The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(132)

There was no reason to change now.

“Once her well-being and security are confirmed, you will pay the remainder of the fee?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, triggering a subtle alarm in Dell’s head.

“Of course,” she replied in a flippant tone.

Dell scowled. The girl had better intend to pay him. He was about to say something to assure himself of that when she took a disconcerting step even closer to him. Her skirts brushed his shins as she tipped her head back to better look into his face.

Dell fought to retain his ground. She carried with her the subtle essence of warm vanilla mixed with something unidentifiable that made him think of moonlit summer skies. The scent went straight to his head.

“Are you always in disguise?” she asked.

“When I’m working.”

Her smile then was a delightful quirk of her full lips that had Dell’s mouth going suddenly dry.

“Why do I get the sense you are always working?”

He didn’t reply.

“When do you get to be simply yourself?”

“We are done here,” he stated as he straightened to his full height. He expected her to step back.

She didn’t.

“Oh, please don’t be that way,” she said with laughter in her voice. “I am curious. I find what you do extremely fascinating.”

“Well, I find you extremely annoying,” he grumbled as he stepped around her and headed for the door.

“I hear that often,” she replied ruefully as she followed him into the small foyer.

Dell ignored the way her self-deprecation caused a strange tug inside him. He strode to the front door and opened it. Looking back, he saw her standing there in his hall, her cloak draped over her arm. Her expression was open, and a tilt of her head brought his attention to her strong little chin.

When he continued to glare at her, she heaved a labored sigh and swept her cloak around her shoulders, lifting the hood to conceal her face. But of course, the woman would not leave so easily. Once again, she stopped in front of him before passing over the threshold.

Dell gritted his teeth.

Stupidly, he had placed himself right in the doorway where he had no room to step back from her. The fall of her cloak hit his boots as she narrowed her gaze on his face. Her focus traveled intently over his features. Her silvery gaze was unnerving.

Dell’s main skill was in blending into his environments as though he belonged. He had spent years learning to become a part of whatever world he entered so he did not draw attention from those around him. His disguises worked well enough for the casual observer, but were not exactly designed to hold up under close and constant scrutiny.

His scalp began to itch beneath French’s blond wig, and the clump of putty he had shaped into French’s prominent nose started to feel heavy and awkward on his face. Again, her scent, warm and mysterious, distracted him. He tensed his stomach muscles and pulled his shoulders back as he tried to keep from breathing too deeply.

Aside from physically forcing her through the door, which would require he place his hands on her, he had no choice but to endure her rude inspection.

The longer it took, the tighter he wound up inside.

When she finally looked into his eyes, he felt her gaze like a steel-pointed spear.

And when she smiled, that spear drove down through his center, searing his insides.

“Fascinating,” she whispered softly. Her voice was smooth and sultry.

Lust ignited, hardening his body with fierce and near-painful desire. “Are you finished?” he asked through tightly clenched teeth.

Her smile turned to a smirk as one corner curled up in a way that made him want to touch his tongue to it. “For now,” she said. “You will watch over Lily? Ensure she is at no further risk?”

Dell already regretted it, but he gave a short nod. “Do not come back here, Miss Chadwick,” he added sternly.

With another smile, she stepped out into the early morning light.

He remained in the doorway until she was safely back inside her hired hack. Then he closed the door with a muttered curse.

“I’ve lost my blasted mind.”





Ten


The next night, Portia stood beside Lily in the Duchess of Beresford’s drawing room.

The Chadwicks had agreed to go on with life as usual, hoping Lily’s abduction did not become common knowledge. Emma advised pragmatically that until they had some reason to do otherwise, they would be best served to behave as though nothing had happened.

Lily, for the most part, had seemed more than willing to put her harrowing adventure behind her. In truth, Lily was possibly the most composed of the three sisters.

Which only concerned Portia more. Whenever Lily put on such a show of unruffled serenity, it was because she was experiencing internal turmoil about something and did not want to burden her sisters with whatever was upsetting her.

Portia considered forcing the issue by demanding Lily confess to whatever she was keeping secret, but a strong instinct urged against it. Such a tactic could very well backfire, causing Lily to withdraw even further. For now, all Portia could do was trust in Turner’s ability to accomplish what she’d hired him for.

Thinking of the enigmatic man, Portia wondered if he might be at the ball tonight. He was supposed to be watching over Lily, and Lily was here now, so it was not unreasonable to think he might be as well.