If He's Wild by Hannah Howell Page A

they have within them should give some sign of its presence, and not just to ones like us.”
    “A large, hairy wart, perhaps,” she murmured and was pleased to hear Iago laugh. “Why did they come here?”
    “I do not mean to sound vain, but Margarite wants me.”
    “Ah, of course, and she is not a woman who likes to be denied or cast aside. For a moment, I feared they knew about us.”
    “No, for if they did, they would never risk drawing so close to us.”
    “True. Do you think Margarite could be a danger to you?”
    “She is angry, so quite possibly, but I am aware of the threat she poses to me and others. We must see this through to the end, Alethea. You know that, as I do. You said so before I did. Your visions demand it of you, and what I have seen concerning these two women compels me. What use are such gifts if they are never used for something worthy?”
    “And using them against the enemies of one’s country is worthy. I know it. I just had not anticipated that the danger I saw reaching out for Lord Redgrave would also try to reach out for you. And me.”
    “I am not at ease with the fact that there is any risk for you, but I will do my best to see that such risk is minimal. I believe we will both be well guarded. Despite their unease, those lordlings believed us, and they are smart enough to see that we, and our particular talents, could be of some use.” Iago stood up. “Our reluctant allies will soon arrive, and I wish to show them a list I made last evening.”
    “A list of what?”
    “The men I know of who have shared the beds of Margarite and, or, Claudette. I suspect they already have such information, but one never knows.”
    Before Alethea could ask how Iago had come by such knowledge himself, he was gone. She sighed and slumped down in her seat. It was naïve to have thought she only needed to warn Lord Redgrave and not only would he heed her, but that her part in it all would then be done. Her uncle seemed almost pleased to have become a part of the secretive battle against England’s enemies, but she sorely regretted pulling him into her mess.
    If she was honest with herself, she, too, experienced a touch of pleasure, even excitement, over the chance to help her country. She felt the same over the opportunity to be close to the Marquis of Redgrave. There was a strong possibility, however, that he could prove a greater danger to her than the French spies.
    When she had first set eyes on the living, breathing form of the man who had haunted her dreams for so long, she had been spellbound. If not for the importance of what she had come to London to tell him, she feared she might have fawned over him like some love-struck schoolgirl. The more she had thought about her reaction to the man, the more she began to fear that all those years of visions and dreams had not only been leading up to this very important warning. There was a very good chance that she had been connected to him for so long, bound to a man she had never met and knew nothing about, because he was the one she was fated for.
    “And that is a grossly unkind twist of fate if ever there was one,” she muttered, sitting up straight and rubbing at her temples in an attempt to banish a beginning headache.
    The man was far above her touch. Too thin, oddly shaped ladies with coal black hair and strange eyes did not capture the attentions of men like Lord Redgrave. Oh, she had bosoms full enough for a man and rounded hips, but she was built on very lean lines everywhere else. But such men were meant for the Claudettes of the world, for the beautiful, worldly women. He was also a rake, a sophisticated seducer of women. She had not the faintest idea how to play that game, even if, by some miracle, he wanted to play it with her. If Hartley revealed an interest in her, a part of her was already more than willing to cast aside all caution and let him lead her down the primrose path. The problem was that with her body would go her heart,