Authors: Arpan B
Ethan
turned away from her and leaned both elbows on the railing.
Pretending blithe unconcern, he gazed happily around him at one of
the last fine days of the year.
"Not
a bit of it," he replied absently. "Would you care for an
ice? I think the parlor may still be open." He grinned at her
over his shoulder. "If not, I shall raise my sword and force
them to open for your pleasure."
Rose
stood her parasol on the planks of the footbridge and rested both
hands on the pommel. "I cannot today, I fear. There is a great
deal to be done, you know."
Ethan
knew she was speaking of much more vital things than overseeing her
new household. "Tell me something, Rose—why would a nice
sort like you want to be a spy?"
She
grinned at him, a sudden flashing smile that transformed her from
merely attractive to stunning. "Because being a spy is the most
excitement you'll ever have in your life."
Excitement?
He'd never quite thought of it that way before. Despite his piqued
interest, Ethan laughed. "I doubt that, dear lady, but I'll not
dispute with you." He shook his head. "Remember, I have
some outrageous experiences to compare it to."
"Quite
so," she said, laughing. Then she focused that intimidating
intensity upon him once more. "Do me one favor, Ethan?"
He
straightened, then bowed playfully, refusing to let her pull him into
her fervor. "Anything for you, lovely one."
She
narrowed her eyes. "Just once, I'd like you to seriously ask
yourself…"
He
waited for her to demand some grim and responsible thinking from him.
He wouldn't listen. They could keep their little club and their
danger and their intrigue. He would remain free until he died of it.
Rose
leaned close and a wicked twinkle suddenly gleamed from her eyes. "I
simply want you to ask yourself;
Why
the hell not
?"
Ethan
blinked at the unexpected playful challenge. Rose pressed a kiss to
her own gloved fingertip and transferred it to his lips. "Sleep
on that, won't you, Damont?"
With
that, she turned and sauntered back the way they'd come, her long
legs swinging her fashionable skirts just a bit too wide, her
movements as lethally graceful as a cat's.
"When
I grow up, I want to wed a woman like her," Ethan whispered to
himself.
Not
that that would ever happen.
Excitement,
hmm?
Jane
dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief. She'd not realized that
Mr. Damont's house was quite this far from Barkley Square. She was
becoming quite warm from the walk, but she was much better off than
Robert, her uncle's footman, puffing along behind her.
Although
Robert was quite used to carrying parcels for Aunt Lottie and the
girls, Jane would wager that he'd never been put to quite the pace
she had set today.
Jane
simply didn't see the point in dallying. Her swinging country-bred
stride might not be top form among the
haut
ton
,
but it got Jane where she wished to go.
At
this moment, Jane wished to see where Mr. Ethan Damont lived. You
could tell a great deal about someone by their residence.
As
she walked, she looked about her curiously. She ought to be nearing
Mr. Damont's address now—and she was a bit surprised by the
elegance and refinement reflected by the neighborhood.
Mr.
Damont had claimed to be all flash. All Jane saw around her was
substance. Tasteful, stately homes looked down on her, their generous
windows reflecting the unusually fine September day.
Now,
according to her directions, Mr. Damont's street was two next after
an oncoming row of intriguing little shops. Jane peered down both
ways, interested despite her mission. There was a tailor and a
seamstress, a milliner and a teashop—how lovely! What a clever
idea, to set up so handy to these wealthy residences. Jane quite
envied the convenience of it all.
She
turned to look down the other direction—
And
saw Mr. Damont strolling down the street toward her.
Oh,
horse apples! Jane grabbed Robert by the arm and yanked him into the
first doorway, the milliner's. A little bell tinkled above the door
as they entered. Jane dove to one side of the door to keep watch
through the window.
Mr.
Damont had continued his easy pace, looking about him casually—a
gentleman out walking on a fine day. Nothing unusual there. What was
unusual was Mr. Damont's faintly surprised expression. It made Jane
wonder what he usually did with his afternoons.
He
did paint an attractive picture though, didn't he? His caramel-brown
coat contrasted nicely with his butter-yellow waistcoat. The cut of
it didn't do the breadth of his shoulders any harm either. No padding
there.
His
long stride closed the distance between them swiftly despite his easy
pace. He did have long legs, didn't he? His dark brown trousers ended
in highly shined boots, showing his muscled thighs off nicely.
And
the fit of those trousers…
There
was no way to be sure, of course, but Jane strongly suspected that
Mr. Ethan Damont didn't find it necessary to pad a single thing.
She
let her gaze travel back up his form to his face— only to find
him looking directly at her.
Oh,
no! She jumped back from the window, but it was too late. He was
crossing the street toward the shop, a curious smile on his face.
Jane
quickly grabbed the first bonnet she saw and plunked it on her head.
There was a mirror on the wall opposite the door. Jane pretended to
be examining herself in the bonnet, but actually she was eyeing the
door behind her in the reflection.
She
saw a slice of yellow waistcoat through the glass door panel. Blast,
he was coming in! She busied herself with the ribbons of the bonnet,
tilting her face down to hide behind the brim.
She
saw booted feet come to stand behind her in the mirror.
"Hello,
Robert," Mr. Damont said in his lazy way.
Jane
cringed. She'd forgotten about Robert. Of course Mr. Damont would
recognize the footman from the Maywell household. Robert always
served the card room.
There
was no help for it. Jane raised her head to see Mr. Damont smiling at
her. She feigned surprise. "My goodness! Fancy meeting you here,
sir!" She cringed inwardly at her own clumsy dissembling.
Goodness, could she be more obvious?
Mr.
Damont didn't seem to think so. His gaze was full of repressed
laughter, heightened by a decidedly wicked twinkle. Eek—he
hadn't caught her examining the cut of his trousers, had he?
"Good
afternoon, Lady Jane," he drawled. "Did you see something
you like?"
Oh,
no. He
had
noticed where she was looking! How dare he say such a thing—and
with that naughty gleam in his eye!
She
sputtered in panic. Then she realized he was gesturing about them at
the contents of the millinery. He grinned down at her. "Are you
quite well, my lady?"
Jane
gaped at him. He'd known precisely what she'd been thinking. She
could see it on his face. Oh, he was wicked!
Ethan
couldn't take it anymore. He leaned closer to whisper to her. "You
are too easy, Lady Jane."
Abruptly,
she laughed. Rather, she snorted helplessly. Ethan smiled in
satisfaction. Lady Jane Pennington was not quite the Society paragon
that she liked to portray. Beneath that elegant exterior was a rather
mischievous sense of humor.
He
shook his finger at her. "You shouldn't laugh. Don't you know
that proper ladies aren't supposed to laugh at my sort of jokes?"
Jane
turned away to hide her smile. He was quite correct. She spent a
moment pretending to adjust the bonnet, until she'd composed herself
once more.
Mr.
Damont cleared his throat. "Well… that's very…
fetching."
The
extreme doubt in his voice made Jane look closely at the bonnet in
the mirror for the first time.
It
was awful, dripping stuffed silk grapes and layered leaves. She
looked as if she were carrying a basket from the vineyard on her
head. Then she saw the knowing look in Mr. Damont's eyes in the
mirror and stiffened. "No one ever did say you had any taste,
sir."
He
nodded easily. "Too true. No one ever did."
Jane
removed the bonnet—really, she could not get the awful thing
off fast enough to suit her—and placed it reverently on its
stand. "I do love it so, but I'm afraid it's too dear." She
smiled apologetically at Mr. Damont. "It was very nice to see
you again, sir, but I really must be going." She tried to step
past him, but she found him directly in front of her once more.
"Ah…
Lady Jane? If it would not be too far out of your way…"
He hesitated, then looked away, his insouciant manner disappearing.
Jane
stared at him. Was he actually nervous? "Yes?"
He
took a breath and smiled diffidently. "Well, I… I only
live a short way from here… and if you have nothing to do this
afternoon—"
Jane
drew back, horror creeping through her. "Mr. Damont, I realize
that by seeking you out this way I have left you with a bad
impression of my standards, but—"
"Oh!
No!" He went wide-eyed and held both hands up before him. "No,
that isn't—I don't—I only thought you might like to see
my—"
"
Oh
!"
Jane backed away toward the door. "I think I've heard enough!"
She felt sick. Mr. Damont thought she was— Oh, she couldn't
bear it. She turned, nearly running from the shop. She heard Robert
huffing behind her. That was too bad for him, for Jane was so
embarrassed that she felt fully capable of running all the way back
to Barkley Square.
Ethan
stood in the milliner's shop, rendered quite breathless from the
swiftness of Lady Jane's getaway. "To see my new pet kitten,"
he finished lamely. Good God, the woman had sped away like a
racehorse! "You're really slipping, old man," he muttered
to himself. "It usually takes at least a quarter of an hour
before you drive them away."
But
what was that she had said? "
By
seeking you out this way
."
Lady Jane Pennington had been seeking
him
out? Whatever for?
Unless
her uncle had set her onto his trail.
Lord
Maywell would never involve an innocent girl in his machinations,
would he? Then again, perhaps he would. Maywell had quite a ruthless
air about him sometimes.
For
the first time, it occurred to Ethan that Jane and her cousins might
be in danger living in a traitor's house, especially if Maywell was
the ringleader the Liars thought him to be. The thought of Jane in
peril was unacceptable. A fierce wave of protectiveness swept over
Ethan.
It
was an unaccustomed sensation, what with the hardening of his jaw and
all. Rather dizzying, actually. Perhaps that's why he found himself
suddenly leaving the shop, his long, determined stride taking him
directly to the one place he'd sworn never to set foot in again.
The
stout doorman of the Liar's Club greeted him dubiously. "May I
help you, sir?"
Ethan
glared at the younger fellow. "Tell Tremayne—
I'm
in
."
Collis
was jubilant. "I knew you'd come round," he crowed as he
led Ethan up the stairs to the second floor of the club a few moments
later. "You won't regret it, mate. This is the grandest
adventure of all—"
"I'm
not here for adventure," Ethan groused. "I'm here because
Maywell is a lout for putting his family in danger."
Collis
raised a brow. "Oh? Doesn't Maywell have a passel of daughters?"
He grinned. "You gallant old sod! Ethan Damont, knight errant!"