Chapter 1
The thick smoke wafted through the Turkish-inspired bedchamber. The heavy scent of spice and strange tobacco clawed at the back of Daniel Thorpe’s throat. He waved his hand in front of his face in a bid to breathe clean air, resisted the urge to cough and splutter. The sound of raucous laughter, coupled with the satisfied grunts of other patrons in the rooms adjacent, made it impossible to listen to his inner voice.
The ebony-haired woman sat on her knees and gestured to the bed. “Are you going to stand there all night? Do you not like what you see?”
Daniel shook his head and tried to focus on her bare breasts, hoping to rouse a sliver of enthusiasm.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Many times he had sated his lust in a similar way. Many times he had buried himself deep inside a woman, thrust long and hard to eradicate the image of Daphne Chambers.
But the time spent in Mrs Chambers’ company these last two weeks had taken its toll. The widow’s alluring essence had penetrated his skin, seeped into his blood. Whenever his mind was quiet, he could hear the seductive lilt of her voice, the sound like a siren’s song singing to his most primal of needs.
Bloody hell!
Had he not learnt anything over the years?
Like a fool, he believed his forged armour strong enough to withstand her attack. But he failed to appreciate the power of her mystical presence.
“Damn it all.” The bitter words burst from his lips.
In response to his sudden outburst, the naked woman crept across the red satin sheet like a panther stalking its prey. She grabbed the waistband of his breeches and tried to pull him closer to the bed. “Nerves is it? Do you want a helpin’ hand?”
Masculine pride forced him to take hold of her chin, claim her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth. The act did nothing to ease the deep sense of longing filling his chest. It did nothing to flame his desire, to banish the ghosts of the past.
He broke on a curse. “Damnation. I must leave.”
“Leave? Leave!” The woman palmed her breasts as though he had failed to appreciate their magnificence. “I’ve never had a man leave once he’s paid.”
“Keep the money,” Daniel snapped. “My decision bears no reflection on your ability to please. I have pressing business elsewhere.”
“That’s all well for you to say. What if other men hear you left without so much as a grunt or groan?” She gathered the sheet to cover her modesty though the action conveyed contempt as opposed to bashfulness.
Daniel dragged his hand down his face. He took his coat from the chair and shrugged into it. “Here.” Taking two sovereigns from his pocket, he threw them onto the bed. “They should ease your concerns.”
Without another word, he strode from the room and descended the stairs as if late for an appointment. As always, his carriage was waiting outside. The streets were not safe for a man of his profession although a fight would ease the deep-rooted need clawing within. One man, or even two, would not prove to be a problem for someone skilled with his fists. But those intent on revenge often used dishonourable methods to achieve their goal.
“New Bond Street,” he called to his coachman, Murphy.
“Aye, sir. Same place as last night?”
The innocent question caused anger to flare. Why could he not stay away? Why could he not push Mrs Chambers from his thoughts and be done with it?
“Indeed,” he said, knowing he would not sleep until dawn, until certain no one entered Madame Fontaine’s shop uninvited. “The fog has lifted. I shall need you to wait a little further along the street tonight.”
Murphy nodded. “Right you are, sir.”
Daniel climbed into the carriage, threw himself back into the seat and buried his head in his hands. The rhythmical rocking of his conveyance did little to soothe his irate mood.
Although loath to admit it, Daphne Chambers was an accomplished enquiry agent. So why did she insist on living above the modiste shop? Why did she not understand the importance of privacy? Why was she so damn stubborn?
If only he had been outside Madame Fontaine’s on the night the thief entered the premises. The matter would have been dealt with swiftly. And he would not be consumed with the need to protect the one woman he desperately wanted to avoid. The thought of Mrs Chambers waking to find the rogue in her home caused his heart to thump wildly in his chest.
Why would she not accept that London was a dangerous place for a lady on her own?
The carriage rumbled to a halt outside Brown’s pawnbrokers. From this location, he had a perfect view of the modiste shop. Yet what he saw hit him like a whip to the face. The wooden board covering the large front window had not been there last night. Curiosity burned. Anger flared. He suppressed the urge to pound the door and demand to know the reason behind this recent addition. But then an argument would ensue, and Mrs Chambers would shoo him away as one did a mangy dog.