“You found him, then?” he asked Vale.
Vale screwed up his mouth into a comical face. “Not exactly found, no. The blighter appears to have disappeared. But several lowlifes identified him from the description given by my man, Pynch.”
“Pynch?”
“I say, you don’t know Pynch, do you?” Vale scratched his nose. “I acquired him after, well, after Spinner’s Falls. He was my batman in the army and now serves as a rather uppity valet.”
“Ah.” Reynaud tapped the paper in front of him with his pencil. “And how does this pertain to the assassin?”
Vale shrugged. “Well, Pynch was the one I sent to make inquiries. Amazin’ what he can worm out of the most tight-lipped fellows. But it seems this Joe Cork has flown the coop. No one’s seen him for several days.”
Reynaud leaned back in his chair. “Dammit. I’d hoped to find out who had hired him.”
“It’s a setback, I agree.” Vale pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling a moment. “Have you thought about hiring guards?”
“Already have.” Reynaud sat forward. “But not for myself. For Miss Corning. They came too close to her last time. If the knife wound had been a little higher . . .” He trailed off, not liking to think about it. He’d dreamed about Beatrice’s blood on his hands last night.
Vale’s shaggy eyebrows arched up his forehead. “Do you think they’ll target her as well as you? Surely if you simply stay away from the gel, she’ll be safe?”
“But I don’t propose to stay away from her,” Reynaud said.
“Ah.” Vale stared at him for a moment, and then a wide smile spread across his face. “Like that, is it?”
“That,” Reynaud snarled, “is none of your business.”
“Indeed?” Vale was grinning like an idiot now. “Well, well, well.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I have no idea. I just like saying it. Well, well, well. Makes one sound uncommonly insightful.”
“Not you it doesn’t,” Reynaud muttered.
Vale ignored him. “Have you asked the question yet? I’m rather good at it, if I do say so myself. I got three different ladies to agree to marry me while you were gone. Did you know? Some didn’t actually make it to the altar, but that’s another problem altogether. Perhaps you’d like some pointers on—”
“I would not like any pointers from you, damn your hide,” Reynaud growled.
“But are you sure the chit even cares for you?”
Reynaud thought back to Beatrice eagerly parting her legs for him, her eyelids lowered, her throat suffused in a blush of desire. “I don’t believe that’s a problem.”
“You never know,” Vale said chattily. “Emeline threw me over for Samuel Hartley, and the man’s not nearly as handsome as I.”
Reynaud blinked. “You were engaged to my sister?”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“No, you did not.”
“Well, I was,” Vale said airily. “Not that it lasted once Hartley put his fascinatin’ hooks into her. Now, my second fiancée threw me over for a curate.”
Reynaud looked at him.
“A butter-haired curate.” Vale nodded. “I assure you. ’Course, that’s how I came to be married to my own sweet wife, but at the time you could’ve knocked me over with a feather. I don’t suppose Miss Corning knows any butter-haired curates, does she?”
“She had better not,” Reynaud growled. And right then he determined that this thing would not drag on with Beatrice. He needed a wife. She’d already given herself to him. It was as simple as that.
And tonight he’d prove it to her.
IN THE MIDDLE of the night, Beatrice woke and opened her eyes to a single candle shining in her bedroom. It should’ve startled her—frightened her, even—but instead she lay quietly and watched as Lord Hope set the candle on a small table near the door.
“What are you doing?” Beatrice asked.
“Coming to see you,” he said, equally matter-of-fact. He had on a red and black banyan, and his head was bare.
He took off the banyan.
“See you seems to be a euphemism,” she observed.
He paused, his hands on the buttons of his shirt. “You’re right.” And he drew the shirt off over his head.
For the first time, she felt a flicker of fear. He hadn’t smiled. He was serious and intent, as if he performed a grim duty.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.
“It seems I do,” he replied. He sat on a chair to remove his shoes. “You seem to be uncertain of me—of us together. I intend to make sure there are no uncertainties after tonight.”
She noted that he made no mention of love, and she felt disappointment shoot through her.
“Seducing me won’t prove anything,” she said.
“Won’t it?” He sounded unconcerned. “That remains to be seen.”
She watched him a moment as he stripped off his stockings, breeches, and smallclothes. He seemed entirely comfortable with his own nudity, but she felt her breath quicken. When he’d bedded her the day before, she’d been in shock, only half aware of what was going on. Now she was wide awake, her senses almost too alert to him. He stood tall and proud, his skin an even light brown over his entire body. His arms and shoulders were leanly muscled, like a laborer’s. She remembered that he’d told her he’d had to hunt for his food. There was black curling hair on his chest, but it wasn’t thick, and she could see the dark brown points of his nipples.
Her gaze wandered downward, drawn inevitably to what lay between his thighs. The hair was thick and black there, as if to highlight his cock, standing boldly. He was hugely erect, the veins of his penis standing out, the head glistening with moisture. The whole was beautiful and at the same time intimidating in his obvious intent.
When she raised her eyes to his, he was watching her. He nodded and cupped himself. “This is for you. Look your fill.”
“What if I don’t want it?”
“Then you lie.”
That sent a spurt of anger through her. “I think I have the ability to know when I want something or not.”
He shook his head. “Not in this case. You’re new to lovemaking. You haven’t experienced a fraction of what can be between a man and a woman.”
She was warm now, and wet, but she still addressed him testily. “And if you show me all that can be and I’m still not interested, will you desist then?”