The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(138)

She did not just say that.

Lust blazed through him at the image her words conjured, even though he knew she could have no idea what kind of suggestion she had just made. As he fought a primal urge to grasp hold of her and do just that, she grabbed him instead.

Her hands curled into the material of his coat, and she hauled him toward her until she was flat against the wall with his body pressed full-length to hers in a way he had been fighting the urge to do from the moment he’d met her.

He had been right to avoid such contact.

When she’d grabbed him, he had reacted automatically, sliding his arm around her waist. His instinct had been to shield her from whatever threat had spooked her.

However, the heat of her silk-clad body tugged his focus in an entirely unwanted direction. As did the wonderful female scent drifting from her skin, the barely perceptible flow of her breath against his throat, and the slide of her sable hair against his temple.

Her shape was small and feminine, but the energy contained within her slight form fairly buzzed with intensity.

With the blood suddenly rushing from his head, it took Dell an extra split second to hear what she had obviously already noted—the sound of someone humming.

The voice was a woman’s and came from the garden. The fact that a seven-foot wall separated them from the unexpected intruder made it obvious their current position was entirely unnecessary. That knowledge should have inspired Dell to step back again.

He didn’t.

Instead, he remained as he was—one forearm braced against the wall beside her shoulder and his other arm wrapped securely around her narrow waist beneath the fall of her cloak—listening to what sounded like someone taking a late-night stroll through the garden.

“Angelique.”

Portia whispered the name so softly there was no way anyone but Dell could have heard. It was possible he hadn’t heard it at all. It was entirely possible he simply felt the word as she breathed it silently against his ear while he stood with his head dipped low beside hers.

Dell had been in some extremely challenging circumstances in his career. But this—enduring the near embrace of this small woman—was almost more than he could handle.

Finally, the humming started to drift away. A few minutes later, it could be heard no more.

Neither of them moved. Then Dell felt the slightest shift in her weight. He straightened his spine and lifted his head at the same time that she tipped hers back to look him full in the face. Her mouth was a breath away from his.

“She has gone back inside.”

“You should go in as well,” Dell replied, the words suddenly thick in his throat.

“I will,” she whispered as she uncurled her fingers from his coat to flatten her hands against his chest.

Now was the time to step back.

Miss Chadwick was as green as they came, despite her impulsive nature. She was heading for trouble a thousand different ways, and he had no intention of being there when she found it.

Why in hell didn’t he step back?

“Do you think they are lovers?” she asked. The words, spoken in the lowered tone, took on a sultry quality.

That did it.

Dell retreated, withdrawing his arm from around her body and stepping back until no part of them remained in contact. “A reasonable assumption,” he replied.

A deep furrow formed between her elegant eyebrows, and she shook her head. “Remarkable.”

Dell had seen the reaction before. Many times. It amazed him how people could think they truly knew their loved ones. No one ever wanted to believe someone they cared about would lie to them. But everyone lied.

She peered intently into his eyes. “And you think he is the same gentleman who took her from the brothel?”

“It’s just a hunch.”

She was silent for a few moments…then a strange smile slid across her features.

Dell’s stomach tightened again. There was danger in that smile.

“Does your hunch tell you where they might be going?” she asked slyly.

Dell did not answer; he obviously didn’t need to.

“Well, let’s go,” she insisted. “Before we lose them.”

“I will go. You will stay here.”

“I want to come with you.”

“We have been over this,” he replied, not bothering to keep the exasperation from his voice.

“But that was in regard to visiting Hale,” she argued.

Why couldn’t the woman simply accept his dictate?

“This is different,” she continued. “My sister is with the man, for God’s sake. Surely, wherever they are going, I can go.”

“You are not coming with me,” he said with finality as he turned away and started down the lane with long strides.

“Damn, but you are a stubborn one,” she muttered behind him.

He answered with a rough snort and kept walking. He was surprised she didn’t follow, and grateful.

It wasn’t until he was back in the carriage that he realized he had barely retained any of his disguise during his interaction with the Chadwick woman. He had never been so careless. He could only hope the night had been dark enough that she had not been able to detect much more than a general impression of his features.

Portia Chadwick already knew far too much about Nightshade. Any more, and Turner’s livelihood would rest entirely in her elegant hands.