Don't Tempt Me

Simon laughed and nuzzled his cheek against hers. 'Such an elegant way to say I am acting like a rutting beast.'

Lynette flushed, but did not release him.

'I usually have more finesse,' he promised, forcing himself to take a step back. 'Unfortunately, I am out of sorts at the moment.'

'Out of sorts? You?' She smiled and his chest tightened. 'The man who had a house burning down around him, yet had the presence of mind to rally the guests to douse the blaze?'

'Lust wants quenching like a fire. I rally to that cause with equal gusto.'

'You are wicked, Mr. Quinn.'

Simon debated whether he should seduce her in the parlor or take her up to bed, but a touch of sadness marred the angelic beauty of her features and reined in his lust as logic could not.

Exhaling harshly, he ran his hands through his hair and fought to tamp down his unruly appetite for her touch, her taste, her smell. Her.

He gestured for her to return to her seat.

'How did you know Lysette?' she asked, sitting with a perfectly straight spine and hands folded delicately in her lap.

A peer's daughter, she had said. That would explain the similar elegance of deportment Simon had witnessed in her sister.

It did not, however, explain why Lysette was an assassin.

'Our acquaintance is a difficult one to categorize,' he murmured. 'But it is not romantic by any definition.'

Lynette blushed, but her gaze did not waver from his. 'Last night…'

He smiled ruefully. 'The first time I have ever felt an inkling of attraction to her. I suspected madness was the culprit, because the change was so drastic I could hardly credit it. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to learn that you are two women and not one.'

'So you are unaware that she passed,' Lynette said gently.

Simon frowned. 'Passed what?'

'Passed on.'

'Bloody hell.' He paced, his thoughts returning to the events of the night before. Desjardins. James. Carrying an injured woman in yellow out to the comte's carriage. The posturing of James in the window had been protective, not possessive. 'When? This afternoon?'

Lynette's frown matched his. 'Beg your pardon?'

'When did she die?' he asked slowly, feeling disoriented.

'Two years ago.'

'That is not possible, Lynette. 1 saw her alive and well just yesterday.'

Lynette's stomach clenched hard and violently. She reached for the armrest of the settee for support and then Quinn- Simon-was crouched before her, studying her face with a worried frown.

'I think there is a great deal that you and I do not understand,' he said, his Irish lilt soothing and gentle. 'Perhaps you should tell me about your Lysette, then I shall tell you about mine.'

Inhaling and exhaling in measured rhythm, Lynette attempted to calm her racing pulse. In the space of only moments, she had been barked at, kissed senseless, and now told that her sister was alive and well as recently as yesterday. She knew that was impossible, that there must be some grievous error, but some tiny part of her shouted in vindicated exaltation. The part of her that still felt Lysette as keenly today as it had the last time they had been together.

'Two years ago,' she whispered, 'my sister was killed when the carriage she occupied overturned and the lamps set fire to the whole.'

Simon moved to take a seat beside her. 'You have only the one sister?'

'Yes. No other siblings.'

'What are the odds that there would be a woman of identical appearance to you who is not a relation?'

'With the name Lysette? Impossible.' She turned slightly to face him. 'I must see her.'

'I should like to be there when you do.'

Lynette stared at Simon's breathtaking features and felt calmed by his mere presence. It was astonishing to feel such a connection to a stranger, but she did not doubt it.

Simon would not allow harm to befall her. She was convinced of that.

'This woman cannot be my sister.' Her voice quavered and she cleared her throat. 'In addition to the fact that I was there when Lysette was buried, the simple truth is that she and I were very close. There is no chance that two years would pass without a word from her.'

'I do not understand any of this.' He rubbed the back of his neck. 'But 1 can tell you the Lysette I know is not… well.'

'Not well?'

'A bit touched.'

'Oh…' Lynette worried her lower lip between her teeth. 'How did you become acquainted with her?'

'My life is not one you wish to delve too deeply into, Mademoiselle…'

'Baillon.'

His frown deepened. 'Lysette goes by the name Rousseau. Does that sound familiar to you?'

'Rousseau?' Lynette frowned, trying to recall if she knew anyone by that name and finding that she did not.

'Mademoiselle-'

'Please,' she interjected, 'call me Lynette. After last night… and now. You almost… against the door…' Her face heated.

His large hand rose to cup her cheek with something akin to reverence. 'You cannot even say it, can you?'

She swallowed hard, riveted by his tenderness and the way the stroking of his thumb over her cheekbone reverberated all over her body.

A half-smile curved his beautiful mouth and made her stomach flutter. His glance moved over her, from the top of her head to her feet. 'You mentioned a father, but not a spouse.'

'I am not married.'

'Of course not.' Simon shook his head. 'You are innocent. The daughter of a peer.'

The way he said the words, so flatly and resigned, struck her like a blow. She realized he no longer intended to ravish her. She knew she should be relieved, but she was profoundly disappointed. All of her life, she had led the way with men. Teasing, flirting, and steering their conversations in the direction she wished them to go. With Simon Quinn, she was swept away, in control of nothing at all. It was a heady sensation to be so lost in a man, and to know that he was equally lost in her.

'Give me some time,' he said, 'to investigate this a little further before you proceed. You have no reason to trust me-'

'But I do!'

'You shouldn't.' The rueful little smile touched his mouth again, and unable to help it, she lifted her fingers to it. The muscle in his jaw ticked beneath her caress and his blue eyes burned so hot her skin flushed in response.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. The feel of his lips sent tingles up her arm and made her shiver. 'I have never known innocence, Lynette. I have no notion of what to do with it beyond corrupt it.'

'What are you saying?'

'I am saying that if you do not put as much distance as possible between us and maintain it, I will ruin you.' The deep timbre of his voice added credence to his threat. 'You will find yourself in my bed and your life deeply entangled in a web of deceit, lies, and danger. As bright as your future is now, it would be equally dark.'

'Yet Lysette Rousseau occupies this world you speak of?' she queried, lifting her chin.

'Yes, she does.'

'Are you an English spy?' Her gaze moved around the room as it had when she'd arrived. Again, she admired