Page 10 of For a Scot's Heart Only

“Considering your encounter with Culpepper, it’s advisable that we keep up our ruse.” He checked the room and dropped his voice, “It gets lively in the wee hours here.”

Livelywas a kind description for the room full of raucous, glossy-eyed men. Servants were scurrying in with frothy pints, ensuring patrons would stay deep in their cups.

“By our ruse, you mean that I’m here for an assignation,” she said.

“Yes.”

She touched her mask like a talisman. The brothel teemed with life, its own cosmos. Sensual currents floated as free as the haze of smoke from men puffing their cheroots. Women threaded the room, their strides fluid, but none were masked. Earlier in the evening, plans for finding the information about the secret society had dominated her conversation with Cecelia, leaving her sparse on the particulars of Madame Bedwell’s house rules.

“Do women of means come here often?” she asked, entranced by the interplay of men and harlots.

“I’m not aware of their frequency, but, yes, a small number do.”

She lifted her face to his, intent, curious.

“Do women come here to meet you?”

Aquamarine eyes flared with astonishment until a dark primitive flame overtook their depths.

“Answering that would be... indelicate.”

“Yet, you didn’t hesitate to say that I’m here for an assignation.”

“For the greater good of helping you.”

She leaned close, almost touching him. “But you imagined it. My assignation... with you.”

His mouth tugged beguilingly. “I did.”

Her heels were sinking in a sea of possibilities, a delightful metaphor for the forbidden mire in which she found herself and the tall, scarred shipmaster. The black fire in his eyes expanded, and his voice changed, low and grained, the more they talked.

Intriguing.

She cocked her head, perusing him through her lashes. “And in this imaginary assignation, did we agree to meet here? Or did I pay handsomely for you?”

His laugh had a primal quality. “You paid, and we had no regrets.”

She worked her fan, loose curls teasing her hot skin. They were teetering on an impossible precipice.

“Once a woman procures a room of her own, how does she go about inviting a gentleman to join her?” she asked.

An enchanted Mr. West studied her, the effect dizzying.

“She informs him directly.”

“An interesting approach.” She shrugged, indifferent, but it was an act, and they both knew it. “Where’s the mystery? The seduction?”

His was a sea wolf’s smile. And she, the morsel he wanted.

“Forthrightnessisseductive—in the right measure.”

She contemplated that. “Are you suggesting that men prefer to be the hunters? And women, their prey?”

“It is the rules of nature, Miss Fletcher.”

She touched her fan to his chest and whispered, “Sometimes nature likes to be played with.”

Mr. West sucked in a fast breath. The inferno in his eyes threatened to char her. She dragged her fan lightly over his waistcoat’s top buttons, wringing one last tantalizing ounce from their conversation.