take them in and provide them comfortable lodging. Simon’s insistence that they remain near the road was unreasonable to her, and he appreciated the validity of the argument. However, he had no desire for Maria to realize that he had lied about the planned holiday, a ruse that would be revealed if he donned the same garments.
A soft sigh drew his attention back to Lysette. She was curled up in a wing chair, stripped to her chemise with her legs tucked up close and a blanket across her lap. Pale blonde curls were loosened from a previously stylish arrangement and left to lie carelessly against pale, creamy skin. She was reading, as she often did, devouring historical volumes of text with a voracity he found intriguing. Why such interest in the past? They had merely intended to make discreet inquiries, and she had brought a book along with her anyway.
Frowning, Simon moved to the bed and stripped down to his smalls. Then he crawled between the sheets. With lowered lids, he studied her, admiring her delicate golden beauty while considering why it was that he found her so unappealing. It was, to his knowledge, the only time in his life that he had found external attractiveness incapable of distracting from the internal flaws. Considering that Lysette rivaled Maria in loveliness, it was a startling realization to come to.
The women were similar in many ways, and that only emphasized their differences. Maria had a solid core within her, a spine of steel that was created by her unwavering determination. Lysette seemed sometimes as if she was uncertain of her life’s path. He could not understand why she appeared to relish her role one moment, and then despise it the next.
His instincts were clamoring, and he had come to rely on them implicitly. Something told him that all was not right in Lysette’s world. She was a hired killer, and her icy disposition supported her chosen profession. Yet her apathy for others was sometimes belied by brief flashes of confusion and remorse. He suspected she was a bit touched, and it was difficult to feel both sympathy and dislike toward the same woman.
“How did you come to work for Talleyrand?” he asked.
She jumped and glared at him. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“Obviously not.”
“I do not work for Talleyrand.”
“Who then?”
“That is none of your business,” she said smartly.
“Oh, I think it is,” he drawled.
Her gaze narrowed as she looked at him. “Whom do you work for?” she countered.
“I work for no one. I am a mercenary.”
“Hmm…”
“Are you?” he prodded, when she said no more than that.
Lysette shook her head, once again looking a bit lost. Her clothes were finely crafted and expensive, her manners and deportment faultless. She had begun life in far better circumstances than these. He knew why Maria had turned to a life of crime, but why had Lysette?
“Why don’t you find a rich husband and enjoy yourself draining his coffers?” he asked.
Her nose wrinkled. “How boring.”
“Well, that would depend on the husband, would it not?”
“Regardless, that does not sound appealing to me.”
“Perhaps life as a mistress would suit you better?”
“I do not like men very much,” she pronounced, startling him. “Why are you asking me such questions?”
Simon shrugged. “Why not? There is nothing else for me to do.”
“Go to sleep.”
“Do you prefer the company of women?”
She stared at him a moment. Then her eyes widened. “No!
He smiled at her horror.
“Why don’t you think about Cartland?” she suggested, “And leave me in peace.”
His humor fled. “You think he will find Mitchell?”
“I think it would be impossible for him not to with this large a number of pursuers. He was given a sizeable contingent of men. I would be surprised if he was not watching all the major roads in and out of London.” Her beautiful features lost all traces of humanity. “I would not have come with you if I thought of this as merely a family affair.”
“Of course not,” he murmured, the tiny flare of warmth he’d felt for her fading as rapidly as it had come. Such was the way of their relations-one minute he found her marginally attractive, the next he could not abide her. “And what of this man who rides with Cartland? Depardue? Do you think about him?”
“As little as possible.”
There was something more there; he could tell by the edge that had entered her voice. “He is your rival, is he not?”
Her lips whitened, then, “No. He is not. If he succeeds, it does not reflect negatively on me.”
“So why not allow him to proceed and spare yourself the blight on your soul?”
“I do what I must,” she said with a trace of defensiveness. “You do not like that I can set aside my emotions to accomplish the tasks set before me, but the ability keeps me alive.”
Heaving out his breath, Simon slid down to lie on his back. “Surviving in the manner that you and I do does not mean we have to be heartless. What would be the point of living if we have no heart?”
He heard the book slam shut. “Do not seek to lecture me!” she snapped. “You have no notion of what my life has been like.”
“So tell me,” he said easily.
“Why do you care?”
“I told you, there is nothing else to do.”
“Do you want to have sex?”
His head shot up in surprise. She stared back with both brows raised.
“With you?” he asked, incredulous.
“Who else is here?” she retorted.
To his chagrin, Simon realized that as much as he enjoyed a quick, meaningless tumble, he had no real desire to tumble Lysette. However, damned if he wouldn’t rise to the occasion. “I suppose we could…”
Her eyes widened at his obvious reluctance. Then she laughed, a sweet, lilting sound that he found enchanting. Who knew such a cold creature could have such a warm laugh? “You don’t want to sleep with me?” she asked, grinning.
Simon scowled. “I can manage the task,” he bit out.
Lysette looked pointedly at the general area of his cock. “It does not look that way to me.”
“Never cast aspersions on a man’s virility. You force him to prove it by fucking you raw.”
A shadow passed over her features. She swallowed hard and looked away.
His irritation fled. Sitting up, he said, “I was jesting.”
“Of course.”
Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, Simon cursed inwardly. He did not understand the woman at all. She was too mutable. “Perhaps we should restrain our conversations to safer subjects?”
She looked at him. “Yes, I think you are right.”
He waited for her to say something; then finally he took the lead. “I intend to capture Cartland and bring him together with Mitchell. Then you can see for yourself the differences between the two. If I know Cartland at all, he hopes to eliminate Mitchell before his secret is revealed.”
“If there is such a secret to tell.”
“Why do you not believe us?”
“Do not take offense,” she said easily. “I do not believe Cartland either.”
“Who do you believe, then?” he snapped.
“No one.” Her chin lifted. “Tell me you would do differently in my place.”
“You met Mitchell. He is an earnest young man with a good heart.”
