. It’s funds you wouldn’t have otherwise, and all you need do is pack up and move your shady enterprise.”

“This isn’t a shady—”

“Your accepting the money needn’t even be an admission of guilt. In fact, if you’re engaged in honest labor, you ought to leap at the chance to receive money for something so easy as moving your shop.”

Slowly he faced her, eyes ominously black. “Perhaps I simply don’t trust fine ladies when they offer me money for so little.”

“It’s not ‘so little’ to me.”

“All the same, you’ll forgive me if I refuse to risk my life or livelihood on a dubious offer of funds.”

“But—”

“Besides, I have a good berth here.” He swept his hand to include the entirety of the small, windowless room.

She glanced around. This had once been a kitchen, judging from the small stove at the back, but for some reason he’d taken it for his bedchamber. Lord knows why, for with the stairway against the left wall, there wasn’t much space. He had a rickety bed scarcely big enough for a man his size, a scarred dresser, a washstand, a basket of apples, and not much else.

Good Lord, for a wicked receiver, he certainly lived spartanly. “You call this a ‘good berth’?”

“It suits my purposes. More importantly, I pay no rent. In the long run, leaving here would actually cost me money, even with your attempt at compensation.”

That roused her suspicions. “How do you manage to pay no rent?”

“Friends of mine own the building.” His gaze hardened. “But that isn’t your concern. Nor is my shop or my activities.” All hint of his earlier smug amusement vanished, and only the menacing wolf remained as he stalked up to her. “So you’d best steer clear and mind your own business, Lady Clara, if you don’t want trouble from me.”

If she let him cow her now when the fight had just begun, she’d never defeat him. Tamping down her apprehension, she met his gaze evenly. “All right, if you won’t listen to reason and leave London, just give me the watch and I’ll be on my way.”

“The watch?”

She glared at him. “The watch we’ve been discussing, for pity’s sake. If you’ll recall, you didn’t pay Johnny for it, so by rights it’s still his. Since I’m the one presently responsible for him, I demand that you give it back.” At the very least, she must keep Johnny from coming here to get money for his thievery.

He glowered at her. “I can’t give it to you. I don’t have it anymore. I sold it to a man shortly after I acquired it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.” He paused. “But if it will ease your mind, I’ll give you the payment I would have given Johnny.”

“Certainly not! Then I’d be as guilty of a crime as the two of you.”

“That’s the best I can do. If you won’t take it, you might as well leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere without that watch.” Sucking in a breath, she held out her hand. It occurred to her that Samuel couldn’t see her now that she’d come into the back of the shop. Still, every ounce of her pride balked at letting the captain win. She forced herself to stare up into eyes chilly with threat. “Give it to me, and I promise I’ll go.”

“You’ll go, all right.” He stepped so close she could feel heat emanating from his body. “You’ll go this minute. Because if you stay even though I’ve made it clear I don’t have your confounded watch, I’ll assume you have other reasons for waiting around.”

He dropped his gaze deliberately to her mouth, and a trembling began somewhere in the vicinity of her belly. “L-Like what?”

“Like you’ve grown tired of your lonely existence corralling a lot of thankless scamps.” He lifted his hand to run one finger down her cheek, sending a sensual shiver along her skin. “You’d like to experience something more… exciting.” He bent close to whisper, “With me.”

She jerked back. “Don’t be absurd.”

He dropped his hand and gestured to the doorway into the front room. “Fine. You know the way out. Good day, Lady Clara.”

She stared at his self-assured expression. Clearly he expected her to abandon her quest for the watch and run screaming from his shop, clutching her virtue to her chest and vowing never to come back.

It was almost certainly a bluff, just the sort of tactic her roguish uncles would have tried on any hapless female who’d given them trouble. But did she dare to call him on it?

Why not? If he tried anything, all she had to do was scream and Samuel would be in here in seconds. But she’d wager good coin that he wouldn’t try anything anyway.

She tilted her chin up. “I told you—I’m not leaving without the watch.”

Disbelief, then anger, flashed over his face, and before she could even react, he advanced forward, forcing her to back up or be run down. She came up short against the wall, where he trapped her by planting his hands on either side of her shoulders.

She stared up into his determined expression and felt a moment’s panic. “What in the dickens do you think you’re doing?”

“Rousing your sense of self-preservation.”

“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” she said stoutly.

He flashed her a smile of pure wickedness. “You should be.”

Then he kissed her. Hard. Thoroughly. As she’d never been kissed before.

His audacity so stunned her that she didn’t react at first. Then she tried pushing him away, but it was like shoving a boulder. Nothing gave, nothing moved.

Nothing but his mouth …which explored every inch of her lips with merciless thoroughness. She smelled apples on his breath, mingling with the spicy aroma of bay rum that clung to his roughly shaven jaw.

A wanton heat flashed through her, mortifying her to her toes. Surely she wasn’t actually responding to this…

This incredible, alarming kiss that went on and on until she grew dizzy.

When he tore his lips free, she was so rattled all she could do was stare at him. Her heart thundered in her ears as she fought frantically to rein in her wildly careening senses.

At least he looked nearly as rattled as she. His breath came in ragged, urgent gasps, and his face mirrored her own surprise.

Until he wiped it clean of all expression. “Now,” he whispered, “I hope I’ve made it thoroughly clear why you’d best not come around here anymore.”

She understood his words for the threat he meant them to be. “You mean, because you might kiss me senseless?” How dare he assume he could run her off so easily?

“Or worse.” His eyes glittered wolf-like in the dim light. “I might ravish you.”

“R-Ravish me?” A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat before she could prevent it. “Good Lord, that sounds like something out of a Gothic novel! Ravish me, indeed. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Judging from the flare of frustration in his face, her response wasn’t what he’d hoped for. His mouth tightened into a grim line as he leaned into her, reminding her only too well that he had her trapped. “You think I wouldn’t?”

“I think you’re not that stupid.”

That seemed to give him pause. “What do you mean?”

“You were right when you said going to the police to complain about your business affairs might gain me nothing. But if I complain about your attacking me…well, that’s another matter entirely, isn’t it? Englishmen are odd that way. They don’t take a lady of rank seriously until she cries that she’s been ‘ravished,’ as you so colorfully put it. Then I need only point the finger, and they’ll hound you to the gallows.”

Not that she for one moment believed he actually would “ravish” her. If he’d intended that, he wouldn’t have stopped kissing her to deliver his dire threats in that bullying tone of his.

“Excellent point,” he muttered.

“I thought so.” She was finally winning a round. Buoyed by the possibility of success with this new tactic, she added smugly, “Indeed, if you don’t move away and give me that watch, I might be tempted to complain of your behavior anyway. It would be my word against yours, and as I said, in such a case mine is more likely to be believed.”

She’d expected to make him capitulate at last. Instead, humor glinted in his eyes. “Then I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, mightn’t I?”

She had only a second to wonder what he meant before his mouth came down on hers again.

Extrait offert par Sabrina Jeffries :

The Well-bred Young Lady avoids the merest hint of scandalous behavior.

Helena Laverick couldn’t help remembering that stricture as she surveyed the deserted hallway of the St. Giles lodging house. For she was about to break it most flagrantly.

Her sister Rosalind had always criticized their late mother’s favorite instruction book, Mrs. Nunley’s Guide to Etiquette for Young Ladies. Rosalind’s philosophy was to follow Mrs. N’s rules when possible, but ignore them when they were impractical. Helena usually considered that a mere excuse for disregarding any checks to her outrageous behavior.

But in this case she had a point. Their young sister Juliet’s mad dash into trouble made it impossible for Helena not to break the rules. And by venturing into this strange lodging house, where rats scrabbled all around her and burning rushlights clogged the air with their scorched mutton scent, she was breaking quite a few.

The Well-bred Young Lady does not take long trips alone—she’d broken that one when she’d traveled alone to London from Warwickshire. Since Rosalind and her new husband, Griff Knighton, were honeymooning on the Continent and Papa was unable to leave his bed, someone had to handle this messy situation.

The Well-bred Young Lady never ventures outdoors without her maid—that one was laughable. The fewer servants involved in her secret mission, the better. Servants did have a tendency to talk.

Her grip tightened on her cane as she stared at the scarred oak door before her, the one that belonged to Mr. Daniel Brennan, her brother-in-law’s unmarried man of affairs. Now she was about to violate one of Mrs. N’s most serious strictures—The Well-bred Young Lady does not call on a gentleman in his lodgings unchaperoned.

And certainly not at dawn. Why, Mr. Brennan’s own landlady had refused to risk his ire by rousing him so early.

A shiver ran down Helena’s spine as she remembered the last time she’d provoked Mr. Brennan’s ire, when he and Griff had been guests at Swan Park this past summer. Not that he’d had any right to be angry. He’d been the one in the wrong. He’d been the one shamelessly taking money from Griff for misleading them all, for pretending to court them while undoubtedly laughing at them behind their backs for believing his kindnesses and compliments…

No, she mustn’t think of that. All that mattered was saving Juliet. Which was why she must swallow her pride, rouse her courage, and awaken Mr. Brennan. And soon, too, because her bad leg pained her from the arduous climb up the steep stairs, and nothing would be more mortifying than having it give out in front of him. So before she could change her mind, she rapped sharply on the door.

At first she heard nothing. Merciful heavens, what if she had the wrong place? She’d wondered why Mr. Brennan would reside in a slum like St. Giles when he surely could afford better, but Griff’s coachman had insisted that the man lived here.

She knocked again, this time more loudly. Nothing. Might he refuse to answer? Panic seized her at the thought, so she rapped the silver head of her cane on the door repeatedly, loud enough to raise the dead.

Success at last. Through the thin walls, she heard heavy steps and a male voice growling, “I’m coming, devil take you!” If not for her mission, she might well have fled. Instead she braced herself for whatever might happen.

But nothing could prepare her for her first sight of the burly giant. Bare-chested, clad only in his drawers.

Struck speechless, she gaped at him. Despite what her sisters thought, she did have some curiosity about men, especially half-naked ones of such impressive dimensions. Mr. Brennan was a veritable Samson, with the muscular shoulders of a pugilist and the broad, sculpted chest of a laborer, thickly sprinkled with dark blond hair. As for those arms swathed in sinew…she could easily imagine them pulling down a temple.

Just now, however, the Samson was staring at her, perplexed. “Lady Helena?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “It is you, isn’t it?”

She kept her eyes trained on his face as a blush crept up her cheeks. “Good morning, Mr. Brennan. I’m sorry if I awakened you.” Not that there was any question of it—his tousled sandy hair and lack of attire confirmed it.

“Is everything all right at Swan Park? Your father is well?”

“Yes…no . . . I mean I…” Her lame attempt at coherent speech came crashing to a halt when he leaned one huge forearm against the doorframe, unwittingly causing all his muscles to shift and flex.

How in creation could a lady converse rationally when such a magnificent display of male flesh was before her? Despite his size, he hadn’t an inch of fat on him—no hint of unwanted flesh on the chest and arms, no telltale thickness about the waist. Not a woman above the age of fifteen could miss that Mr. Brennan in his drawers was a fine figure of a man.

“M’lady, are you well?” he queried.

Only when her head snapped up did she realize her gaze had wandered down to his bulging drawers. “Yes!” she cried, much too loudly, then added in a more subdued tone, “I’m fine. Quite well. Yes.”

He cocked an eyebrow, as if knowing precisely how much his appearance unnerved her. “Forgive my inappropriate dress, but I wasn’t expecting company at dawn.”

“No need to apologize. I hadn’t even noticed your draw— I mean, your dress— I mean, your lack of—” Heavens, she was being a complete ninny. She started again, futilely attempting to regain some shred of composure. “I hadn’t noticed a thing, I assure you.”

“Nothing?” His gray eyes danced with mischief. “D’you mean to wound my pride, Lady Helena?”

“Of course not! That is…well…”

“It’s all right.” He idly rubbed his hairy chest, and her gaze greedily fixed there. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re in London calling on me at such an ungodly hour?”

“Certainly.” She drew herself up, trying to recover her badly slipping ladylike demeanor. “You see, Mr. Brennan, I…er…require your assistance in a personal matter.”

“Require it, do you?” His eyes narrowed. “Has your ladyship not heard that I’m no longer in your brother-in-law’s employ? Although I’m running Knighton Trading until his return, I’m not his man of affairs anymore, so anything you want in that capacity—”

“No! It’s nothing to do with Griff. Not exactly.”

“Then p’raps you’d better tell me what it does have to do with.” He pushed away from the doorframe, looking impatient.

“You see, I—” She broke off when another lodger emerged from the stairs. As soon as the unkempt man skulked past and shuffled into his own room, she lowered her voice. “Please, Mr. Brennan, I must keep this conversation private. May I come in?”

A devilish smile touched his lips. “In here? With me? Isn’t your ladyship worried about your reputation? About being alone with a man of my reputation?”

Though he said it with a trace of sarcasm, his assumption was not entirely wrong. Mr. Brennan might be respectable these days, but he’d spent his youth with smugglers. The bastard son of a notorious highwayman, he was also known to live rather wildly—or so Rosalind said. And considering his scanty attire…

“I’d rather you put on some clothes, of course,” she ventured.

“And I’d rather return to my bed. So why don’t you go back to wherever you’re staying in London, and I’ll come ’round this afternoon. Then we can have all the private conversation you like.”

“No, no,” she protested, “I must speak to you now. It’s urgent.”

“Oh, Danny Bo-o-o-y,” a melodious voice suddenly sang out from the inner recesses of his rooms. “Don’t you want to see the nice surprise Sall’s got for you?”

Helena froze. Lord, this was worse than she’d feared. He had a woman with him.

Mr. Brennan groaned. “Go back to sleep, Sall,” he called out. “Be there in a bit.”

But apparently his companion wasn’t to be put off so easily. As Helena watched in horrified fascination, Sall emerged behind him. She was one of those women and fresh from his bedchamber, judging from her disheveled hair and brazen manner. Not to mention her state of undress, which exceeded Mr. Brennan’s.

For Sall wore no clothes at all.

Helena found it incomprehensible that a woman could prance about in broad daylight entirely unclothed. She’d never, ever done so herself, and certainly she’d never been in the presence of another woman doing it, not even her sisters. Though she’d sometimes secretly wished to paint the naked human form, she’d never pursued it, knowing that flagrant displays of the nude body were outrageous and shameful.

Apparently no one had informed Sall of that fact, for she strode boldly up to them. “H’lo.” Planting her hands on her lush hips, the woman scrutinized Helena from the top of her modest bonnet to the end of the cane she could never hide. “Didn’t know Danny called for more company. Haven’t seen you around, luv. You one of those demi-reps what’s kept by the gents? Here I been thinkin’ Danny Boy’s a gin man when all along he’s hankerin’ for champagne. What a lark.”

“Sall—” Daniel began in a warning tone, as Helena gaped speechlessly.

“It’s all right, Danny. I already know you like more than one tart sometimes, so just let the girl in. And if it’s that leg of hers making you balk, you can be sure it won’t make a bit of difference once we’re all rollin’ about—”

“Sall!” Mr. Brennan mercifully interrupted. “Before you go putting the lass in my bed, you should know that this is Griff’s sister-in-law, Lady Helena. And I doubt she’s here for the entertainment.”

A little gasp escaped Sall as she slid behind him and punched him in the back. “Then why did you let me rattle on like that to a proper la—” She suddenly burst into laughter. “Wait a minute—you’re shammin’ me, ain’t you? A lady comin’ to Buckeridge Street alone—you must think me a complete chucklehead!”

“I’m afraid, Miss…er…Sall,” Helena sputtered, “that Mr. Brennan is not ‘shamming’ you. I am indeed Mr. Knighton’s sister-in-law.”

As an awkward silence descended, she kept her eyes focused on a chair across the room, utterly incapable of meeting Mr. Brennan’s gaze. No doubt he found this ridiculous situation amusing.

Meanwhile, Sall’s words rang in her ears: And if it’s that leg of hers making you balk …As if there would be any question of it. She’d learned the hard way that her bad leg always made men balk. Mr. Brennan wouldn’t be any different.

“Sall, m’dear,” he told the woman gently, “why don’t you wait for me in the bedchamber? You’re making m’lady a mite nervous.”

“All right, but don’t be long, luv,” Sall responded without rancor, giving Helena a once-over that left her feeling utterly inadequate as a woman.

As Sall flounced back toward his bedchamber, hips wiggling, Helena felt a stab of envy. What would it be like to be the shameless woman waiting for Mr. Brennan in his bed, the one providing his “entertainment”?

Then she groaned. Whatever had given her such an indecent idea! She’d never in a million years wish to behave so scandalously. No, indeed. Never. Even if a man would want her in that way.

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

He was watching her with concern. “Please forgive Sall’s…er…brazenness. I’m afraid she isn’t used to seeing your sort around here.”

Which sort is that? she wanted to ask. The well-bred sort? Or the sort whose lameness renders her unable to jiggle her derriere in that provocative manner?

She swallowed down her dreadful envy of the woman and muttered, “No, I don’t imagine she is.”

“P’raps it’d be best if I called on your ladyship at a more acceptable location later. If you’d just leave your direction with my landlady—”

“No, please, I assure you that this matter cannot wait.” It galled her to have to beg him for help, but she had no choice. “I do not mean to intrude upon your—” Entertainment? Orgy? “I do not intend to keep you long, but if you’ll give me a few minutes, I’d appreciate it beyond words.”

She held her breath. He might be a libertine and God knows what else, but with Griff and Rosalind on the Continent, he was her best hope right now. Her only hope.

His gaze met hers, wary but clearly curious. He paused a moment longer, a moment that seemed like an eternity.

Then he released a sigh. “All right. Go downstairs and wait for me in the parlor. I’ll be there soon as I dress.”

Relief swamped her. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Brennan. I truly—”

“Go, before I change my mind,” he said gruffly. When she turned away, he added, “And tell my landlady I said to put the tea on. Looks like we’ll both be needing it.”

Tea. She nearly laughed aloud. After he heard her request, he’d want something a good deal stronger than tea, and she would not blame him. Indeed, if it would ensure his cooperation, she’d give him anything he wanted.