Page 2 of A Talent for Temptation
. . . was indebted to Gregory. As a result, she felt she must support his furtive work, if only just in the planning. She was his secretary, so to speak. And sometimes his spy.
Quinn could never be part of that. She wouldn’t want him to be. As the director of his father’s bank, Quinn had to be discreet and cautious and averse to the sort of risks Gregory’s minions took regularly in service to their country. Not to mention that having a wife with her sordid past would ruin him if it ever got out.
She should never have taken up with Quinn. But it had begun as a flirtation, and by the time she realized it was something more, she’d become so addicted to their little trysts . . . tohim. . .
“Anyway,” she went on, squaring her shoulders, “he may not be at the exhibit now even if Ididgo. I sent a note by the footman a few hours ago, telling him I couldn’t attend because of a prior engagement.”
Quinn would be furious at being put off again, but it couldn’t be helped.
Perhaps this was a sign it was time to end things.
But then there would be no more shared conversations about the small idiocies of high society. No more stolen walks, where he listened to her rattle on about nothing and seemed to enjoy it. No more “accidental” encounters at balls, where they would sneak out to balconies or gardens so Quinn could put his warm mouth and clever hands on her and make her melt as John never had. It hadn’t gone beyond caresses, but she dearly wished—
Nunley cleared his throat, and she started. Oh, Lord, had she made some sound to give away her thoughts? How mortifying!
This obsession with Quinn was absurd. Nothing could come of it except an illicit affair, which was impossible.
Then again, perhaps if she and Quinn could share a bed just once, he would be content to let her end things. After all, once men had what they wanted from a woman, they generally lost interest in her.
Perhaps it would work for her, too, and she could go back to concentrating on her missions for Gregory.
Right. And perhaps the sun would turn into the moon, and the stars fall out of the sky. Sadly, making love with Quinn was unlikely to banish her feelings. She was just grasping at any chance to have him in her bed.
A footman entered the foyer to whisper something in Nunley’s ear, and the butler turned to her. “There’s an issue with the carriage, madam. I shall return in a moment.”
While she waited for him, she watched out the front door. A man strolled by whose size and gait looked familiar. For a second, she was almost certain it was Quinn, but it had to be a trick of the gaslights, amplified by the fact that her thoughts were filled with the man. Quinn wouldn’t come here—he knew she wanted to keep their association secret from Gregory.
After pacing the foyer for a few moments, she glanced out again and saw that their carriage had finally drawn up in front. She walked out and headed down the steps.
She was nearly to the coach when she realized something was wrong. This wasnotthe Fulkham family carriage. Confused, she halted, and a stranger leapt out and dashed up the steps, seizing her by the arm and dragging her down to his equipage.
She tried to scream, but the man clamped his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but he had gloves on and she merely got a mouthful of leather.
That left her only one alternative. As he hauled her toward the carriage, she fumbled in her reticule for the knife she’d carried ever since that horrible night when Gregory had saved her.
She’d just managed to pull it free of its sheath and was lifting it to stab her assailant over her shoulder when a man came running up the street and cried, “Unhand her, you scoundrel!”
In a flash, her attacker thrust her at her rescuer, who unfortunately got the brunt of her blade when she fell into him, embedding her knife in his arm. As the brave man grunted in pain, the villain fled to his coach, which raced away.
Meanwhile, her rescuer was now cursing a blue streak as he jerked her blade free. She barely had time to register the dark red stain spreading over his coat sleeve before the light from the gas lamps fell full upon his face and she gasped.
“My word, Quinn!” Meriel cried.
Her panicked voice seeped into Quinn’s brain, despite the throb in his arm and the ringing in his ears. He swayed on the steps, and the blade he’d wrenched free fell from his hands.
“Are you all right?” Her face was drawn with contrition and worry. “Heavens, I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
“I figured as much,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” She tried to examine his wound in the poor light. “I could have killed you!”
Yes. Though he probably would have deserved that, given that he’d plotted the fake abduction.
Bloody stupid ideathathad been. But he’d been so angry about her canceling yet again that he’d felt he had to act. The plan had been to delay the Fulkham carriage so that his servant could drive up and attempt to carry her off. Then Quinn would gallantly come to her rescue.
He’d had some fool notion that it might make her consider him in a new light, showing her that he wasn’t the boring banker everyone portrayed him to be, that he could be just as gallant and brave as Fulkham. Then she would swoon in his arms, shower him with kisses, and be grateful to him for saving her.
He should have known better. Meriel never behaved according to plan.
