London, 1839

Scandal-prone Cassandra Burroughs is determined to expose the outrageous secrets of Jocelyn Eisley, the man responsible for her family’s disgrace. Her method? Seduction! She just never factored in being so outrageously attracted to this devastatingly wicked rake herself.... After only a brief encounter with Jocelyn, Cassandra is left wondering: Who is really being seduced? And when pleasure is this good, is this a game they both can win?

Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous

Only London’s best lovers need apply!

A Most Indecent Gentleman

Bronwyn Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Author’s Note

Jocelyn and Cassandra are kindred spirits set at opposite ends of a conflict. Both of them are a little wild, a little headstrong—well, all right, not a little, but a lot. And they’re both used to getting what they want. Now, they’re faced with a situation where what they want is not going to be easily achieved. In fact, if it is achieved at all, it will be with great risk and at great expense. Jocelyn risks his longtime friendship with Channing Deveril, the League and his own reputation in order to trust Cassandra. Cassandra risks being abandoned by her family and left to her own penniless devices in order to trust Jocelyn.

Both sides of the story are reminders of my two favorite motivational phrases: “I didn’t tell you it would be easy, I told you it would be worth it.” And “to get what you’ve never had, you’ll have to do what you’ve never done.”

Enjoy discovering how Jocelyn and Cassandra get what they’ve never had!

Dedication

For Ro who is starting to see the fruits of his long years of labor in the pool pay off and who continues to do what he’s never done before. Keep it up, my boy,

because the big time awaits and your chance will only come once. Be ready and seize it.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Extract

Chapter One

One visual sweep of the ballroom was enough to confirm Cassandra Burroughs’s initial suspicion, but she looked twice just to be sure. She only needed one, as long as he was the right one. In this case, the right one was Jocelyn Eisley, heir to an earldom. That was the reason every woman in the ballroom was looking for him. But not her. She was looking because he was the key to her uncle’s revenge. First, she had to find him.

Cass ran through the checklist in her mind; broad-shouldered, blond, taller than most, full-bodied in a muscular robust way familiar to those who are acquainted with the well-built Englishman in his prime. She’d never met Eisley before, but surely she’d recognize a man in possession of such a stunning array of attributes on sight. He shouldn’t be hard to spot, especially against the rather dismal backdrop of men on display in Lady Martin-Burke’s ballroom. Unless, of course, such a man didn’t exist or her uncle had exaggerated his physical attributes.

The latter would be most disappointing. The thought of a man meeting Eisley’s purported description was a rather exciting one. Men were usually predictable creatures; flatter them and they’d do anything for you. Even the newest of debutantes knew that much. Eisley might prove to be refreshingly different. Hopefully, not too different though. She had a job to do, after all. It would be a bonus if Eisley turned out to be the stuff of dreams in the interim.

Not that it mattered. Cass immediately dismissed the thought as disloyal. Having an affinity for the so-far-elusive Eisley was definitely an inappropriate attachment of her emotions. Whether she liked it or not, she owed her loyalty at present to her uncle. It was her uncle who had called her up to town for the Little Season and who was paying for her expenses, wardrobe included. Otherwise, she’d still be languishing in the Dorset countryside, a casualty of her own headstrong nature and the quirk of fate that saw her father born the second son of a baron and not the first. She was twenty-one. She would soon be on the shelf and there just weren’t that many men to pick from in Dorset. Although all it seemed London had on Dorset at the moment was quantity, her uncle had given her a second chance.

In return, she was to ferret out Eisley’s supposed secrets, of which her uncle was sure there were many. Her uncle had given her an agenda: to determine Eisley’s association with the scandalous and currently absent Nicholas D’Arcy and by extension, the truth behind the rumored existence of the League of Discreet Gentlemen, an organization reportedly dedicated to the fulfillment of a woman’s pleasure. Last spring, her uncle had been cuckolded in his own home by D’Arcy, and D’Arcy hadn’t been seen in London since, although news of his sudden marriage to a fabulously wealthy Sussex heiress had circulated through the ton at the end of the Season.

That had been in August. Now it was November, the Little Season; one last chance for parliament and society to gather before Christmas holidays drove everyone to their country estates. Her uncle was certain with society in town, the league would be busy and visible, thus the need for her presence. She was to be Eisley’s enticement.

If Eisley wasn’t in the ballroom, he might be in the card rooms, where he could potentially stay for a very long while. If so, she’d miss him entirely unless she went to him. Card rooms were not terribly ladylike venues, but she didn’t have a choice. It was either search him out or report back empty-handed to her uncle.

The card rooms were not hard to find. Lady Martin-Burke had set them up in a pair of adjoining rooms down the hall from the ballroom. The corridor was dark, perhaps to discourage young misses from wandering down it to the dens of gentlemen’s iniquity, but one could hardly overlook them, dark hall or not. The rooms announced themselves in a spill of masculine laughter that filled the dim hallway. Cass hurried toward the sounds, careful to keep out of sight of the door. It wouldn’t do to be spotted.

She knew very well she was only one scandal away from being sent home to Dorset in eternal shame. Her uncle had made it clear she was to be discreet in her dealings with Eisley. Her uncle would not tolerate any “funny business,” as he called it, the way her father had. In his opinion, it had been years of tolerance that had led to her current situation. It was politely hoped among her family that her liveliness would fit better in London where living was generally faster and there were more entertainments to provide outlets for all that vivacity. She’d been far too “lively” of a girl for the bucolic life of Dorset. Less politely put, her family hoped her latest scandal wouldn’t arrive in London before she’d had a chance to catch a husband who had yet to hear of the exploits of Cassandra Burroughs. London was her last bid for respectability and well she knew it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be respectable, she just didn’t want it bad enough.

Cass leaned forward from her unobtrusive post to the left of the door, a rich baritone rising above the general noise of conversation. “I give you, ‘Nick the Prick, Part Deux.’”

This announcement was met with hoots and whistles and a boisterous round of applause.

Nick the Prick his wick did dip

In sweetest nectar it did sip.

Until one June, it met its doom,

a Sussex rose in full bloom.

A maid he laid and true love his

soul did save. And that is the end of

our lover brave.

There was more applause, the men acting as if this was the finest poetry ever written. “I say, would this be a limerick or a cinquain?” someone shouted.

In the darkness of the hall, Cass rolled her eyes. It was rubbish was what it was and they were treating it like bloody Shakespeare.

“Give us another, Eisley.”

That got her attention. The “poet,” and she used the term loosely, was Jocelyn Eisley? Cass crept nearer to the door, hoping for a look to confirm it.

“No, no, too much of a good thing isn’t healthy for you, lads!” the baritone called out in good humor. “I’m off to do the pretty for my lady hostess then it’s to the clubs. Perhaps I shall see some of you there later this evening.”

Cass could imagine him winking as she watched him grace his followers with a low bow. From her vantage point she couldn’t make out his face, his back was to her and the door, but she was treated to her first confirming glimpse of those shoulders, which were just as broad as described. When he straightened, she couldn’t help marveling at his height, at how those shoulders tapered to a lean waist shown to advantage in a superbly tailored dark evening coat, which unfortunately hid a better view of his buttocks. She could only suppose they were as well done as the rest of him. From the back, he was magnificent, all the darkness of his attire topped with a head of guinea-bright hair. Her uncle had been right, after all; broad shoulders, check; gold hair, check; a well-built physique, check. Make that a double check. Eyes the color of sharp jade... Eyes? Wait a minute!

But she didn’t have a minute. He had been backing toward the door, but while she’d been cataloging his finer points, he’d reached the door and turned around. There was nowhere for her to go. Before she could move, her nose made intimate contact with his chest.

“Ouch!”

“What the deuce!” Eisley stumbled against her, his bulk propelling them to the wall. She could feel his hands on her arms, his grip a bit rough as he tried to steady them both. She hit the wall, imprisoned, not unpleasantly, between it and Eisley. “I beg your pardon,” Eisley managed to say once they stopped reeling from the impact. “Are you all right? I didn’t see you standing there. Can’t see anything in this blasted hallway. Don’t know what Lady Martin-Burke was thinking to keep it so dark.”

“It’s a regular Vauxhall down here.” Cass ventured a little saucy tongue in cheek as if she’d ever been to Vauxhall. “Who knows what kind of trouble guests could get up to if they strayed from the well-lit path?” There was just a hint of suggestion in her tone and it wasn’t hard to imagine all sorts of decadent answers when she looked up into those sharp green eyes.

“That being the case, miss, what are you doing down here?” Eisley smiled back, a wide, infectious grin that made the most of his mouth with its slightly fuller lower lip, a mouth made for kissing. It took a moment for her to realize he wasn’t scolding. He was flirting, just a little, something she supposed came naturally to him. From the looks of it, he probably couldn’t help it.

“I was looking for something.” Cass allowed herself to smile back, her eyes holding his for a long moment, far longer than decency allowed. Instinct told her, he would not be impressed with a decent girl who shunned dark hallways and subtle overtures from the handsome men one met in them. And she did have to impress him, right here, right now. One had so little time to make a first impression, especially when there was a ballroom of others to compete with. She was not leaving this hallway without him.

“Did you find it?” Eisley sounded amused. He didn’t quite believe her. “With the hallway being so dark, I would think finding anything quite impossible, particularly the sorts of things ladies are known to lose—tiny earbobs and the like.” He said “ladies” as if he’d already taken her measure and she’d come up lacking in that regard. Well, Cass supposed that was fair. She wasn’t a “lady” in the sense the girls in the ballroom were. She wasn’t the only woman hoping to dance with Jocelyn Eisley tonight. The ballroom had been abuzz with his name since she’d walked in. The difference was that she’d done something about it. She’d gone looking for him while the others merely waved their fans and kept hoping he’d come to them, as if wishing would conjure the man out of thin air.

“Did I find it?” Cass boldly looped her arm through his and angled them toward the ballroom, setting off at a strolling pace. She cocked her head to the side and gave him a coy half smile. “I most certainly did.”

Chapter Two

“I don’t suppose that something you were looking for was me?” Jocelyn offered glibly. But the insouciance was entirely feigned. This wasn’t the first “accidental” meeting in a hallway he’d been party to. A single gentleman of his age and rank was a most hunted creature. “I wouldn’t put it past our hostess to send someone to drag me back to the ballroom.”

She didn’t even bother trying to look penitent. Instead, she, whoever she was, flashed him a smile that dazzled even in the dark of the corridor. “Are you always this arrogant? How could I come looking for you if I didn’t know you? It would be impossible to tell if I’d found you. I could have dragged any impostor back with me if that was the case. In fact, I still don’t know you.” Well, this was certainly new. The hostesses usually didn’t send the fun ones. Jocelyn winked and leaned close to her ear. “Well, not, biblically, anyway, not yet.” There was a faint hint of summer roses about her, a slightly sophisticated scent like the woman herself, a woman who flirted as she did wasn’t entirely an innocent. He was starting to enjoy this, especially if Lady Martin-Burke hadn’t sent one of her husband-hunting minions for him. This chit didn’t seem like Lady Martin-Burke’s sort. She was far too bold.

“You presume too much, sir.”

Jocelyn grinned in the dark. She wasn’t truly mad. He could hear the laughter in her voice along with the required censure. A good flirt knew how to mix the two. She was proving to be adept at the art.

Jocelyn gave an honest laugh. “And yet you’re the one who has commandeered my arm and my attentions.” Had a walk in the dark ever been this interesting? Most walks he took in the dark had certain predetermined outcomes. There were no surprises. There hadn’t been any surprises for a very long time. Yet there were surprises here aplenty.

“Your attentions? Have I? That sounds very promising. Do you suppose there might be a dance for me in that?” She was asking him for a dance.

They’d reached the ballroom where it would be natural to go their separate ways. His duty to see her back to the safety of the crowd and light had been fulfilled. He was required to do no more. She’d realized this, proving that his little interloper was an astute negotiator as well as a flirt. He had nothing against either. Both made for interesting conversation, both could keep a man on his toes and Jocelyn liked a good game. What had promised to be a tedious evening filled with the usual suspects was most definitely looking up. “What do I get in return?”

“Why, my company, of course, and the bonus that I am an exceptional dancer.” Jocelyn wondered how exceptional. Did she know what she implied? Lucifer’s balls, he’d become quite a cynic. His thoughts were perpetually jaded.

Even so, she was infectious, Jocelyn decided as they took their places in line for the next set. Even in the dim corridor there’d been a potency to her, a charisma. Charm was too weak of reference to describe her pull, potency perhaps too masculine to describe the laughter that frothed just beneath the surface of her conversation. In the bright light of the ballroom, she was stunning. Rich red hair devoid of the usual orangey hue, lay artfully coiffed at the nape of her neck. The art was in the long braid of it, coiled so that a man had difficulty thinking of anything else but pulling out the pins one by one and watching it fall.

Blue eyes met his, sharp, dancing eyes that supported his belief that laughter lurked in her every word, as she took her position across from him. The music started and they came together for the first pattern. She hadn’t lied. She was a superb dancer, her movements confident and graceful. There was something supple, fluid even, about the way she danced the simple quadrille, something uniquely erotic.

He must be going crazy. The quadrille was not an erotic dance, it was quite sexless, in fact, unlike the waltz, when done right, any good rake knew was just publicly condoned sex on a dance floor. It was common knowledge among his set that anyone good at the waltz had a better than fair chance of being decent in bed. He had it on good authority that he was one of London’s finest waltzers.

Yet, here he was, fighting the early signs of arousal, in the midst of le pantalon, his blood firing at the sight of her swaying gracefully from partner to partner until all he could think of was getting a waltz with her. Jocelyn supposed he could blame the dress. The ivory of her gown was nearly a seamless complement to the ivory of her skin. It was almost like seeing someone naked. Only the seed-pearl trim of the bodice separated the one from the other, the satin “sleeves” at her shoulders so negligible as to be nothing of substance.

His initial reaction was that whoever her guardians were had dressed her outrageously, yet when he studied the dress he found nothing outrageous about it. It was cut no lower than any other young woman’s gown, and the color was certainly not questionable. In fact, on its own merits, the gown was perfectly decorous. It was the woman in it who gave the dress its scandal.

The dance ended, for which Jocelyn was both thankful and regretful. He’d have to wait a decent interval before he asked for a waltz but he was loath to let her go. “How about some of that company you promised me?” He took her arm, not waiting for an answer. “I am told the Martin-Burke garden has been specially decorated for the evening.” A walk was precisely what he needed. He’d rather take one with her than to walk alone and risk being pounced upon by a rabid matchmaking mama. He would be thirty-one next month and London’s mamas had decided it was high time he marry. So had his father. His father the earl had informed him he’d had eleven years to sow his wild oats on the town.

It wasn’t that he was opposed to marriage. He did plan to marry at some unspecified point in the future, just not the near future. There was the league to consider at the moment. D’Arcy’s departure this summer had left the league exposed and Jocelyn would not abandon Channing Deveril, founder of the league, in his hour of need. After the new year, when the scandal surrounding the rumored existence of the league settled, perhaps then, he’d contemplate a wife. Right now, he was far more interested in contemplating the woman beside him.

The air outside was crisp, a beautiful late-autumn night and probably one of the last. One never knew what the weather gods would do in November. In celebration, the Martin-Burkes had fitted the garden with little fires placed at intervals where guests could stroll and stop to warm themselves from the evening chill. Jocelyn rather liked the idea, but it seemed others were skeptical. The garden was sparsely populated tonight.

“I think fall is my favorite time of year.” She looked up into the night sky, the firelight skimming her profile, her throat exposed. He had the sudden urge to want to kiss that long column. “The air is sharp, not sweet and heavy like it is in the summer, or soft in the spring, or biting like the winter. There’s possibility in the sharpness.” She took a deep breath that lifted her breasts, although she seemed unaware of it. Then she laughed. “It’s all nonsense, of course, the air isn’t a round of cheese.”

“No more than the moon, and look how often we’ve made that comparison.” Jocelyn laughed with her, liking her wit. He hadn’t enjoyed himself like this in ages. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been with a woman who hadn’t hired him, who didn’t know who he was, and he was quite sure this one didn’t know. They were simply being themselves and it felt wonderful, a pleasant deviation from the tedium his life had become.

Her fingers clenched softly on his arm where they lay, a gesture that seemed out of character for this bold creature. “I have a confession. I wasn’t looking forward to coming tonight. I don’t know anyone in town and I was worried, but you’ve made it better than I thought.”

I could make it better still. Good Lord, desire was riding him hard tonight for a change. Usually, it was the other way around. He rode it. He kept true rampant desire on a very tight rein. On his behalf, though, she had caught him unawares. He hadn’t time to steel himself against such a reaction and, in truth, the sensation was not a distasteful one. Rather, it was something of a novelty, which was as good of an explanation as any for this curious feeling.

“Then I’m glad we met.” The strains of a waltz were beginning in the ballroom and the garden emptied as people went to claim partners and spaces, leaving them alone with the fire pits. Jocelyn let the conversation between them lag, allowing an almost awkward silence to fill the space between them before he asked, “Is there anyone waiting for you?” There should be and they should be starting to worry over her absence. She wasn’t here alone, was she? If he hadn’t found the possibility so consistent with her behavior, he’d have found it suspicious.

“No.” She paused and corrected herself. “What I mean is that my chaperone came down with a headache and has left me with friends this evening. I won’t be missed, not quite yet.”

Very errant friends, Jocelyn thought, to let her wander off toward card rooms and then to cajole a strange man into a dance and wander off with him to the gardens afterward. It did make him wonder if there were any friends at all, and that made him wonder a host of other things about his mystery woman. Surely she understood what she risked when she’d gone down that dark corridor in the first place.

He tested his hypothesis. “If I am not keeping you, perhaps you would dance with me?”

“Here?”

He was rewarded with a moment’s disbelief flitting across her smooth features. She’d been so sure of everything else tonight, but not this. This walked the line of real scandal and his mystery woman knew it. All else between them had been decent enough to pass critical censure. This would not. This was intent. One might wander down a dark hall by happenstance, but one did not dance in gardens by accident.

“Yes, here. There’s far more room than inside.” He turned her into position, his hand at her back as she tentatively raised her hand to his shoulder. Her hesitation was delightful. For all her boldness, his mystery woman was human, after all.

He moved them into the dance, aware of the warmth of her skin beneath her gown where his hand met her back. She was not unaffected either by this sudden chemistry that had sprung up between them. He leaned close to her ear, wanting any reason to drink in the scent of her one more time, “You should have said no.”

She cocked her head to look up at him, a smile on her lips. “I know.” Jocelyn’s arousal went rigid. He knew just how he’d kiss that mouth. Heaven help him, she danced divinely.

* * *

Oh, Lord, he danced divinely, and that was where any heavenly metaphor ended. Like recognized like and she knew a sinner when she saw one. Jocelyn Eisley was no saint. He hadn’t even asked her name and here he was waltzing her around the garden, holding her closer than propriety allowed and she was loving it! Even after all the promises she’d made to herself about avoiding scandal and avoiding the charms of men. Here she was literally embracing both. Her promises hadn’t lasted the night.

What did that mean about her? Was she really irrevocably unconventional as the Dorset gossips maintained, or was Eisley a master at easing a woman down the path of seduction? Perhaps both? Although she feared the former, after all, she’d been the one to go looking for him.

Eisley’s hand was firm at her back, a reminder of his strength and competence. She had no doubt he was competent at many things. Her body concurred, thrilling to the intimate touch of his hand, to the sweep of her skirts against his legs, the occasional brush of his hips against hers as they turned. He was the devil’s own git with those handsome looks and teasing wit. He could melt even the staunchest of hearts. She’d have to harden hers considerably. But not yet.

Cassandra could almost reason there was no harm in enjoying a dance before she got down to the business of planning her next move. Tonight, she’d made contact. It was essential she use this opening to secure a second meeting.

The beautiful music faded to a halt, the silence making Cass acutely aware of his hands lingering at her waist, his thumbs at her hips pressing lightly, intimately, through the fabric of her gown, of the sparkle in his green eyes, a somewhat predatory gleam. She imagined a tiger’s eyes looked just like that before moving in for the kill.

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips. Cass’s breath came sharp and rapid. She saw it all at once: This was to be a seduction. Eisley’s equivalent to the kill. That flick of his eyes was the only notice she had of his intentions. Then his mouth was on hers with a gentle insistence. She gave invitation, her lips parting for him, his tongue tangling with hers in a slow, languid dance of their own.

She raised her arms about his neck, her hands finding their way into the thick depths of his hair, her actions perhaps encouraged by the actions of his. His hands, so firmly anchored at her waist, drew her against the manly core of him, making clear to her his desire—a most impressive desire. The implication was transparent: he wanted her and he thought he could have her, in a garden, at a ball. Oh, Lord, how he’d brought out the wanton in her with so little effort.

Shock and shame rocketed through her in equal parts. Maybe all the Dorset gossips were right, that she couldn’t help it. Maybe some people were born to sin. Her own record in that regard would certainly affirm it. Her uncle would flay her alive for this if word of it reached him. With a shove, Cass pushed away from the hard-muscled planes of his chest, a hand flying to her mouth in horrified realization. London was meant to be her redemption. With that one thought in mind, she turned on her slippered heel and fled, all thoughts of a second meeting fleeing with her.

Chapter Three

“Wait!” Jocelyn barked, trying to keep his voice from attaining a full-scale yell. “I don’t even know...” your name. The words faded in his throat as his flame-haired mystery woman disappeared into the ballroom and the protection of the crowd.

Admittedly, his tone was not conducive to staying, but his ego was hard pressed to accept what had just happened. He had kissed a woman whose name he didn’t know and she had fled, horrified, as if his kisses had been some horrendous assault on her mouth, which he happened to know they weren’t. He was a very proficient kisser. Even if past experience didn’t confirm it, her body’s response had. She had been eager for that kiss, eager for more than the kiss. Shockingly enough, so had he.

He’d been eager for the newness of it all, the spontaneity. These days, that was a rare commodity. The kiss had been unplanned and she, whoever she was, had no idea just how significant that was. He always knew a woman’s name, always knew he was going to kiss her and everything else that would follow. That’s how the league worked. It had been years since a woman had surprised him in bed or out.

In the last year especially, he’d begun to believe he’d simply reached the limit of possibilities. Perhaps sex wasn’t an infinite playground of versatility as he once had thought. Perhaps he had indeed come to the very ends of those worlds, a conqueror of all things sensual. Tonight proved otherwise. There was at least one adventure that lay unclaimed. And that adventure had just escaped. If it was going to continue, he was going to have to go after it.

Jocelyn strode into the ballroom, secure in the knowledge that such a beauty would be easy to find. Her hair alone would stand out. If she was still there. Lucifer’s balls, had his kiss caused her to flee the entire venue? How would he ever find her again short of trawling every London entertainment—a prospect he did not relish. It would be a needle-in-a-haystack sort of hunt, if it came to that.

“She’s gone, whoever it is you’re looking for.” A low voice spoke at his shoulder and Jocelyn gave a little jump. His thoughts had been so occupied by his search he hadn’t been aware of the other men’s approach. Amery DeHart, another member of the league, stood on one side of him, Channing Deveril, on the other.

“What is it? What are the two of you doing here?” Jocelyn schooled his features into their usual neutrality, trying to give off no impression of impatience. He’d made an art of the ability to appear unbothered, as if everything rolled off him like water off the proverbial duck. Still, their timing was impeccably rotten. He needed to be searching for his redhead. But he couldn’t ignore the league. There was nothing facile about the presence of Channing and Amery at the same social event together. The league made it a practice to avoid being seen together whenever possible in order to make it less likely people would associate them as more than acquaintances.

“We have a problem. Lord Burroughs has upped the ante in his little vendetta against Nick and thus against us.” Amery took a swallow of his champagne, his eyes never leaving the ballroom floor, constantly scanning, constantly watching. Such dedication to detail, to noticing every nuance about everybody was what Amery did best. It’s what had made him a much-sought-after lover amongst the ton, almost on par with Jocelyn himself. Amery was young but given time, Amery would likely surpass them all.

Channing entered the conversation, his voice low and rapid. “I received word earlier this evening that Burroughs has invited his niece to town in the hopes of using her as bait to draw out the league.”

“Then let’s not be drawn out. Surely if she sends a request to the agency we will simply not be able to fulfill it.” It would be easy enough to figure out any use of a false name as well. The league vetted all their clients before accepting a contract. There, Jocelyn thought. Problem solved.

Channing wasn’t convinced. He shook his head. “I do not think she’ll approach us in that way. Unfortunately, Burroughs guesses too much. He will attempt to use our friendships with Nick to unmask the agency. I suspect he will have his niece come at us through more conventional means.” A wry smile creased Channing’s lips. “It would give us too much power over him if we held a letter from his niece asking for our services. We could use that letter to wicked purpose if we chose to.”

Amery continued to scan the ballroom. “She’s supposed to be here tonight. Her name is Cassandra Burroughs.”

Jocelyn followed Amery’s gaze, although the name meant nothing to him. He searched out the crowd for a glimpse of deep red hair.

Channing continued to fill him in. “We have a description, too. Red hair, blue eyes, slightly taller than average, a real stunner.” Jocelyn felt his stomach start to churn at the familiarity of the description, but surely it was mere coincidence.

“There!” Amery exclaimed, all three sets of eyes locking simultaneously on the striking woman at the entrance to the ballroom.

“That’s her, all right.” Channing’s tone was a grim echo of Jocelyn’s own sentiment. His initial relief over knowing she hadn’t left the ball was overshadowed by a quick piecing together of reality. His mystery woman was Cassandra Burroughs, niece of the league’s current nemesis whose mission was to uncover their secrets and see them exposed.

Jocelyn swore under his breath. Damn it all to perdition. The most exciting woman he’d ever met had used him. Something he’d thought not possible.

Chapter Four

Jocelyn was not fast enough to cover up his surprise. Amery pounced on his reaction. “She was with you!” Amery said with mild, disapproving shock. He exchanged a worried glance with Channing. “Burroughs moved faster than we thought if his niece has already hunted down Eisley.”

“What makes you think she was with me?” Jocelyn challenged. Sometimes Amery was far too perceptive.

Amery downed the rest of his champagne and deposited the glass on the tray of a passing footman. “Simple deduction, Eisley. You both entered through the same door. You were outside together.”

“Is it true, Jocelyn? Were you with her?” Channing pressed.

A stone settled in Jocelyn’s stomach, the magic of the evening severely curtailed. But magic was all illusion anyway, wasn’t it? Just a trick, a sleight of hand to delude the beholder. Oh, he’d been deluded all right. He’d believed the spontaneity of her kiss, of her bold vivacity.

“Yes, I was with her.” But he’d be damned if he’d offer any details.

“She’s a pretty piece. It’s hard to believe she’s related to old Burroughs,” Amery said slyly. “What happened in the garden?”

Channing groaned. “Tell me you didn’t seduce her? The last thing we need is—”

“I didn’t seduce her,” Jocelyn interrupted with a protest. “It was just a kiss.” Only it had felt like much more than a kiss at the time.

“Just a kiss?” Amery grinned. “You’re a fast one, Eisley. You didn’t even know her name and you had her out in the garden for a kiss on a five-minute acquaintance. It serves Burroughs right for trying to uncover us.” He elbowed Jocelyn good-naturedly. “Well done, sir, well done.”

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