“I do not like the way you said ‘assistant.’ You make it sound as if I’m fetching the tea and running errands. I can tell you that who you do or do not engage in sexual congress with is not included in your records with The Company, at least not as far as I’m aware.”
“Mr. Lambert, I do not care if you like it or not.” She turned and took a good look at the small room, with its one bed tucked up against the wall near the window. “Perhaps we could have a lover’s quarrel at supper and you could ask for another room.”
He shook his head. Most of his longish hair had come loose from its queue during the day. His dark locks shook. “This is the only available room for the night. I think it might be best if you called me Dorian. I should be honored to call you Lillian, or do you prefer Lilly? I noticed several of your friends use that endearment.”
Why did her name sound so dammed good from his lips? “Lillian will be fine.”
“Drake Cullum always calls you Miss Dellacourt. I find it fascinating, since he generally refers to hunters by their Christian names.”
“It is possible he does not care for me very much”
“I don’t think that is it. From my conversation with Drake, he esteems you very highly, thinks you are an excellent soldier and quite intelligent.” His grin returned.
She fidgeted as though she was a girl. It took an effort to still her feet and fingers. “That is very flattering.”
“You say that with more than a little doubt.”
“With only a few exceptions, as a rule, I do not trust people of noble birth.”
Dorian stood and looked out the window. “Drake Cullum holds no title that I am aware of.”
She matched his amused look, pushing down the urge to kiss that wide mouth of his. “I was speaking of you. You call yourself Mr. Lambert, but you have nobility written all over you. Even your brother, Brice, has moments where his breeding is most evident.”
“You are very astute, Lillian. My father was the Marquis de Montalembert. He lost his title and lands when we were chased out of France many years ago. England was kind enough to give us sanctuary.”
“You have no accent. You must have been very young.”
“I was seventeen. I remember clearly the terror of running from my own country. However, England is home to us now.”
“And does your father still live?” It was a rude question, but he had maneuvered her into sharing a room. He’d have to deal with her ill-bred ways.
He faced her, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Unfortunately, my father passed several years ago.”
She bowed deeply as if she were the man in the room. “My Lord Marquis.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. Was he close to losing his calm façade? The idea pleased her more than it should have. What kind of temper did he have? Would he try to strike her? No, she didn’t think so, nor did she think he was the type who yelled and raged. A shiver sparked down her back as she recognized danger. She stood up straight and couldn’t hide her amusement.
He continued to eye her. “I do not accept that title, but I thank you for the bow and the lovely view of your assets.”
She glanced down at the low cut line of her dress and wondered how much it had gaped and what he had actually seen. Another woman might have blushed. Lillian shrugged. “You cannot embarrass me, my lord, though you may give it your best attempt. The exercise might prove amusing.”
Dorian strode across the small room, eating up the space between them in two long steps. Men had been trying to intimidate her all her life. Long ago, she had learned to defend herself. Curiosity kept her rooted to the spot on the floor. What might he do when he reached her? Her confidence in her ability never wavered.
He was a head taller than her, impressive given her stature. It was rare for her to look up at anyone, but she met his stare. Stopping an inch away, he never touched her. Only his warm breath caressed her cheek. “At first you believed I would detain you, and now you think me ungentlemanly. I must work to improve your opinion of me, Lilly.”
Her chest tightened at the sound of her familiar name coming from his lips. She shook off the fanciful emotion. “Perhaps we should go down and have supper.”
He smiled, presumably at the sudden change of subject, before he took a step back. “I will go and make some inquiries and secure a table for our meal. Do you need anything?”
To cover up her desire to kiss that grin off his face, she surveyed the room. Her trunk sat in the middle of the room, and a basin with clean water rested on the bureau. “No. Thank you. I will join you shortly.”
With a short bow, he turned and left the room.
Lillian flopped down on the bed. She flung her arm over her eyes with a dramatic flair. Why did Dorian Lambert have to be so attractive, and why couldn’t she ignore his good looks? She’d worked with Reece for years. Other than a brief error in both of their judgment years earlier, she was never distracted by his handsome face.
An affair with a man who answered directly to the head of The Company would be a disastrous mistake. Even the notion was crazy. Wasn’t it? She’d have to control her baser instincts. He was a gentleman. He was not likely to assault her. It would be up to her if they were to become more than associates. Most women would be concerned about their virtue spending the night with a virile man, but Lillian could defend herself against an attack. The question was could she defend against her own desire?
It might be smarter to get into bed and be in a deep sleep by the time Dorian returned to the room. Though cowardly, that was the wise thing to do. Her stomach grumbled in protest. “Oh, fine.”
She washed her face in the cool water, changed out of her traveling clothes, and put on a clean gown suited to supping in a coaching house. It was the least ornate dress she owned, but the rich blue suited her and the deep neckline delighted the opposite sex. Would her companion find her attractive?
It’s irrelevant.
Lillian brushed and twisted her long hair into a severe chignon before making her way out of the room and down to the main floor where beer and stories were flowing in great quantities.
She disregarded the brief silence, which punctuated her arrival in the tavern. Dorian and the inn keeper met her halfway across the room.
He led them to a private room where a small feast was served by a buxom waitress who seemed intent on rubbing all of her endowments against Dorian at every opportunity. It annoyed Lillian to no end, though she couldn’t imagine why.
The server walked back into the main dining room.
“You look quite lovely in that dress,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You also looked as if you might draw your weapon on the poor serving girl.”
Damn. “You are mistaken, sir. I was merely thinking about Shafton.”
If he knew she was lying, he did nothing
