Chapter Three

Marcus strode through the door into his townhouse and ripped off his gloves. “God damn it,” he swore aloud, as the night’s events continued to replay in his head, regardless of how he tried to put a stop to them.

How could he have been so thrown off his game that he allowed Kaitlyn Montrose to best him and take the damn item he’d hunted for months? Because he’d been too bloody well distracted by the fierce attraction he’d felt toward her, and that distraction had cost him the journal. “Stupid. Absolutely stupid.” Marcus strode over to the entry table.

“My lord, is everything all right?” Crawley, his butler, stepped out from the adjoining hallway, an expression of mild concern on his normally austere face.

And who could blame the man? Though Crawley was used to Marcus’s unpredictable and, at times, odd behavior, it wasn’t often Marcus would come storming home, blaspheming and chastising himself. No wonder the unflappable Crawley looked somewhat flapped.

“No, unfortunately, Crawley, everything is not all right.” A large sigh left Marcus’s lips, and he took a moment to rein in his annoyance with himself before flinging his gloves on the table. He had to calm down and approach the situation involving Lady Kaitlyn Montrose with logic, even if he couldn’t stop thinking about her curves pressing against him. “Send someone to Lord Cantfield’s residence and have him fetched here, immediately.”

“The Marquis of Cantfield is already here in your study, my lord.”

“Of course he is,” Marcus muttered, turning on his heel and heading down the hall to his solitary sanctuary, which had of late become Cantfield’s sanctuary, too, it seemed. Handy in this instance, as he had a job for his friend.

“He is happily availing himself of some of Cook’s fare,” Crawley added as he hurried to follow Marcus down the hall. “Shall I ask Cook to prepare you something, too?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, Crawley.” Marcus halted at the door to his study, dismissing Crawley with a nod, before swinging the door wide open. Sure enough, his friend Lucas Devereux, the Marquis of Cantfield and future Duke of Carlisle, was comfortably lounged in one of the armchairs by the crackling hearth, The Times in his lap, and a plate of cold meats and cheese on the table next to him.

“Glad you’re making yourself comfortable,” Marcus remarked, striding over to the side table and pouring himself a stiff whisky. He lifted the glass and took a healthy swallow of the smooth amber liquid, though it did nothing to quell the sense of annoyance still coursing through him from the botched evening.

“I take it things did not go as planned?” Cantfield asked from across the room.

Marcus turned to his friend, who’d made a quasi-second home in Marcus’s residence, claiming that, apart from their club, this was the only place he was able to get a measure of peace and quiet away from his gaggle of four younger sisters, a younger brother, and his parents.

Marcus approached the fireplace and took a seat in the chair beside his friend. “No. Not a damn thing went to plan tonight.” A red-haired vixen saw to that.

“How odd,” Cantfield said, looking somewhat baffled. “Our intelligence suggested the journal was in Somerville’s safe, but perhaps he moved it earlier in the day?”

“The intelligence was correct. The journal was there.” He still couldn’t believe he had let it slip through his fingers. He hadn’t let a woman distract him in years and yet Lady Kaitlyn had done so, effortlessly. “Somebody got to it before I did.”

“It was gone when you got there? That’s bloody bad luck.”

Leaning forward, Marcus watched the flames dance in the hearth, unable to forget the vivid emerald of Lady Kaitlyn’s eyes when he’d pulled off her mask, and how his entire body had tightened in response. She’d grown from a tall and gangly young girl into what could only be described as a stunning woman. A woman he’d wanted to cart over his shoulder and whisk away to his bed. “I arrived just as the journal was being taken out of the safe.”

“And you let the fellow simply take it? I suppose you must have had a reas—”

“Dammit, I didn’t let her simply take it!” Marcus raked a hand through his hair. “We fought and I lost.”

Cantfield nearly choked on the cracker he’d just popped into his mouth. “Her? You fought a female? And she bested you?”

Marcus scowled into the flames. “It wasn’t just any female. It was Victor’s niece.”

There was complete silence for a moment.

“Oh…” Cantfield took a sip of his drink. “Well, Lady Kaitlyn is not just any woman, is she? I must say that with her background and the training Victor demanded of her, I’m not all that surprised the Ice Maiden bested you.”

“The Ice Maiden?” He’d not heard any lady called that, though he had been out of the country for the better part of three years trying to hunt the Chameleon in what had so far proved to be a fruitless endeavor.

“God, yes.” Cantfield seemed eager to fill him in. “Her reputation precedes her amongst the gentlemen. It’s why I haven’t sought a proper introduction to her yet.”

“A beautiful woman you are yet to be introduced to?” Marcus replied. “What on earth is the world coming to?”

“I do have a reputation to protect.” Lucas grinned. It was well-known that Cantfield prided himself on his success with the ladies, and considering his good looks and status as the heir to a dukedom, it was only to be expected.

“Lady Kaitlyn is stunning,” Lucas continued. “Yet, why would I wish to jeopardize my reputation with a woman who herself is reputed to freeze a man’s ardor with a mere glare, while flaying him alive with her tongue? A shame, really. A woman’s tongue should be used for far better purposes.”

Marcus’s scowl deepened. Her gaze certainly hadn’t frozen his ardor. Quite the opposite. “I thought you braver than that.”

“Not when it comes to the fairer sex. I live with too many of them to forget how fearsome they can be under their veneer of elegance and beauty.” Cantfield stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I must say, I’m surprised you fought her in the first place. You don’t normally fight women… Even someone as well-trained as you and I both know she is.”

“I didn’t know it was her at first, or that it was even a woman for that matter,” Marcus replied. He’d been so focused on getting Elizabeth’s journal, he hadn’t paid attention to the details—to his detriment. “All I saw was a figure dressed in black trousers and a cape, scaling a rope up the side of Somerville’s residence. And in my own defense, what woman does that? Let alone a lady?”

“Victor’s niece, obviously.” Cantfield appeared to be rather enjoying the whole tale. “Though you’re normally very observant. I would have thought you’d have deduced the person was a woman. Granted, Lady Kaitlyn is tall for a female, but she has an undeniably delightful figure. That I have definitely appreciated from afar.”

“The cape covered most of her. And, damn it, don’t talk about appreciating her figure. She’s Victor’s niece, and despite being an obvious hellion, you will show her respect.” Marcus needed to remember that himself because, try as he might, he couldn’t forget the moment he’d flattened himself against her slender frame and felt the soft swell of her breasts pressing into his chest, while the scent of roses and peppermint had enveloped him. “I still can’t believe I let her rattle me to the point of inattention.”

“Rattle you? The impenetrable Earl of Westwood?” Cantfield’s deep laugh ricocheted through the room. “I should bloody well have enjoyed seeing that.”

“It wasn’t amusing.” Even if he’d found himself more attracted to her in that short space of time than he’d been to any other woman, including his late wife, Elizabeth.

Thinking of Elizabeth always brought back the final image he had of her, of walking into her bedchamber and seeing her lifeless body, tangled amongst the blood-soaked sheets of her bed. The pale, almost translucent porcelain of her skin, a stark contrast to the deep crimson pooling around her. It was an image he couldn’t forget. And no matter how unfaithful she’d been, no one deserved to die like that.

Cantfield’s laughter brought him back to the present with a jolt.

“Oh, this is brilliant!” Cantfield said. “Though I’m curious to know how the lady bested you?”

“How do you think a woman can physically best a man?” came Marcus’s droll reply. He could still feel the searing pain and incapacitation her knee had caused.

Cantfield’s laughter stopped for a moment while his eyes narrowed in thought, then he hunched over as his body was once again racked by mirth. “Oh, my Lord, she kneed you in the bollocks, didn’t she?”

Marcus nodded. “Yes. And I’m glad you find it funny, for I do not.”

“Funny? It’s not funny. It’s bloody hilarious.” Cantfield guffawed. “Probably the most hilarious thing I’ve heard in a long time. You’ve never lost a fight before, let alone to a woman.”

“Like I said, she’s not just any woman.” Marcus stood and paced in front of the fire. Victor had trained her to be a weapon since she was a babe, determined to ensure she knew how to protect herself as her mother had been unable to.

Cantfield sighed, his laughter slowly subsiding. “I think I’m half in love with Lady Kaitlyn already. I shall certainly have to make it a point to be introduced to her officially now. I’ll even brave her glacial stare for the privilege, and perhaps I shall elicit a smile or two from her.”

Marcus’s blood boiled at the words. The thought of his friend eliciting anything from Lady Kaitlyn made him furious. “I hope she freezes your bloody nether regions off with one of her glacial stares.”

“That’s not charitable of you, though I’d prefer a stare to a knee.”

“I need to find Lady Kaitlyn and get the damn journal back.” Marcus took another sip of his drink, and once again the fluid did nothing to calm him. He placed the glass back onto the side table with slightly more force than was necessary.

“Finding her should be no problem,” Lucas remarked. “But why did she want Elizabeth’s journal in the first place? Do you suppose she’s after the Chameleon, too?”

Marcus paused in his pacing and turned to face the man who had trained and fought beside him for the past eighteen years. A man who was more like a brother to him than simply a friend. “Yes, I think that’s exactly what she’s after. She’s trying to avenge Victor’s death, which will only complicate matters.”

“Or make them easier.” Cantfield leaned forward and tossed the paper onto the table beside his empty plate. “If you’re both trying to find the Chameleon then why not team up and work together? I imagine Lady Kaitlyn still has Victor’s network of informants.”

“Team up with her and put her in harm’s way of an assassin? Never.” The very idea caused a hard knot of unease in his stomach. “Besides, I think she means to do more to the Chameleon than simply bring the fiend to justice. Not to mention Victor would have had my head for doing such a thing.”

“I doubt that.” Cantfield shrugged. “Victor was the one who trained her in the first place, and I don’t think he taught her to use a dagger to merely cut the Sunday roast. Besides, if she can make a good account of herself against you, imagine what she’d do to the Chameleon.”

“As unorthodox as it is, she can fight. There’s no doubt about that,” Marcus found himself reluctantly conceding. “But I refuse to have anything to do with putting her in the path of one of Europe’s most deadly assassins.”

“I daresay she’ll be doing that herself, with or without your help.” Cantfield reached over and picked up his glass of whisky. “Besides, you’ve been trying to find the assassin for over three years. And I imagine Lady Kaitlyn has been on his tail since Victor’s murder over a year ago. Clearly, you’ve had no luck individually. Perhaps it’s time to combine your resources and skills?”

“You’ve lost your senses, Cantfield, to suggest such a thing.” Lady Kaitlyn had already distracted him enough tonight; he could ill afford any more such distractions. “However, I must find the Chameleon. ’Tis the only way to vindicate my brother and prove he was no traitor. I must retrieve Elizabeth’s journal. Which means I have to find Lady Kaitlyn.”

“I imagine she’ll be at Darrow’s ball tomorrow night. Everyone who is anyone will be there,” Cantfield answered.

“Find out tomorrow morning, and then let me know.” A sudden urge burned deep in his gut to find out all he could about the woman.

He hadn’t seen her in over twelve years and had only just recognized the girl inside the woman who stood defiantly before him earlier tonight. He remembered a stubborn girl, fierce in her resolve to live up to her uncle’s demanding schedule. A girl who’d never really been allowed to be a child, instead living a life of regimented training. But now she was a woman, hell-bent on revenge and better trained in combat and subterfuge than most of Her Majesty’s agents.

A dangerous combination.

“Consider it done.” Cantfield stood. “Where are you going now?”

“To find Sir William. If anyone has more information about Lady Kaitlyn, it will be him.” And he needed to find out everything he could about the woman who’d not only taken the journal from him, but who had stirred a longing in him that he’d long thought was dead.

“True. He knows everything about anything that’s going on.” Cantfield grinned again. “I must say, I’m looking forward to my official introduction to Lady Kaitlyn. I wonder if she remembers briefly meeting me when she was a girl. I didn’t think anything of it back then, but I dare say I probably made a lasting impression on the chit.”

From another man, it would sound conceited and vain, but with Lucas Devereux it was altogether too true. Women were drawn to him.

“Stay away from her, Cantfield.” His friend usually succeeded at wooing whomever he set his sights on—though he usually avoided unwed virgins like the plague.

“You sound rather possessive, old chap,” Lucas said.

Marcus couldn’t blame him for the surprise in his tone. Ever since Elizabeth’s death, he had shown no interest in dalliances, no matter how determined some Society women were to entice him. When one’s heart was first crushed, then incinerated, and finally scattered like ashes to the wind, it was all but impossible to resurrect the thing, a fact that ensured he’d never marry again. That had been Elizabeth’s parting and everlasting gift to him before her death.

Which was why he was disconcerted at his own reaction to the thought of Cantfield dancing with Lady Kaitlyn. He felt jealous. Damn it. Such feelings were perilous. He’d not reacted this way to a woman in a long time, and he’d be the biggest fool imaginable to ever let another woman get close enough to hurt him again… Even if the memory from last night, of Lady Kaitlyn’s soft curves pressing against him, was starting to drive him to distraction. He’d never reacted so much to a woman before, not even to Elizabeth, who he’d been besotted with in the beginning—before he knew her true and faithless nature.

Marcus cursed softly. The very thought of his late wife and her betrayal reminded him exactly why he would never allow a woman to hold that sort of power over him again. Never again, no matter how enticing her curves or her blasted peppermint and rose scent.