Page 81 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
The other men eyed him with curiosity. Callahan could practically hear the thoughts churning. Who was this brash American? How deep were his pockets? And most importantly, could they fleece him at cards?
Callahan let none of his unease show. “Gentlemen,” he nodded to the assembled company. “A pleasure. I trust you’ll go easy on a simple Yank like myself at the tables?”
As cards were dealt and banter flowed, Callahan kept a surreptitious eye on Harrington. He bided his time, laughing at jests, commiserating over the follies of women and youth as he waited for Harrington’s tongue to loosen enough.
Then, a flash of blonde hair snagged his attention. His gaze cut over, his breath stuttering to a halt.
Isabel.
Gone were the fine silks she donned as Lydia Ashford. In their place, she wore the gauzy garment of the Veil’s courtesans. Her blonde curls tumbled loose and messy over her bare shoulders.
She looked ready to be fucked.
For a dizzying moment, Callahan forgot how to breathe. Forgot his own name. Forgot everything except the visceral punch of pure want that seized him.
This was what madness felt like. Chains of duty, logic, morality – it all shattered. Left nothing but greedy, grasping hunger. It reared up inside him, demanding he go to her, tear that dress off, and stake his claim.
Men would see her.
Men would see her messy, tumbled hair.
Men other than him would want to have her.
He watched as she leaned close to another woman – a brunette. They whispered together, heads inclined. Then they both glanced over. Straight at Harrington.
She wouldn’t dare—
But apparently, she would. The two women linked arms and walked over.
“Well, now,” Harrington purred with interest. “To what do we owe the honour of such fine company?”
The brunette draped herself over the viscount’s chair. “Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen, but Emerald and I couldn’t help noticing how lonely you all looked.”
Emerald.
Brilliant. Another alias for the collection.
Isabel, meanwhile, had circled to Callahan’s side of the table. He avoided looking at her, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.
Please, he found himself thinking.Please, for the love of all that’s holy, walk away.
But fortune had evidently decided to well and truly fuck him tonight because the next thing he knew, Isabel had perched herself on his lap, positioned so that her face was hidden from the table at large. Callahan went still at the feel of her. Her weight settled across his thighs, dressed like sin incarnate. Like all his filthiest fantasies come to life, except for the part where they were surrounded by a bunch of inbred toffs and he couldn’t actually do anything about the growing problem in his trousers.
She looped her arms around Callahan’s neck. “Hello there, handsome. Fancy meeting you here.”
“What the fu—” Callahan began, but Isabel slapped a palm over his mouth.
“Relax,” she whispered, her voice pitched for his ears alone. “I coached Lily on what to ask. Just follow my lead. I’m here to help.”
Help. Right.
Because having her plastered against him like a human blanket was absolutely fucking helpful.
He pried her hand off. “I thought I told you to stay behind and let me handle this.”
“Yes, I seem to recall you saying something to that effect. Right before I nodded and agreed and proceeded to ignore you. I was bored.”
“Bored?”
