His fingers brushed absently against her nape, though she felt nothing. Not the delightful shiver that shot to her toes as a result of Mr Ashwood’s touch. Not the need to turn on her heel and meld her body to his. Not the desperate hope that he felt the same way, too.
“Will Mr Ashwood be attending tonight?” she asked as Mr Cole led her to his carriage. If she were to face Lord Benham, she would rather have a man named Dauntless as her companion.
Mr Cole ignored her question and gestured to the hulking figure sitting atop the box of an unmarked carriage parked at the end of Brownlow Street. “Bower will watch your house until we bring an end to these troubling matters. He’s a strong, capable man, one used to dealing with villains.”
“I see.”
Witnessing the burly individual should have settled her nerves. But Mr Ashwood would not have appointed such a sturdy watchman if there was nothing to fear. Indeed, the sudden thought of sleeping alone tonight chilled her to the bone. Filled her with dread.
Dread held her rigid in the carriage seat as they rattled through town on their way to Lord Newberry’s ball in Cavendish Square. In Mr Ashwood’s company she felt safe, protected. Mr Cole made her want to run for the hills, not race into his embrace.
To pass the time, she studied Mr Cole’s conveyance. The black leather seats were so opposed to the inviting red ones in Mr Ashwood’s carriage. The potent smell of Mr Ashwood’s cologne—bergamot, exotic spice and some woody essence—roused primal urges when in the confined space. In Mr Cole’s carriage, she was too scared to breathe.
Oh, this was ridiculous.
“Will Mr Ashwood be attending tonight?” she repeated.
Mr Cole glanced in her direction. “Does it matter?”
It did matter.
It mattered more than it should.
Perhaps an estrangement was for the best. Nothing would come of this bedevilling attraction. The addiction had kept her awake last night, imagining all sorts of lewd fantasies.
“What if word gets out I am betrothed to Mr Ashwood? Will it not look highly irregular if I attend a ball with you, sir?”
Mr Cole shot forward in the seat. “Betrothed? To Ashwood?” The atmosphere grew heavy, charged with tension, like the prelude to a violent storm. “Madam, if this is a game to rile my temper—”
“I never play games, Mr Cole.” She gave an outline of the meeting in Mr Hemming’s office. If Mr Ashwood failed to mention their fake betrothal, he most definitely hadn’t mentioned the kiss. “And so you see, Mr Ashwood wished to send the rogue a clear message.”
Mr Cole’s eyes flashed as black as his mood. “Oh, I understand the message. I understand the message all too well.”
“Whatever you’re implying, sir, you have me at a loss.”
“Then it seems neither of you has control of your wits.”
It occurred to her that Mr Cole’s annoyance stemmed from a need to protect his friend and colleague. But from what? Did he think she’d invented her problems merely to seduce an unsuspecting agent into marriage?
“It was merely a ploy. Bait to lure a rodent into a trap.”
“What sort of trap?” Mr Cole snapped.
“Mr Ashwood is trying to determine whether my brother sent the blackmail note to gain funds, or if my publisher sent it to entice me to his office in the dead of night.” She offered a confident smile. “It is not a trap to lure an eligible gentleman into marriage if that is your fear.”
“Fear?” He snorted. “I’m not afraid of anything, Miss Dunn.”
“No. Nothing except for experiencing the pain that has made you so hard and unforgiving.”
Well, that took the wind out of his sails.
The gentleman stared open-mouthed for a few seconds until he mastered his senses. “Then I shall follow your lead, madam, and be blunt. I intend to help my friend overcome his fleeting infatuation.”
Infatuation!
Eva’s heart lurched.
So, she had not imagined the vibrant energy that charged the air when in Mr Ashwood’s company. The taste of passion on his lips had not been part of the ruse. They had many things in common, too many to ignore. One might be forgiven for believing fate had brought them together.