Page 19 of After the Spy Seduces

She knew a line of drivel when she heard it, and her eyes flashed with dark amusement. “If it’s an experienced woman you prefer, I can help you with that.” She ran her hand up his arm, then down his chest. “I don’t usually take on gentlemen from here, preferring not to mix business with pleasure.” The look she raked over him told him in very blatant terms how much pleasure she expected to have with him. “But in your case, Mr. Carlisle, I’d be willing to make an exception.”

Yes. He was certain she was. For a price. As a businesswoman, Mrs. Smith was nothing if not mercenary.

When her hand drifted down his front and cupped his manhood through his breeches, Kit sucked in a mouthful of air through clenched teeth and grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“I’m afraid not,” he said gently, lifting her hand away to place a kiss in the air just above the backs of her fingers. “I wouldn’t want to run the risk of not pleasing you in bed. How would I ever live that down?”

She froze for just a beat, her eyes narrowing angrily at being rejected. Then she laughed, a deep and throaty sound that eased away all the tension between them. “Is it true what I’ve heard about you, then, that you want to become a vicar?”

With an inscrutable expression, he answered, “My heart belongs to God.”

She gave him another lingering look, this one of longing and disappointment, and drawled, “Pity.”

“But I would still like to do business with you tonight, Mrs. Smith.”

“Oh?” Her eyes lit up.

He reached into his coat and withdrew two sovereign coins. “I want to purchase Jenny for the night.”

“No. She’s already with the Russian.”

“I want to purchase herawayfrom the Russian,” he corrected as he slid the coins into her hand. Surely far more than Ivanov had paid for the evening. “Let her have the night off, let her go to another man—anything but go back into the room with the Russian, understand?” When she closed her hand over the coins, he lowered his mouth close to her ear and threatened, “If you double-cross me on this and give Jenny to that man tonight, I will personally make certain that your brothel burns to the ground and that you find yourself on the first ship to Australia. Do you understand me?”

She blanched for a beat, then forced a saccharine smile and purred, “What Russian?”

With their self-serving friendship still intact, Kit nodded his gratitude and excused himself, sauntering out of the brothel and into the darkness.

He flipped up the collar of his overcoat to protect the back of his neck from the drizzling rain and hurried through the dark streets of Seven Dials. The only sound was the clip of his own boot heels on the cobblestones and their echo against the sides of the brick buildings edging the deserted streets, yet he reached beneath his left coat sleeve to palm the small knife he always carried there as a precaution.

He blew out a hard breath. A pretty little blonde thing. That’s what Mrs. Smith had tempted him with, only for an image of Diana Morgan to pop into his head.Christ.

Diana was certainly beautiful—downright angelic, in fact, with her golden hair and sapphire eyes, pink lips that tasted of strawberries and cream, warmth, softness…and in trouble up to her pretty little neck. How far could he trust her? Had she told him what she believed to be the truth, or was she simply spinning stories in order to save her own delectable skin?

He wanted to trust that she was sincere, that Ivanov was correct and Morgan was dead, that she’d been contacted in a desperate attempt by the French to secure documents that Morgan had promised but never delivered. If that were true, it would put an end to the pursuit that had been his sole focus for the past six months.

What a relief it would be to have it over. He’d finally be able to think of something other than Fitch’s murder, to sleep without having nightmares of Fitch’s beaten face haunting him. He could focus on his job again instead of what he’d been doing, which was ignoring Home Office duties, taking advantage of existing contacts, and ruining opportunities with future ones. Like Ivanov. He would never gain justice now—only watching Morgan swing would have done that. But Morgan’s death at the hands of the French was the next best thing.

Except that too many pieces weren’t fitting into the puzzle.

“Carlisle.”

Kit stopped, his fingers clenching around the knife handle as a man stepped out of the shadows directly in front of him. The fog and darkness required a moment to discern his identity—

Lieutenant-General Nathaniel Grey. A hero in the wars with Napoleon, former War Office administrator, and now one of the best spymasters the Foreign Office employed. Kit knew him well and respected him, not least because the two men were distantly related by marriage through Kit’s cousin Josephine.

But what the hell was he doing here?

“Odd time and place for a family gathering, don’t you think?” Kit released the knife and extended his hand as Grey came forward, less in greeting than to show that he wasn’t pulling a weapon on him.

Grey shook his hand. “Less mess and expense this way.”

“And no fighting.”

“Perhaps a little.” Grey smiled, but no amusement showed in his eyes.

A warning slithered down Kit’s spine. “So not a social call, then.”

Grey’s face was set hard in the shadows. “I know why were you at Mrs. Smith’s tonight.” He tugged at his leather gloves, but his attention never strayed from Kit and the damp street around them. Kit was certain that if a pin dropped two streets away Grey would note it. And react instantly. “And it wasn’t to enjoy the women.”