The Devil In Disguise by Stefanie Sloane Page B

park had been as surprising as it was unforgettable. He ached at the memory of her—the lush curves of her body lifting against him, her skin flushed with desire.
    But the park had been the wrong place, the wrong time. Just plain wrong. Will had come to know Garenne’s habits too well to have lingered in the grass with Lucinda. Though the Frenchman wouldn’t allow himself to be drawn out, he was no less dangerous. He would waste no time before attacking again.
    Will had alerted Carmichael and his fellow Corinthians about the foiled attempt, arranging for more men to be assigned to the case. He knew that he did not
need
to be here, watching her, but he felt a certain sense of duty to the case. She required looking after. And he was the right man for the job.
    A gaggle of fresh-faced young misses approached, giggling and eyeing him with interest as they walked by. Will ignored them and looked past the group to the tall, impeccably dressed gentleman strolling toward him, a few yards behind the chattering girls.
    “I never would have pegged you for a dandy,” Lord Marcus MacInnes, the Earl of Weston, drawled as he neared Will, coming to stand next to him. “Yet here you are, Clairemont, shopping. On New Bond Street. Will wonders never cease?”
    Will eyed Weston, relieved to have the seasoned Corinthian on the case. The Scotsman’s fashionable appearance and devil-may-care attitude had proven to be the perfect cover for Corinthian business in the past, and Will had high hopes it would serve their efforts well now.
    “You’ve caught me, then,” Will responded sarcastically. “Though one has to wonder just what you’re doing here.”
    Weston grinned. “Well played, Clairemont.”
    The door to Pomeroy’s opened suddenly and Lady Lucinda and Lady Northrop stepped over the threshold, followed by their maids, who carried several wrapped parcels. The sight put an abrupt halt to their conversation.
    “Drop back and follow us,” Will said in a low tone, keeping his facial expression relaxed and uninterested.
    Weston clapped Will on the back and laughed. “Of course,” he replied, his jovial action belying the true nature of their interaction.
    Will moved quickly, easing behind a passing tall, elderly gentleman escorting a very rotund lady gowned in black. He used the couple as concealment until they were close to Lady Lucinda’s party. Then he slowed, letting space lengthen between himself and the elderly couple.
    “Lady Lucinda, Lady Northrop.” He approached the two women and their maids.
    He held back a smile at the surprise and, if he wasn’t mistaken, pleasure that appeared on Lucinda’s face.
    “Your Grace,” Lady Northrop began, her expression markedly less cheerful than Lady Lucinda’s. “I must admit to some surprise at finding you here,” she said.
    Will bowed, smiling at Lady Lucinda before turning to Lady Northrop, a look of bewilderment clouding his face. “Indeed? I cannot imagine why.”
    Lady Northrop’s ears turned scarlet at the tips as they almost always did whenever they met. “Surely I am not the only one to marvel at the sight of Iron Will strolling down New Bond Street. Or would you have us believe you’ve suddenly become obsessed with the cut of your waistcoat?”
    Will spread his hands, palms out, in a plea for mercy from Lady Northrop. “Ah, you’ve caught me out. In truth, I could not have cared less for any of this.” He paused, gesturing at the surrounding shops. The fashionable set thronged the walkways and street, to see and be seen. “But of late I’ve found myself quite taken with the notion of self-improvement.”
    He looked at Lday Lucinda, lifting an eyebrow in a silent request for confirmation. “Lady Lucinda, have I not demonstrated a marked desire to prove myself a gentleman in every way?”
    He dared her to answer truthfully. The narrowing of her eyes told him she knew he was referring to their interlude in the park.
    “I wouldn’t dream of judging you, Your