Lady of Desire by Gaelen Foley

into the room. Pulling a slim metal case out of his breast pocket, he took out a cheroot. As he bent over the candle and lit it, she did not have the heart to tell him that a gentleman did not smoke in front of a lady.
    He straightened up again and turned to her, looking irresistibly dangerous with the thin cheroot dangling from his lips. “So, where’s the lucky bridegroom, eh, Miss Smith? Are you to meet him at the coast, or were you waiting for him at the Bull’s Head?” He paused, let out a stream of smoke, and added prosaically, “Was he late?”
    “Blade, please. Just let me go. I have no intention of reporting you to Bow Street. Can’t you just take my word for it and return me to the coaching inn? I will be on my way, and we need never think of each other again.”
    “I am not sure that is possible.” His smoldering gaze inched down her body, as shocking and tangible as touch. “Your fiancé must be quite a man to have turned your head.”
    Rattled and blushing at his leisurely appraisal, she blurted out a protest, too fevered to think first. “Did it ever occur to you that my going to Paris might be to
avoid
a betrothal rather than to fulfill one—blast you!” she cried as he lifted his eyebrow with a knowing smirk. Abominable man. She snapped her jaw shut and scowled, for the beast had just tricked her into admitting her destination.
    “I see. In other words—” He sauntered toward her with an intense stare. “—you’re running away from home.”
    “So what if I am? I don’t see how that’s any affair of yours.” She pointed impatiently at his waist. “You know, you’re bleeding.”
    “You’ll never survive. You’ll never make it to France in one piece.”
    “Oh, yes, I will.”
    “You were duped by a nine-year-old pickpocket, then chased him into the rookery like a damned fool.”
    “Did you even pay attention to where he was leading you? You never chase a thief who robs you. That’s the way most of the murders in this city happen. Look at you.” The cheroot between his fingers, he swept a gesture from her feet to her head, scowling crossly. “You’re dressed like a princess, walking around with enough gold in your purse to get you killed thrice over, never mind the diamonds. That boy could have gutted you like a fish if he had wanted to, and—good God, woman!—do you know what would’ve happened to you if it had been O’Dell who had found you instead of me?“
    “Go on, rail away.” She folded her arms over her chest and studied the wall. “You’re bound to pass out soon enough from loss of blood.”
    He narrowed his eyes at her, then bent his head and moved his black leather coat aside to examine his wound. His long, tangled blond hair fell forward, veiling his face.
    No wonder Lucien liked him, she thought. The brute was as domineering as any of her brothers. She winced at the sight of his bloodied shirt. “I think you had better send for the surgeon.”
    “I’ll tend it myself,” he grumbled, clamping the cheroot between his teeth as he shrugged off his jacket. He nodded toward the hearth. “There’s hot water in that pot on the fire. Pour it into the washbasin over on the chest of drawers—if the task isn’t too far beneath you.”
    “I suppose, this once, I can make an exception,” she said sweetly, cursing his arrogance under her breath.
    Grateful for any topic to divert him from his interrogation, Jacinda did as he bid her with a handy cooperation that would have shocked her beleaguered governess, Miss Hood. She collected the empty basin on the chest of drawers and stole a closer glance at the Canaletto. The painting was bizarrely out of place in this thieves’ den, but it was truly exquisite. She turned around with the washbowl in her hands just as Blade lifted his thin white shirt off over his head.
    She stopped in her tracks, nearly dropping the bowl. Firelight played across the broad, muscled splendor of his chest, powerful shoulders, and ironlike