He seemed to find the thought amusing. “You’re an agent of the Order. If I’m to let you present the evidence to Daventry, I need to test your mettle. Besides, the rakes are watching your every move, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. The moment you slip from the corridor to the study, they’ll be fighting for a chance to join you.”
Beatrice might have challenged his observations. If men were so intent on pursuing her, why had no one followed her into the garden? Still, it was imperative she passed Mr D’Angelo’s test.
“Then I bow to the weight of your experience, sir, and will do as you suggest.”
The rogue moistened his lips as his gaze slipped to her ankles. “I’ll escort you as far as the arched arbour. Babington’s study is—”
“The third window to the left as one approaches the house.”
“Precisely.”
Beatrice refused to hold on to his arm as they walked along the moonlit path back to the house. It had nothing to do with wanting to prove herself his equal, and everything to do with the fact the man’s magnetic presence made her nervous. Of course, as a female agent, one had to be a damn good actress, and she’d done a remarkable job so far.
Amid the rustle of silk and the groans of noisy lovers coming from the shrubbery, the five-minute wait near the study window left Beatrice’s heart thumping and her cheeks aflame. When Mr D’Angelo finally raised the sash, she couldn’t race to the window quick enough.
“You’ll have to lift your skirts to your knees if you’re to climb over the ledge, Miss Sands.” Mr D’Angelo offered his hand along with a devilish grin.
“I might have to raise them higher than that,” she teased.
“Be assured I’ve seen more than my share of stocking-clad thighs.”
Heat flooded her cheeks for the umpteenth time this evening.
Beatrice surveyed the ledge, feeling rather thankful she had come prepared. Bunching her skirts, she thrust her head through the gap and tried to ignore the feel of Mr D’Angelo’s hot hands as he gripped her waist and helped her inside.
“Be careful. Mind your head,” he whispered, his shocked gaze fixed firmly on her legs as she edged through the gap. “What the devil are you wearing?”
“These?” Beatrice set about righting her skirts, covering the fitted white trousers. “Miss Trimble gave them to me. Decorum is an important factor when a lady has to scoop up her gown and run.”
For the first time this evening—for the first time since watching him from afar these last few months—a genuine smile touched his lips. The deep amber flecks in his eyes glowed. Heaven help her. Mr D’Angelo was handsome when angry, but the rare glimpse of happiness made him appear utterly breathtaking.
“During my time as an agent, during my time witnessing women in many states of dishabille, I have never encountered a woman wearing trousers beneath her ball gown.” He lowered the sash, drew the heavy green curtains and set about lighting the candle in
the brass stick on the desk.
“Have I defiled your delicate sensibilities, sir?”
“No, Miss Sands, you’ve sparked my interest, and that’s a damn sight more dangerous.”
The air between them crackled to life. She could see why a lady might want to be thrust against a hedge and have him smother her body.
Beatrice cleared her throat and rounded the desk. Maintaining a certain distance made it easier to focus on the task at hand. “Miss Trimble disapproves of me chasing criminals for a living, but she knows my options are limited. Consequently, she tries to assist me in my endeavours, not hinder my progress.”
Mr D’Angelo tugged the handle on the desk drawer only to find it locked. “Hence the reason she made you wear trousers to protect your modesty.”
“Indeed.”
“And yet some men find them more arousing than bare legs.”
“I doubt that.”
He glanced up from trying to pick the lock with wire and a thin metal instrument. Their eyes met—more a sensual tussle than a clash of swords. “I’m a man who thrives on intrigue, Miss Sands. You’ll do well to remember it.”
“There is nothing intriguing about me, sir. Wearing trousers is a logical decision if you think about it.”
“And I am thinking about it, Miss Sands. I’m thinking about it a great deal.”
“Then stop thinking and focus on opening the drawer.”