astonished to find his smirk gone and his eyes surveying her thoughtfully. “Pax,” he said. “I didn’t mean to provoke you.”
“Oh, yes, you did! You’ve been provoking me since the moment we met.”
“True. Nonetheless, I shouldn’t have carried it quite so far.”
She eyed him uncertainly. “Is that your idea of an apology?”
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Take it however you like, princess.”
Princess? Knowing him, he probably meant that as an insult. “Last I checked, I was never heir to a royal title.”
His eyes gleamed. “A Gypsy princess, then,” he amended in a slow, silky drawl that made her stomach flip over.
“We’re not even sure that I am a Gypsy.”
“No. But by the time I’m done, we’ll know the truth one way or the other, I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Leaning back against the desk, he stared hard at her. “I happen to be very good at what I do. I worked for La Sûreté Nationale in France for years, you know.”
“I didn’t know, actually.” But she did know about the French secret police, who had supposedly cut crime in Paris by nearly half. There’d been articles about them, now that the home secretary, Robert Peel, was attempting to start a police force in London. “Details of your former life haven’t appeared in the newspapers.”
“Yes, well, there are many things that don’t appear in the papers. That doesn’t make them any less true.”
He had a point. And now her curiosity was roused. “What exactly did you do for La Sûreté Nationale?”
“I was an agent. So was Victor. We caught criminals by pretending to be criminals.”
“That certainly explains why you were so successful at playing the thief the day we first met,” she said testily. “You make a very convincing criminal.”
One eyebrow quirked up. “You really don’t like me much, do you?”
Torn between telling the truth and being circumspect, she settled for something in the middle. “I don’t like having pistols pointed at me.” Her voice hardened. “Or mud slung on my father’s good name.”
“Ah.” He drummed his fingers against the desk, then said softly, “Still, you can’t ignore the possibility that you could be your father’s by-blow.”
She winced. She had never met anyone like him—so blunt, so rude, so . . . honest. She’d find it refreshing, if not for the fact that he was insulting Papa. “You’d really enjoy it if I proved to be so, wouldn’t you? It would make me the same as you.”
“Hardly.” Eyes of arctic blue pinned her in place. “Unlike you, I don’t get to choose between being the pampered heir to an estate or merely marrying the pampered heir to an estate. So no, we aren’t remotely the same.”
“In one respect we are.” She regarded him with a faint smile. “It seems you really don’t like me much, either.”
He blinked. Then his lips twitched as if he fought a smile of his own. “Actually, I haven’t decided that yet.” He raked her with a slow, sensual glance that sent a thrill skittering through her. “I daresay I could like you a great deal . . . under the right circumstances.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. Or its effect on her. And she would die before she let him guess it. “Does that sort of blatantly lascivious glance generally sway women to jump into your bed?” she asked tartly.
“Often enough to make it worth the attempt.” He grinned. “Besides, it need only work occasionally. A man must sleep sometime. ”
She rolled her eyes. “At least now I understand why you’re convinced that Drina was my father’s mistress. You judge him by your own low standards.”
The insult slid off him like rain off an oak leaf. “Have you a better explanation for why Drina’s people left her to bear a child among strangers in the dead of winter?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly. “But there is one hole in your lovely theory. When I asked around in Highthorpe, I was
“Oh, yes, you did! You’ve been provoking me since the moment we met.”
“True. Nonetheless, I shouldn’t have carried it quite so far.”
She eyed him uncertainly. “Is that your idea of an apology?”
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Take it however you like, princess.”
Princess? Knowing him, he probably meant that as an insult. “Last I checked, I was never heir to a royal title.”
His eyes gleamed. “A Gypsy princess, then,” he amended in a slow, silky drawl that made her stomach flip over.
“We’re not even sure that I am a Gypsy.”
“No. But by the time I’m done, we’ll know the truth one way or the other, I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Leaning back against the desk, he stared hard at her. “I happen to be very good at what I do. I worked for La Sûreté Nationale in France for years, you know.”
“I didn’t know, actually.” But she did know about the French secret police, who had supposedly cut crime in Paris by nearly half. There’d been articles about them, now that the home secretary, Robert Peel, was attempting to start a police force in London. “Details of your former life haven’t appeared in the newspapers.”
“Yes, well, there are many things that don’t appear in the papers. That doesn’t make them any less true.”
He had a point. And now her curiosity was roused. “What exactly did you do for La Sûreté Nationale?”
“I was an agent. So was Victor. We caught criminals by pretending to be criminals.”
“That certainly explains why you were so successful at playing the thief the day we first met,” she said testily. “You make a very convincing criminal.”
One eyebrow quirked up. “You really don’t like me much, do you?”
Torn between telling the truth and being circumspect, she settled for something in the middle. “I don’t like having pistols pointed at me.” Her voice hardened. “Or mud slung on my father’s good name.”
“Ah.” He drummed his fingers against the desk, then said softly, “Still, you can’t ignore the possibility that you could be your father’s by-blow.”
She winced. She had never met anyone like him—so blunt, so rude, so . . . honest. She’d find it refreshing, if not for the fact that he was insulting Papa. “You’d really enjoy it if I proved to be so, wouldn’t you? It would make me the same as you.”
“Hardly.” Eyes of arctic blue pinned her in place. “Unlike you, I don’t get to choose between being the pampered heir to an estate or merely marrying the pampered heir to an estate. So no, we aren’t remotely the same.”
“In one respect we are.” She regarded him with a faint smile. “It seems you really don’t like me much, either.”
He blinked. Then his lips twitched as if he fought a smile of his own. “Actually, I haven’t decided that yet.” He raked her with a slow, sensual glance that sent a thrill skittering through her. “I daresay I could like you a great deal . . . under the right circumstances.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. Or its effect on her. And she would die before she let him guess it. “Does that sort of blatantly lascivious glance generally sway women to jump into your bed?” she asked tartly.
“Often enough to make it worth the attempt.” He grinned. “Besides, it need only work occasionally. A man must sleep sometime. ”
She rolled her eyes. “At least now I understand why you’re convinced that Drina was my father’s mistress. You judge him by your own low standards.”
The insult slid off him like rain off an oak leaf. “Have you a better explanation for why Drina’s people left her to bear a child among strangers in the dead of winter?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly. “But there is one hole in your lovely theory. When I asked around in Highthorpe, I was
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