Page 30 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
Favreau was a patient man. Now that he knew Isabel’s weakness, her pressure point, he’d never stop hunting Emma. He’d use her sister to force Isabel’s hand.
Leaving wasn’t an option anymore. Not until she figured out a way to keep her sister safe.
A flicker of movement in the townhouse’s window caught her attention – a man’s tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. The Earl of Kent. He was handsome, she supposed. Earlier, when she’d spied on them, she’d noticed a curious softening in his face when his gaze landed on Emma. It thawed some of that aristocratic reserve.
She didn’t like that look.
It was the same expression the Duke of Southampton gave when he’d pulledMamaninto his lap. Isabel had been little more than a girl then, peeking around the doorframe of their lavish Parisian flat.
But then, years later, when disease had ravaged Marie Dumont’s body and Southampton’s ardour had cooled, his expression changed. There had only been disdain. He’d tossed a fistful of francs atMaman’sfeet before tossing them out of their flat.
Then he left his bastard daughters to rot in the streets.
A twig snapped. Isabel whirled, knife already in hand.
“Easy, Trouble. It’s just me.”
Callahan emerged from the shadows. He’d traded his usual greatcoat for a jacket, the fabric straining across the breadth of his shoulders. The light from the gas lamps caught his face, all hard shadows and sharp edges. He looked like the kind of man that mothers warned their daughters about. A rogue who’d fuck a woman and leave her heart bleeding.
Isabel’s fingers fell away from her blade. But she kept her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, battle-ready. Just in case.
“Agent.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette. “I should’ve known you’d be stalking me.”
“I’m always up for a bit of recreational stalking. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you. Wouldn’t want that devious mind getting into mischief without proper supervision.”
“Don’t you have actual crimes to solve? Monarchs to defend from the terrifying prospect of stolen unmentionables? Murderers to catch?”
“Like you haven’t been leaving behind corpses, Dumont.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a shrug.
“Of course you don’t. But I go where the job takes me. And lately, that seems to be whichever festering rathole you’ve tucked yourself away in. If I had a shilling for every time I’ve had to track your scrawny arse, I’d be a wealthy man.”
“If you had a shilling for every time I’ve been tempted to stab you, you’d be the richest corpse in London.”
Snorting, he plucked the cigarette from her fingers. She watched as he raised it to his mouth, his lips fitting over the space where hers had been a moment before. Something fluttered low in her belly at that indirect caress.
“Always a delight conversing with you,” Callahan drawled around a mouthful of smoke. “Like pulling teeth, only less pleasant.”
“I do try.” She snagged the cigarette back, ignoring the way her fingers brushed his in the exchange. “So tell me, how did you track me to Belgravia? Bribing street urchins? Shrubbery skulking? Carrier pigeons?”
“Nothing so cunning. Didn’t take a genius to deduce you’d be keeping watch over your sister after that unpleasantness in the mews. Had a few informants do a bit of nosing about, andvoilà.” He swept out an arm. “One thief located.”
Isabel grunted. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Still attached despite your best efforts.”
She chuckled. “I’ve many skills, Agent, but gentleness remains elusive.”
He held her gaze, their history stretching between them. Suddenly, she was back in that Hong Kong hotel room. His damp skin against hers. Their limbs tangled. Those rough hands learning every inch of her as if she might disappear.
I like looking at you.
And she liked him looking at her. So hungry. So warm and alive. He’d made her feel beautiful, scars and all.
And she rewarded him by doing what she always did: taking what he had and leaving chaos in her wake.
“So,” she said, looking away. “What do you want with me? Or did you simply miss my voice?”
