Page 16 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

The courtesan put a hand on his chest and began to inch toward the waistband of his trousers. Munro clenched his jaw and forced his hand to stop her progress. She looked up at him, lush mouth parted. Munro lifted her hand to his lips, so he didn’t kiss her tempting mouth. “You are lovely, madam, but not the company I was hoping for.”

“Are you certain?” she raised her brows.

No. No, he was not certain at all. “Is there somewhere I might have my coachman drive you or”—he glanced out the window—“are we speeding that way now?”

She glanced out the window, turning away from him and giving him a moment to take a breath and fortify his resolve. “My flat is just around the corner. I planned to invite you inside.”

“I’m afraid I must decline. I hope you don’t take offense.”

She sat back, removing her hand from his. “I think my pride will survive.”

“I’m sure the blow is softened by the fact that you’ve already been paid.”

She smiled. “I didn’t say a thing about money, but someone wanted you to enjoy yourself tonight, sir. I planned to make certain you had averyenjoyable evening.”

Munro’s throat went dry. The coach slowed, and the courtesan gave him a last hopeful look. In answer, when the footman opened the door, he stepped down, offered his hand, and assisted her out. He bowed and kissed her hand again. “Good evening, Mrs. Montcrief.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Notley.”

Resolutely, he climbed back into the coach. He didn’t wait for the footman, but pulled the door closed. He sat in the darkness for a long moment then lowered the window and leaned out. “Notley House, straightaway.”

“Yes, sir.”

The coach lurched away, and Munro let out a soft groan. The woman’s perfume still lingered. At one point in his life, he would have taken what she offered without a qualm. He might have done it tonight. He could certainly pay her double whatever Beatrice had paid to report back that nothing had happened between them.

But he didn’t want Rebecca Montcrief. He had learned that he didn’t want anyone save Beatrice.

And now Beatrice would pay.

Chapter Five

Beatrice sent her maid away and paced her bedchamber. She’d returned to an empty town house as Judith, Arthur, and Lavinia were out. She’d had the footman lie about Judith taking ill as a pretext for leaving the theater early so that Munro would be alone with the courtesan she’d hired. He was almost certainly with the courtesan now. She didn’t think he would have stayed at the opera long without her. That meant he’d called for his carriage and been pleasantly surprised when greeted with a beautiful, willing woman inside.

Beatrice had made sure she was beautiful. She’d seen Mrs. Montcrief at the theater and an occasional ball on the arm of one lord or another. The courtesan was undeniably handsome, and Beatrice had her maid arrange a meeting at her modiste’s shop. Mrs. Montcrief had seemed amused by Beatrice’s offer, but she’d taken the money readily enough. No doubt she thought something wrong with Munro to have to be offered money to bed him.

She had probably been pleasantly surprised too to find he was handsome and skilled at giving a woman pleasure. The image of the two of them twined together flashed in her mind,and Beatrice turned and paced back across the room. She was dressed in a white nightgown and robe, but she opened the robe now as she’d grown warm from all this pacing. She should go to bed. Wondering and imagining was torture.

A light tap sounded on the door, and Beatrice paused. Who could possibly—? Ah, she’d told her maid to bring her news as soon as the footman keeping watch on Mrs. Montcrief’s flat returned. That was her maid with word Munro was inside the woman’s home now.

Beatrice blew out a breath and went to the door, pulling it open just as she realized her maid would not have knocked.

But she was too late. Munro stuck his foot in the doorway before she could slam it closed.

She was so shocked to see him that she hesitated long enough that he had time to brace the door open further with his hand. “What are you—”

He held out a slip of paper. “I imagine this was meant for you. I took it from your maid just now.” His voice sounded raspy and breathless, as though he had run all the way back from the theater.

She took the slip of paper then tried to close the door.

“Not just yet. Go on, read your message.”

She gave him another look, noting his cravat was askew and his hair tousled. Had he already bedded the courtesan and then come here? She released the door and turned her back to open the note.

He declined my company.

RM

The script was unfamiliar, but she could only assume the RM stood for Rebecca Montcrief. She stiffened as the door closed behind her, and Munro moved to stand behind her, almost touching her. “What does it say?”

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