Letitia felt his fingers close about her elbow; inwardly moaning, she surrendered and got to her feet.

Christian nodded to Hambury and Wilkes. “Gentlemen. We’ll be back before one o’clock.”

Letitia waited until they’d gained the pavement to give voice to her impatience. Christian let her grumble as, her hand anchored on his sleeve, he led her along. When she finally wound down and disgruntledly asked, “What the devil are we to do until one o’clock?” he hailed a hackney.

He took her to the museum.

They wandered around the exhibits, but there was nothing there to catch her eye-or his, for that matter. He was wondering how on earth to keep her occupied for the next two hours when she said, “Tell me about your life as a spy.”

He felt his brows rise, but…“What do you want to know?”

She made an all-encompassing gesture. “Start at the beginning. I recently learned that Dalziel recruited you to his little band. When was that?”

“Within a month or two of me joining the Guards. He had his pick of the Guards, from any regiment.”

She was frowning, looking down as she walked beside him. “But you didn’t immediately go to France.”

“No. Because I spoke so many languages, at first he had me go in and out of various countries, getting a sense of the lie of the land, and laying down a background as the wealthy bastard of an ex-French nobleman engaged in trade. Later, when I went over and stayed, I was stationed in Lyon. It was the hub for the manufacture of machinery and heavy equipment-such as artillery. Even if it wasn’t made there, most of the components came from there. So…”

To his surprise, the words flowed easily. She listened, nodded, and asked questions-questions rooted in her knowledge of him and therefore easy to answer, even if sometimes both her questions and his answers surprised him.

Only when he looked up and found they’d wandered all the way back to the museum’s door, and the clock above it declared the time to be nearly noon, did he realize just how much he’d talked-and how much he’d revealed.

More than he had to any other living soul, Dalziel included.

He glanced at Letitia; she was still frowning over his last answer-an explanation of how Napoleon’s reign had affected the people of Lyon. That she’d even thought to ask it, that he’d answered without reserve, telling her about the resistance and the heartbreak of lost comrades who hadn’t even been British…

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Beneath the blatantly sexual attraction that had always flared between them ran another, deeper bond. One of shared background, of common understanding born of the fact they hailed from the same, very narrow social stratum. They shared the same sensitivities, looked on the world from much the same perspective, held to the same tenets of honor, loyalty, and courage. And stubborn determination, that never-accept-failure arrogance that permeated their class.

Looking at her, her brow furrowed as she digested all he’d said, all he’d revealed of himself along with the facts, all he could think of, all his mind could see, was the rightness of having her as his wife-of seeing her in his houses, surrounded by their children.

It was a vision that stole his breath.

It was a vision his never-accept-failure arrogance would never let him surrender…

And she wouldn’t expect him to.

He suddenly knew how St. Paul had felt on the road to Damascus. He wanted to convince her that he truly wanted her as his wife; if he did feel that way, she would expect him to pursue that goal, and her, relentlessly. Stubbornly and doggedly.

She looked up at him, saw the smile on his face, frowned. “What?”

He let his smile widen. “Just…this.”

With one hand, he tipped up her chin and brought his lips down on hers.

A quick, swift kiss-in the middle of the foyer of the museum in full view of any who might be passing.

He drew back before she could react.

Stunned, she stared up at him. “What was that for?” Then glancing left and right, and realizing they were now the center of attention for a number of other museum patrons, she swore beneath her breath, grabbed his arm and tried to tug him to the door.

He consented to move, a satisfied smile on his lips. “That,” he informed her as he held the main door back for her, then followed her through, “was just to confirm that when it comes to you, to my plans for you, I fully intend to succeed.”

She looked at him, then snorted. “Naturally.”

They had a quick bite to eat at a nearby pastry shop and were back at the bank at a quarter to one. Taking up their previous positions by the wall, they watched the steady stream of customers approach the grilles before the two tellers.

The bank’s customers were a mix of well-to-do gentry and prosperous merchants, with one or two less prosperous among them.

At just after one o’clock a striking woman-tall but not young, well dressed but not, to Letitia’s discerning eye, expensively enough for the ton-walked into the bank, a lumbering giant at her heels.

The giant was plainly a guard; the way he hovered by the woman, constantly scanning the surrounds even inside the bank, underscored his role. The woman seemed largely oblivious to the stares the giant drew; head high, she waited in line for one of the tellers, then advanced to the counter, drew a large canvas bag from inside the even larger tapestry bag she carried, placed it on the counter and pushed it toward the teller.

Who, as he reached for the bag, glanced at Christian and all but imperceptibly nodded.

Letitia felt her eyes grow wide. She glanced up at Christian.

He took her arm and drew her to her feet. Lowering his head, he murmured, “There’s only one door. Let’s wait outside.”

Letitia cast another glance at the couple at the counter, then let him lead her out.

On the pavement, she shook her head. “Surely Randall didn’t keep a circus?”

His hand still wrapped about her elbow, Christian steered her a little way along the street. “I don’t think that’s it.”

She looked up at him. “What, then?”

Lips firming, he shook his head. He halted outside the window of an adjacent apothecary’s, turned her as if they were looking inside. “We’ll follow them when they come out.”

“Why can’t we simply ask them what they’ve just paid for?”

His lips thinned even more. “We can ask later. Let’s see what business they come from first.”

She frowned, but then the door of the bank swung open and the woman came out, followed by the giant. They turned away from the apothecary’s and walked off in the opposite direction.

Letitia turned to follow. Christian anchored her hand on his sleeve and strolled, keeping her beside him.

She inwardly frowned at his pace, but she had to assume he knew what he was doing. In his past occupation, he’d no doubt followed people often.

And it was hardly difficult to keep their quarry in sight; the giant towered over everyone. He was wearing a plaid felt cap; even when Christian insisted on dropping half a block behind as they turned up Shaftesbury Avenue, Letitia could track the pair with ease.

Neither the woman nor the giant gave any indication they’d realized they were being followed.

Letitia frowned. “We’ve followed far enough-they might be trudging for miles. Let’s catch up to them and just ask.”

“No.”

There was a grimness in Christian’s voice, mirrored in his face when she glanced up at it, that made her frown even more.

He glanced down briefly. “Not yet.”

She sighed; looking ahead, she continued trailing along beside him.

From Shaftesbury Avenue their striking duo turned south into Wardour Street. Letitia glanced narrow-eyed at Christian. “Not yet?”

He didn’t even reply.

If she’d thought she could, she would have slipped her hand from beneath his, picked up her skirts and run after their quarry, hailing them and then simply asking directly for the answer they needed. How could that hurt?

But she held no illusions about how Christian would react; for all his size, he could move with startling speed when he wished-she doubted she’d even be able to draw her hand from beneath his before he caught it.

“This is-” She broke off as the pair stopped outside a town house. The area wasn’t a bad one, respectable enough; the town house was plain, but reasonably well-kept, with two steps leading up to an emerald green door.

Climbing the steps, the woman paused, hunting in her bag, then she drew out a key, unlocked the door and went inside.

Ducking his head, the giant followed, then the door shut.

On the opposite side of the street, Christian stopped, drawing Letitia to a halt beside him. She regarded the green door. “Well, then, let’s go in and speak with her.”

Christian clamped his hand about her wrist and remained where he was. He studied the building in question. “It’s not a shop-and there’s nothing to suggest it’s an office of any kind. No sign, no plaque by the door.”

Letitia looked at the building, then shrugged. “Perhaps she just lives there. With the giant.”

And perhaps it was a high-class brothel, which in this area was perfectly possible. If it was, Christian certainly wasn’t going to escort Lady Letitia Randall née Vaux in to speak with the madam. “I think we should go back to South Audley Street.”

He tried to draw her on, but she dug in her heels and refused to budge.

She stared at him. “Why? We’ve followed them here-we know they’re in there. Why can’t we just go and ask them what they’re paying the Orient Trading Company, of which I own a third share, for?”

He set his jaw. “I’ll come back and ask them-but you can’t.”

Locking his fingers about her wrist, he tried again to draw her on; this time she pulled back-to the limit of his arm.