Page 20 of How the Earl Entices

Or tempting.

He took another sip of tea. “So you want money.”

“Yes.”

A pang of disappointment pierced him that she should prove so predictable.

“But not yours.”

He froze, the cup halfway to his lips. Not so predictable after all. “Whose?”

“My late husband’s.”

“An inheritance?”

“The birthright that my son was denied.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “Whose?”

“You don’t need to know that. Not until we reach London. Then, once you’re safely back in Spalding House or Albany or wherever you’re living these days and back into your own clothes,” she muttered, her eyes trailing critically over him, “you’ll help me hire whatever solicitors I need to file suit in the courts and put up your word to vouch for my good character.”

“Of the woman who tied me up and blackmailed me,” he drawled, deadpan. “Of course.”

She ignored that but hesitated before adding, “My husband was a gentleman. The inheritance is quite substantial. You’ll be compensated for your trouble.”

Good God. A gentleman? That explained her presence at a Mayfair ball. But it didn’t begin to explain everything. “So you’re really…?”

“Mrs. Grace Alden.” She stood and folded her arms across her chest, refusing to reveal her true identity. Frustratingly, he still couldn’t place her in his memory. “I’ll tell you more when we’re safely in London and you’re in a position to help.”

He might never be in that position. Certainly if he didn’t arrive at St James’s Palace soon. Yet the only way to safely travel was exactly what she’d offered—moving quickly under disguise.

He set the empty teacup down and scoured his hand over his face, feeling the prickly bristle of three days’ worth of beard. “You’re putting your life in danger. It’s a long way to London, and if we’re caught together—”

“I’m willing to risk it. Are you?”

Did he have any other choice? The only thing now standing between him and the gallows was a woman with the audacity of Napoleon. One who possessed deep secrets of her own and apparently had nothing to lose. His life now rested in her delicate hands.

“I cannot promise you any kind of success,” he warned. “I’m not in a very authoritative position these days to make requests of the courts.” Or of anyone, for that matter.

“I’ll take that chance.”

He drawled, “You’re making a deal with the devil.”

Her face hardened with a world-weariness that startled him. “When the angels turn their backs on you, the devil is all that’s left.”

But she didn’t know the devil he’d become. How could she, when he barely recognized himself?

He took a slow step toward her. She stood her ground, her only reaction a slight lifting of her chin as he approached in order to keep eye contact with him. She had courage, but his army days had taught him that there was a fine line between bravery and foolhardiness.

He stopped in front of her, his hands falling to his sides as he towered over her, to emphasize their difference in physical size. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“No.” She reached out and jabbed a single finger into his bruised side.

Excruciating pain shot through him. He doubled over in agony and pressed his hand against his ribs.

“Point taken,” he forced out as he reached for the dresser to steady himself and panted down the pain.Christ. If the French didn’t kill him, this woman just might.

“Remember that,” she cautioned. “I’m not some helpless society lady.”