Don't Tempt Me

'Did you study the notes I provided you?' Desjardins asked from his seat opposite her.

'Naturellement.'

Mr. James led a quiet life. He spent his free time reading or visiting with friends. While he occasionally accompanied Mr. Franklin to elevated social events, he was said to be subdued, yet charming on those occasions, displaying no signs of avarice or a surfeit of ambition.

'James appears to have no aspirations,' the comte said with obvious disdain. 'It is hard to lure a man to vice when you do not know what motivates him.'

'I agree.'

'That is why we must provide the motivation.'

Lysette watched Mr. James disappear from view into a shop. 'And what will that be?'

'Love.'

Her brows rose and she glanced at him. 'For me?'

'Of course.'

'Your faith is touching,' she murmured, 'but misplaced. No one has ever loved me.'

'I love you.' Desjardins smiled when she snorted. 'Beyond that, you cannot say for a certainty, can you? You have no recollection.'

'If I had been loved, someone would have come for me.' Her fists clenched. 'Someone would have searched until they found me.'

'I gave up fourteen men for you, ma petite. Is that not love?'

For himself, perhaps. She served a purpose, that was all.

'Are we here for a reason?' she asked crossly, irritated by the feeling of being a pawn. 'Or are we merely spying?'

'I want you to cross paths with him.' Desjardins rapped on the roof to signal their intent to alight.

'And then?' She was often fascinated by the workings of the comte's mind. It was the one thing about him that she admired.

'Then you will continue on your way and I will appear. I shall offer him a chance to indulge his fascination.'

The carriage door opened and the comte stepped down first, then extended his hand to her.

'Fascination?' she queried, pausing in the doorway.

'With you. After he sees you, thoughts of you will linger with him all day. He will be desperate to see you again.'

'And what chance for indulgence do you have in mind?' She took his hand and stepped carefully down to the street.

'Baroness Orlinda is having a fete this evening.'

'But…' Her eyes widened. 'What of Depardue's associates? You know it is not wise for me to be too visible!'

'It will be a brief sojourn, and visibility is not our aim. We want him to pursue you, not find you easily.'

'He will not enjoy such a gathering,' she pointed out, 'if your study of him is correct.'

As Lysette shook out her skirts, she tried to imagine the understated James enjoying the shocking revelry of an Orlinda party and failed. She also searched inwardly for any feelings of guilt and found only determination. James was her last impediment to freedom. Desjardins had promised her emancipation, if she could succeed in gaining information about Franklin through his secretary.

'No, he will be uncomfortable, as you will be.' Desjardins smiled. 'You will suggest departing and James- already enamored with you from your meeting this morning-will arrange to take you away. That will begin a series of shared memories that will build the foundation of your romance.'

'Or so you hope.'

'Trust me.' The comte kissed her on the temple and gave her a gentle push. 'I will join you in a few moments.'

Straightening her shoulders and steeling her resolve, Lysette looked both ways, then weaved through the carts traversing the busy thoroughfare. Her focus narrowed, a huntress closing in for the kill. Because of this preoccupation with her quarry, she did not notice the Irishman who lounged insolently within the recessed entryway of a nearby merchant.

But then, Simon Quinn had spent the entirety of his life perfecting the art of fading into shadows. It was a skill that had saved his life many times.

'Poor bastard,' Simon muttered, commiserating with the unfortunate Mr. James.

He watched Lysette assume a casual stance before a shop window, then he straightened. From his vantage, he'd heard enough to begin a hunt of his own.

Tugging down his tricorn, he passed Desjardins's unmarked equipage and set off toward the Baroness Orlinda's residence. Months ago, he'd met the lovely baroness while playing a game of cards and they had struck up a flirtation. She would be pleased to learn that he had returned to France.

And he would be pleased to attend her ball.

Through a storefront reflection, Lysette watched Mr. James approach. He appeared distracted-his head was bent and his lips moved as if he spoke to himself. Beneath one arm, he carried a wrapped bundle. He raised his other hand to adjust his spectacles for a better fit.

She waited until he was nearly behind her, then she stepped back abruptly, placing herself directly in his path. He hit her with the force of a falling bag of rice, hard and impossible to withstand. She cried out in surprise, stumbling, nearly falling. Distantly, she heard him curse under his breath, then she was snatched close with such speed and strength that she lost her breath.

'Are you all right, mademoiselle?' he asked, startling her anew with the sound of his voice. It was deep and slightly rumbling.

Clinging to his sinewy forearms, Lysette lifted a hand to straighten her skewed hat and found herself gazing raptly up into his face.

He was scowling, and glancing up and down the street. Still, his profile arrested her. His jaw was square and strong, his skin kissed by the sun. The knot of his cravat was simple, yet perfect.

To add to her already overwhelming astonishment, James seemed completely unaffected by their public embrace. Truly, he appeared to have forgotten she was there. He stepped back and released her, bringing her attention to the fact that he had dropped his purchases in order to catch her.

Lysette sensed that the time when she could capture his attention was nearly at an end. She acted on instinct, reaching out and sliding her hand between his coat and waistcoat, her palm pressing firmly over his heart.

'Forgive me,' she breathed. 'I am so clumsy.'

James's hand caught her wrist in a lightning-quick movement, his head swiveling to face her, revealing astonished brown eyes behind his brass-rimmed spectacles. She could see the moment when he became aware of her as an individual woman, rather than merely an anonymous intrusion into his path.

As she gazed into his luxuriously lashed eyes, Lysette realized how hard he felt beneath her hand. She gave a tentative squeeze and a dark rumble vibrated beneath her touch.

'I was not minding my direction,' he said, pulling her hand away. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the back. 'Edward James.'

'Corinne Marchant.' She smiled and he flushed slightly, the crest of his cheekbones darkening with high color.

That response soothed her jangled nerves slightly.

'It is a pleasure to meet you,' James said. 'Although I would have preferred to introduce myself in a more refined manner.'

In any other instance, she would have flirted more heavily; perhaps she would have said the collision was worth it in order to meet him. But Mr. James was not the type of man women lured in that manner. He was too… intense for such play. He was also lacking the very qualities that enticed women to try and win a man's regard. He was in trade and he was not handsome.

So she backed up to a more appropriate distance and busied herself with resettling her hat back into its former jaunty angle. 'I am a featherhead to have been so absorbed in a pair of shoes.'

His gaze narrowed on her, then he turned his head to look at the slippers she referenced. Pale pink and studded