Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(29)

“I know.” For a moment, he felt an odd tenderness toward her, his little martyr.

Then she looked back at him. “How do you know Lady Beckinhall?”

His mouth twisted. “She is a good friend of my mother.”

“Your mother?” Her eyebrows had winged up her white forehead.

“Did you think I emerged fully formed from my father’s thigh?”

“No, of course not.” She raised a hand to her bosom and then let it drop. “Your mother is alive, then?”

He inclined his head.

“Do you have brothers or sisters?”

He remembered wide brown eyes, too solemn for her age, and a touch that had never brought pain.

Lazarus blinked away the phantom. “No.”

She cocked her head, eyeing him doubtfully.

He made himself smile. “Truly. I am the last of my family save my lady mother.”

She nodded. “I have three brothers and two sisters.”

“The Makepeaces are obviously quite fertile,” he replied drily.

She pursed her lips, as if in disapproval, but continued. “I have a younger sister. Her name is Silence.”

He raised his eyebrows but had the intelligence not to comment.

She leaned forward a little, the movement making her wrap slide off one ivory shoulder. He found himself wondering if she’d made the movement intentionally.

“Silence is married to a ship’s captain, Mr. William Hollingbrook. He returned recently to port. Last night the cargo of his ship was stolen.”

She stopped and watched him with those odd light brown eyes, as if waiting for a reaction.

He tried to think what would be usual, were this situation usual and he an ordinary man. “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head, his reply obviously inadequate. “If the cargo is not recovered, at least in part, Captain Hollingbrook will be ruined. Silence will be ruined.”

He rubbed his thumb over the silver falcon on his stick. “Why? Had he invested in the ship?”

“No, but apparently the ship’s owner is accusing him of complicity with the thieves.”

He contemplated that. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of an entire ship’s cargo being stolen.”

“It is rather extraordinary. Apparently it’s not unusual for a portion of the cargo to go missing, but everything on board…” She shrugged and sank back into the squabs as if weary.

He watched her, this woman from another world. He didn’t know why she had chosen to confide her worries to him, but it pleased him irrationally to be the recipient of her confidence. His mouth twisted at his own idiocy.

She looked up suddenly. “I’m sorry to burden you with this.”

“Not at all.”

She smiled suddenly, her lips trembling. “I haven’t thanked you for your invitation tonight.”

He shrugged. “It’s part of our bargain.”

“Nevertheless, I am grateful for your kindness.”

“Don’t be a fool,” he said curtly. “The very last thing I am is kind.”

She stiffened and turned her face away from him.

Damn it, he’d spoken too rashly. He wanted to see her eyes, hear her telling him her worries again.

Lazarus cleared his throat, his voice gruff. “I did not mean to speak so harshly.”

A corner of her mouth curved a little, though she did not deign to show him her full face. “Are you apologizing to me, Lord Caire?”

“And if I were?” he asked softly. “Would you accept my obeisance?”

She lowered her eyelashes. “I have no need to have you at my feet.”

“Don’t you?” he asked lightly. “Then perhaps it is my needs that would find me there.”

He watched as a blush slowly stole up her neck.

“Or perhaps,” he whispered, “you might care to kneel before me?”

She drew in a quick breath as if insulted and looked at him, her eyes wide. It was to be expected—his suggestion was crass and ungentlemanly. She should be insulted. But it wasn’t insult that quickened her breath, made her sweet breasts press against her bodice with each inhale. It was something far more primitive.

Lazarus dropped his eyes as he felt the heat rise in his own body. He’d hunted like this before, sighted and circled prey before diving and catching in his talons, but this… this was far more intense than any other hunt.

“You shouldn’t… shouldn’t talk to me that way,” she said, her voice trembling—but not with anger.

He stared at her from under his brows. “Why not? It amuses me to discuss these things with you. Does it not you?”

She swallowed. He could see the movement of her throat clearly in the lantern’s light. “Don’t.”

“I think you do like it. I think you have the same image in your mind as I do. Shall I tell you what I see?”

She had her hand at her throat, but she was mute, staring at him, her eyes glazed.

He let his gaze drop deliberately to the upper slopes of her exposed breasts. “I see you in that dress, madam, kneeling before me, your skirts spread in a shining pool of crimson. I see myself standing before you. You look up at me, your golden eyes half closed as they are now, your lips reddened and wet from your tongue—or perhaps mine.”