It washer! The woman from the brothel. What in God’s name wasshedoing sharing a carriage with his great-aunt?
“You!” He wrenched his gaze from her shocked face and glared at Dorothea. “What the hell is going on?”
The dowager sent him a congratulatory smile. “I’m so glad you arrived, Sebastien. That was impeccable timing. It was a shame you had to kill them, however.”
He glanced at the corpse on the roadside. “They were footpads. They would have hung anyway. This way was quicker.”
The dowager’s brows twitched. “True, but we can’t question dead men.”
“Why would you want to?”
“They weren’t merely thieves. They were kidnappers.”
Seb frowned. “Why would anyone want to kidnap you?”
“I’ll have you know, I’m an extremely desirable target,” the dowager said with mock offence. “But it wasn’t me they were after.” She glanced over at the woman in the road. “It was her.”
Seb turned back to the beauty in front of him.
“I don’t think you two have met,” the dowager said. “Anna, this is my great-nephew, Sebastien. He’s the Earl of Mowbray. Bastien, this is Anna Brown. My companion.”
“Anna Brown?” Seb repeated scornfully.
“That’s right,” the girl said stiffly. There was a hint of something in her eyes, a flash of challenge that made his pulse pound in response.
“And Miss Brown is your companion, you say?”
The dowager glared at him. “Yes. Haven’t I just said so? She’s been with me for almost a year. What of it?”
“You’re being gulled.” He narrowed his eyes and subjected the girl to a slow, deliberate inspection from head to toe.
She straightened her spine and sent him a haughty look, despite the fact that she was spattered with mud and her hair was in wild disarray. She was several inches shorter than himself—and he was still astride Eclipse—yet she somehow still managed to look down her nose at him.
God, she was as striking as he remembered.
Thanks to her, he’d endured a week of self-imposed celibacy and a succession of ridiculously erotic dreams. Several times he’d actually awoken in the throes of a climax—something he hadn’t done since he was a randy, under-sexed youth. Now, against all logic, the object of his heated fantasies was here. Standing in front of him in the middle of Hounslow Heath, looking shocked, bedraggled, and still—impossibly—gorgeous.
Seb pinned her with a hard stare.
Her blue eyes were framed by lashes a few shades darker than her honey-colored hair. The thick coils were askew from her struggle, falling down around her face, and her skin was pale except for a slight flush on her cheekbones, pink roses against snow.
His cock twitched, but her beauty only served to annoy him. She was clearly not what she seemed.
“She’s not a companion,” he said bluntly. “She’s a—” He paused, unsure of the phrase he sought. “An impostor,” he finished. “Have you checked your jewelry boxrecently? I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find she’s been robbing you blind.”
No wonder she hadn’t wanted his money back at Haye’s. She was probably pilfering things from his great-aunt.
The beauty gasped in outrage. “How dare you? I wouldnever—”
The duchess burst out laughing. “Oh no! Sebastien, you’re quite mistaken. Anna would never steal from me. Come, why are you being so disagreeable?”
“It’s obvious. She’s trying to wheedle her way into your good graces, to gain your trust.”
“That’s absolute codswallop,” the duchess said in a tone that brooked no argument. She glanced over at the girl and her expression sobered. “She’s a young woman in very grave danger.”
Seb glared the girl. “Why? Why would anyone wantyou?”
She flinched at his scathing tone, and the two women exchanged a telling, complicit glance. His anger increased. They were hiding something, both of them.
