To Kiss A Spy by Jane Feather

She raised her eyes from the purse she was netting, saw him, and smiled.
    A feeling almost like fear crept over him. For the first time in his adult life he was uncertain. He had never met a situation that he could not dominate, a person he could not use. But he knew in his soul that Pen Bryanston presented a challenge he was by no means confident he could meet.

Six
    Pen set aside the purse and rose to her feet. “Chevalier, pray allow me to present you to Her Highness.” She came to him with swift step, one hand outstretched in welcome.
    She had a lovely smile, Owen thought, as he bowed over her hand, feeling the warm dry palm and the slight flutter of her fingers against his own. A generous smile, without flirtation or artifice. He noticed for the first time that her teeth were slightly crooked, giving a certain wryness to her smile. His fingers tightened over hers as he held her hand a minute longer than courtesy required.
    She wore her hair loose again, confined at the brow with a jeweled band and drawn over her shoulders in an effort to conceal the white bandage that still encircled her neck. He moved one hand up to her neck, beneath the fall of her hair.
    “How is it?” he murmured, and Pen heard his soft melodic voice as a caress that stroked her with the same sensuality as the warm brush of his fingers against her skin.
    But she had no time to respond.
    “Chevalier d’Arcy, you are most welcome.”
    At Princess Mary’s clear tones, which carried just the slightest hint of hauteur, Owen released Pen’s hand. His eyes held hers for an instant, his mouth curved in an unmistakably conspiratorial smile, then he moved gracefully across to the princess’s chair, leaving Pen to wonder if anyone else in the parlor had been aware of that moment of contact. It had been so intense, although so short, that it was impossible to imagine everyone in the chamber had not felt it.
    A quick glance at the assembled company, however, showed her only the expected degree of interest in the new arrival. No one was looking in her direction. She followed Owen to the princess’s chair.
    Owen swept his jeweled cap from his head and bowed very low. “Princess Mary, you do me much honor.”
    “We all owe you thanks, sir, for your timely rescue of Lady Bryanston.”
    “I count myself fortunate that my assistance brought me to Your Highness’s notice.”
    “Pretty words, sir.” The princess gave him a look of approval. “I spend little time in London, otherwise I am sure we would have met before.”
    “I have paid few visits to England in the last years,” Owen said. “I prefer a quiet life.” He smiled slightly as he took the stool the princess indicated beside her. “My estates and vineyards in Burgundy provide me with all the excitement I could wish for.”
    “Indeed, sir?” Mary raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You do not have the air, Chevalier, of a man who lives retired from court.”
    “Appearances can be deceiving, madam,” Pen said demurely, quoting Owen’s own comment in the inn. Owen flicked a glance up at her, an appreciative glimmer in his black eyes.
    Mary nodded and looked quickly between them. “Pen tells me you fought off her attackers single-handed. No mean feat for a man who likes a quiet life.”
    “One can enjoy a retiring life but still be capable of dealing with the . . . with the less peaceful side of a more public existence,” Owen observed.
    “The chevalier is a harpist, madam,” Pen said. “A reflection of the quiet Welsh side of his nature, I daresay.” She felt very lighthearted suddenly. Playful almost. A most unusual sensation. She hadn’t felt such a thing since Philip’s death.
    “An unusual instrument for a man, Chevalier,” Mary said with surprise. “Would you play for us now? One of my ladies plays the harp and has a fine, well-tuned instrument.”
    Owen glanced at Pen, and she gave him a look of pure mischief that took him aback. He knew her to be sharp and intelligent. He