Sylvia Day - Passion for Him

The look Quinn shot Colin was intriguing, bearing more than a trace of irritation. He did not stand, merely caught the blonde’s hand and tugged her around, directing her to a chair he pulled closer with his foot. Considering Quinn’s love of females, his apparent disinterest in such a beautiful woman was beyond surprising. In close proximity, she was a delight. Pale blue eyes were framed by long, thick chocolate lashes and accented by finely arched brows.

“Is this him?” she asked, studying Colin with an appreciative eye.

Quinn growled.

She smiled wide, revealing straight white teeth. She offered her hand and said, “I am Lysette Rousseau. You are Monsieur Mitchell, oui?”

Colin glanced at Quinn, who cursed under his breath and resumed his meal. “Perhaps,” he replied with caution.

“Excellent. Should it become necessary to kill you, it will be much easier now that I have catalogued your appearance.”

Blinking, he asked, “What the devil did you just say?”

“Provoking wench,” Quinn muttered. “He is innocent.”

“They all say that,” she replied sweetly.

“It is true in this case,” Quinn argued.

“They all say that, too.”

“Pardon me.” Colin glanced between them. “What are you talking about?”

Quinn gestured toward Lysette with an off-hand jerking of his fork. “She is an additional part of my guarantee. She is to return to France with either Cartland, you or me.”

“Or a confession,” she purred. “A confession from any of you would suffice. See? I am not so difficult to please.”

“Christ.” Resuming his seat, Colin examined the Frenchwoman. It was then that he noted a hardness to her eyes and mouth that he had missed before. “How do you find these femmes fatales, Quinn?”

“They find me,” Quinn grumbled, biting into a potato with gusto born of frustration.

“You see only the negatives,” Lysette said, gesturing for service. “There are three of us at this table, all searching for the same thing. I am here to assist you.”

Quinn glared. “If you think holding a sword over my head is endearing, you are sadly mistaken.”

Colin was not so quick to dismiss her. “How can you help?”

“In many ways.” The blonde took a brief moment to order wine from the attending serving girl. “Think of the places I can go where you cannot. All the people who might speak to me but not to you. All the wiles I employ as a woman that you cannot employ as a man. Why, the possibilities are endless!” She lifted a delicate hand to the cameo at her throat, and he found it nearly impossible to imagine her killing anyone.

“How does your participation relate to Depardue?” Colin asked.

Something dark passed over her features. “If he resolves this, it will save me the trouble.”

“The agent-general is determined to leave nothing to chance,” Quinn explained. “Depardue watches Cartland. Lysette watches me. They perform the same service. She is an added…warranty.”

Colin winced. “I cannot imagine Depardue appreciates the intimation that he might not be successful.” He looked at Lysette, wondering what the lure of such a position would be. “Why are you doing this?”

“My reasons are my own. A word of advice”-she stared at him intently-“you can trust nothing about me except this: I want Leroux’s killer brought to justice.”

Exhaling harshly, Colin drummed his fingertips atop the table. “I do not like this. While Cartland hunts me, we have a serpent in our midst.”

Quinn nodded his agreement.

Lysette pouted as she accepted the goblet she had ordered previously. “I would rather be Eve than the snake.”

“Eve was alluring,” Quinn retorted.

Colin choked, never having heard the Irishman say an unkind word to a female before.

“What have you accomplished up to this point?” she asked, dismissing Quinn’s rudeness and directing her attention to Colin.

“My days are spent evading Cartland and anyone who sounds French, and my nights are spent searching for him.”

“That is the most ridiculous plan I have ever heard,” she scoffed.

“What do you suggest I do, then?” he challenged. “I know nothing.”

“So you must learn.” Lysette took a dainty sip of the blood red wine and licked her lips. She sat with a ramrod straight spine and uplifted chin, the hallmarks of good breeding and proper schooling. “You cannot do that while hiding, which is exactly what Cartland will expect you to be doing. Why do you not contact the man you both work for? Surely, he has the resources to help you bring this to a swift end.”

“That is not his purpose,” Quinn argued. “We are responsible for the managing of our assignments. If we are caught, the cost is ours to pay. I expect your arrangement is similar.”

For a moment, it seemed frustration marred the Frenchwoman’s lovely features, and then it was gone, replaced by a honeyed, careless smile.

Colin could not help but wonder at her, and contemplate how much of a risk she presented. She was so slender and feminine, yet he knew from tales of Amelia’s sister that appearances could be very deceiving. “Do you have other suggestions, mademoiselle? Perhaps you think I should search in the bright light of day?”

“Will you wear a mask?” Quinn asked, finally pushing his plate aside.

“Why would he?” She raked Colin with an assessing glance from the top of his head, down the length of his outstretched legs, to his booted feet. “It would be a shame to conceal such comeliness.” Her mouth curved seductively. “I should like to view all of it.”

Quinn snorted. “Now, you see, love. That is why you are not Eve. You lack the sense required to see the man is taken.”

“You may wear a blindfold,” she offered Colin with a wink, “and call me by whatever name you prefer.”

Colin laughed for the first time in days.

“Watch out for her,” Quinn warned.

“I will leave that task to you. I leave for Bristol in the morning. Cartland’s past may be affecting his present. I hope that something can be discovered that might give me some advantage.”

“Good thinking.” Quinn’s lips pursed with thought. “Lysette and I will stay behind and make inquiries here.”

“I am not comfortable allowing him to go off alone,” she said, with an underlying note of steel to her voice.

“You will grow accustomed.” Quinn lounged in his chair with his usual insolent grace-his body canted to the side, his arm slung across the spindle back, his legs spread wide.

“As handsome as you are,” she sniffed, “I sometimes find it difficult to like you.”

Quinn grinned. “So we are in accord. Mitchell will search elsewhere. You and I will work together in Town.”

“Perhaps I wish to go with him instead.” Lysette’s smile did not reach her lovely eyes.

“Oh, would you?!” Quinn’s exaggerated pleasure made Colin laugh again. “How delightful. At least for me, if not for Mitchell. Sorry, chap.” He shrugged one shoulder and set his hand on the table.

Before either of them could anticipate the action, Lysette was on her feet and Quinn’s discarded knife was piercing the table with precision…directly between his casually splayed fingers.

He froze and stared at how close he had come to losing a finger or two. “Damnation.”

She leaned over him. “Do not mock or underestimate me, mon amour. It is not wise to prick my temper.”

Colin stood. “Thank you for the kind offer of your companion’s company,” he said hastily, “but I must respectfully decline.”

Lysette looked at him with a narrowed glance.

“You trust me not at all,” he said, “but I promise you this: I have every reason to clear my name and no reason to flee.”

For a moment, she did not move. Then her mouth lifted slightly at the corner. “Your woman is here.”

He said nothing, but an acknowledgment wasn’t necessary.

She waved him off with a graceful toss of her wrist. “You will not stray far. Good luck to you.”

After a quick bow, Colin reached into his pocket and tossed coins on the table. “I will pray for you,” he said to Quinn, squeezing his friend’s shoulder as he passed.

Quinn’s reply was a blistering curse.

It was a small but fine house in a respectable neighborhood. The Earl of Ware had owned it for three years now, and during that time, it had rarely been unoccupied.

Tonight the lower windows were dark, but candlelight flickered from one upper sash. He pushed his key into the front door lock and allowed himself entry. The home was maintained by two servants, a husband and wife pair who were trustworthy and discreet. They were abed now, and since he did not require their services, Ware did not disturb them.

He set his hat on the hook, followed by his cloak. Beneath that he wore the evening garments he had donned for another night in an endless string of nights spent at balls and routs. Except this evening had been slightly different. Amelia was different. He was different. The awareness between them had changed. She saw him in a new light, as he saw her in altered fashion as well.

Climbing the steps to the upper floor, he paused a moment outside the one door where light peeked out from the gap at the bottom. Ware exhaled, taking a moment to relish the thrumming of blood in his veins and the quickening of his arousal. Then he turned the knob and entered, finding his dark-haired, sloe-eyed mistress reading quietly in bed.

Her gaze lifted to meet his. He watched her breathing quicken and her lips part. The book was shut with a decisive snap, and he kicked the portal closed behind him.

“My lord,” Jane breathed, tossing back the covers, revealing a shapely figure. “I was hoping you would come tonight.”

Ware’s mouth curved. She was hot for it, which meant the first fuck could be hard and swift. Later, they would take their time, but now such dalliance would not be necessary. A circumstance that suited his mood.