Winter's Kiss (Howertys #3)

Chapter 2: Mistaken Identity

"You—" He had to clear his throat and then tried again. "You're not an actress, are you? Dash didn't send you here to..." There was no way he could finish that sentence. Not if she really wasn't a loose woman.

A faint blush crept across her cheeks as she smiled sheepishly. "No."

Holy hell. He'd just assaulted a stranger. And he was still holding her in his arms. Releasing her as if she was on fire, he took a quick step back.

"I'm dreadfully sorry." It was an inane apology, but what else could he say?

"I came here..." She fell silent for a moment, seeming to consider her words. Or what had just happened. He wasn't sure. Then she smiled that charming smile. "I came because I need help. I wish to employ the agency. More specifically, I wish to employ you, Mr Rose."

He gave her an appraising look. She wasn't running screaming from the room? Most women would have. She should have. And why the hell was she smiling at him? It made him look at her lips and he damned well didn't want to look at her lips, because then he remembered how they felt against his, and he wanted that again.

Remembering she'd said something, he said dumbly, "Me?"

She nodded. "Yes. I was explicitly told to ask for Mr Rose himself."

Desperately wishing he'd had a few less glasses of brandy, he tried to make his mind work a little faster. "By who?"

"Oh, I don't expect you know him, but I suppose you've heard of him. The Duke of Winterbourne."

Right. Of course. Naturally, Winterbourne was behind this. Why the hell had he not just taken the case himself? He was co-owner of the agency and as good an agent as Gabriel. Had he not told this woman that he worked for the agency too? She seemed to expect a reply, so he mumbled, "I've heard of him."

"I suspected you had."

What was she to Winterbourne? He pondered this while motioning for her to take a seat on the chair opposite his desk before sitting down on his own. Why would Winterbourne send her directly to him? Normally they let their employees handle all client contact since the risk of being recognised was too great. Was she his mistress? A lover?

"Please allow me to apologise once more," he said. "I mistook you for someone else."

An impish smile appeared on her face. "So I gathered, and I shan't hold it against you."

He wasn't sure whether to thank her or scold her. Or kiss her. Really, that seemed the most satisfying option. And completely unacceptable. Not only did he not dally with clients, but he also did not know who she was.

"So, what can I help you with, Miss...?"

"I would like to remain anonymous if you don't mind," she said, and pulling a sovereign purse from her reticule, she withdrew a few coins. "I will pay you in part upfront, of course, for your trouble."

"Many of our clients wish to remain anonymous," he said while he was in fact dismayed not to find out her name. Who was she? "It is not a problem. Now, please let me know what I can do for you."

She let out a little sigh, suddenly serious. "I need information," she said. "About a gentleman of the ton."

He nodded. In his experience, women usually hired the agency for a few specific things, most of them involving men. "That can take a bit of time but is usually not a problem. What is his name?"

"It is the Earl of Wyndon."

A titled gentleman, not uncommon a query from a woman. But why did she want this information? He pondered the possibilities as he made a few notes on a piece of paper. Was he her fiance? Her lover? Someone she intended to pursue for marriage?