Читать книгу A Most Indecent Gentleman - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 10

Chapter Three

“Wait!” Jocelyn barked, trying to keep his voice from attaining a full-scale yell. “I don’t even know...” your name. The words faded in his throat as his flame-haired mystery woman disappeared into the ballroom and the protection of the crowd.

Admittedly, his tone was not conducive to staying, but his ego was hard pressed to accept what had just happened. He had kissed a woman whose name he didn’t know and she had fled, horrified, as if his kisses had been some horrendous assault on her mouth, which he happened to know they weren’t. He was a very proficient kisser. Even if past experience didn’t confirm it, her body’s response had. She had been eager for that kiss, eager for more than the kiss. Shockingly enough, so had he.

He’d been eager for the newness of it all, the spontaneity. These days, that was a rare commodity. The kiss had been unplanned and she, whoever she was, had no idea just how significant that was. He always knew a woman’s name, always knew he was going to kiss her and everything else that would follow. That’s how the league worked. It had been years since a woman had surprised him in bed or out.

In the last year especially, he’d begun to believe he’d simply reached the limit of possibilities. Perhaps sex wasn’t an infinite playground of versatility as he once had thought. Perhaps he had indeed come to the very ends of those worlds, a conqueror of all things sensual. Tonight proved otherwise. There was at least one adventure that lay unclaimed. And that adventure had just escaped. If it was going to continue, he was going to have to go after it.

Jocelyn strode into the ballroom, secure in the knowledge that such a beauty would be easy to find. Her hair alone would stand out. If she was still there. Lucifer’s balls, had his kiss caused her to flee the entire venue? How would he ever find her again short of trawling every London entertainment—a prospect he did not relish. It would be a needle-in-a-haystack sort of hunt, if it came to that.

“She’s gone, whoever it is you’re looking for.” A low voice spoke at his shoulder and Jocelyn gave a little jump. His thoughts had been so occupied by his search he hadn’t been aware of the other men’s approach. Amery DeHart, another member of the league, stood on one side of him, Channing Deveril, on the other.

“What is it? What are the two of you doing here?” Jocelyn schooled his features into their usual neutrality, trying to give off no impression of impatience. He’d made an art of the ability to appear unbothered, as if everything rolled off him like water off the proverbial duck. Still, their timing was impeccably rotten. He needed to be searching for his redhead. But he couldn’t ignore the league. There was nothing facile about the presence of Channing and Amery at the same social event together. The league made it a practice to avoid being seen together whenever possible in order to make it less likely people would associate them as more than acquaintances.

“We have a problem. Lord Burroughs has upped the ante in his little vendetta against Nick and thus against us.” Amery took a swallow of his champagne, his eyes never leaving the ballroom floor, constantly scanning, constantly watching. Such dedication to detail, to noticing every nuance about everybody was what Amery did best. It’s what had made him a much-sought-after lover amongst the ton, almost on par with Jocelyn himself. Amery was young but given time, Amery would likely surpass them all.

Channing entered the conversation, his voice low and rapid. “I received word earlier this evening that Burroughs has invited his niece to town in the hopes of using her as bait to draw out the league.”

“Then let’s not be drawn out. Surely if she sends a request to the agency we will simply not be able to fulfill it.” It would be easy enough to figure out any use of a false name as well. The league vetted all their clients before accepting a contract. There, Jocelyn thought. Problem solved.

Channing wasn’t convinced. He shook his head. “I do not think she’ll approach us in that way. Unfortunately, Burroughs guesses too much. He will attempt to use our friendships with Nick to unmask the agency. I suspect he will have his niece come at us through more conventional means.” A wry smile creased Channing’s lips. “It would give us too much power over him if we held a letter from his niece asking for our services. We could use that letter to wicked purpose if we chose to.”

Amery continued to scan the ballroom. “She’s supposed to be here tonight. Her name is Cassandra Burroughs.”

Jocelyn followed Amery’s gaze, although the name meant nothing to him. He searched out the crowd for a glimpse of deep red hair.

Channing continued to fill him in. “We have a description, too. Red hair, blue eyes, slightly taller than average, a real stunner.” Jocelyn felt his stomach start to churn at the familiarity of the description, but surely it was mere coincidence.

“There!” Amery exclaimed, all three sets of eyes locking simultaneously on the striking woman at the entrance to the ballroom.

“That’s her, all right.” Channing’s tone was a grim echo of Jocelyn’s own sentiment. His initial relief over knowing she hadn’t left the ball was overshadowed by a quick piecing together of reality. His mystery woman was Cassandra Burroughs, niece of the league’s current nemesis whose mission was to uncover their secrets and see them exposed.

Jocelyn swore under his breath. Damn it all to perdition. The most exciting woman he’d ever met had used him. Something he’d thought not possible.