heart.”
Laura said nothing, but she didn’t think his intentions involved hearts and declarations of love. He was the sort of man who kept a mistress. The sort of man a woman like her should avoid.
Bell sat at his desk reviewing a letter from his banker. At the sound of a knock, he folded the letter and said, “Enter.”
Griffith, his butler, stepped inside. “My lord, a man named Smyth has called.” He produced the card.
“Please show him in,” Bell said, rising.
Smyth entered and bowed. “My lord, I understand you are in need of my investigative services.”
“I am. Please be seated.”
Smyth sat on the edge of his seat. “My lord, how may I assist you?”
“I wish to conduct an investigation into a man by the name of Montclief. He is the guardian of a minor who will formally take control of the title of Viscount Chesfield in four years. For obvious reasons, I wish to conceal the investigation. I wish to gain insight into Montclief’s financial situation, the state of his property at Goatham Green, and to learn how he is perceived among the general populace. I need information about his friends and any other pertinent facts. Are you able to take on this investigation?”
“Yes, my lord. I have conducted similar investigations numerous times and will provide both a verbal and written report upon conclusion of my findings.”
Bell unlocked a desk drawer and produced a hefty purse. “This is for your expenses. Upon satisfactory conclusion, you will receive four hundred pounds. I might add that you should spare no detail in your report, however mundane it might at first appear. Send me preliminary reports as they become available. Do you have any questions?”
“No, my lord. Your instructions are clear.”
After Smyth left, Bell locked the desk drawer. He wanted to be prepared in the event Montclief became a threat to Laura and her son. Long ago, Bell had learned to trust his instincts, and the information he’d gleaned from Lady Atherton had made him doubly suspicious. The investigation might yield nothing of significance, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.
Chapter Four
The next evening
B ell met Colin and Harry at White’s and ordered a bottle of brandy for the table. After Bell opened a gold case, he offered his friends a cheroot. They sat smoking in silence for a while. Bell’s thoughts turned to a fantasy of Laura in a bath. His blood heated as he imagined parting her thighs and exploring between the plump folds of her sex. He would make her come and then he’d lift her out and apply a towel while he licked water droplets off strategic areas of her slim body. That would require getting her naked and in a bath.
The devil, what was he thinking? She was a proper widow and a vicar’s daughter, not his type at all. His type of woman was improper. She was willing to do anything as long as he showered her with jewels and ball gowns. She was skilled in the sensual arts and completely predictable. Just like his last mistress, Marguerite—boring.
Laura was not boring. In fact, she wasn’t predictable at all. Granted, she was proper, but he couldn’t anticipate what she would say or do. She most certainly did not like it when he took control over matters, but he was accustomed to taking care of problems. And her son was a problem.
But her son was not his problem. So why did Bell keep thinking about the young buck? Why the devil was he so obsessed with Laura and her son? She’d released him from any obligation. It was past time he pushed them both out of his mind.
Unfortunately, the harder he tried to forget her, the more he thought about her. He kept remembering the lush kisses he’d shared with Laura. Usually he could walk away from a woman without a care, but for some reason, he couldn’t get the feel and taste of her out of his head.
He inhaled from his cheroot and recalled her shock when he’d slid his tongue home. He rather liked that he’d taught her a few things and that
Laura said nothing, but she didn’t think his intentions involved hearts and declarations of love. He was the sort of man who kept a mistress. The sort of man a woman like her should avoid.
Bell sat at his desk reviewing a letter from his banker. At the sound of a knock, he folded the letter and said, “Enter.”
Griffith, his butler, stepped inside. “My lord, a man named Smyth has called.” He produced the card.
“Please show him in,” Bell said, rising.
Smyth entered and bowed. “My lord, I understand you are in need of my investigative services.”
“I am. Please be seated.”
Smyth sat on the edge of his seat. “My lord, how may I assist you?”
“I wish to conduct an investigation into a man by the name of Montclief. He is the guardian of a minor who will formally take control of the title of Viscount Chesfield in four years. For obvious reasons, I wish to conceal the investigation. I wish to gain insight into Montclief’s financial situation, the state of his property at Goatham Green, and to learn how he is perceived among the general populace. I need information about his friends and any other pertinent facts. Are you able to take on this investigation?”
“Yes, my lord. I have conducted similar investigations numerous times and will provide both a verbal and written report upon conclusion of my findings.”
Bell unlocked a desk drawer and produced a hefty purse. “This is for your expenses. Upon satisfactory conclusion, you will receive four hundred pounds. I might add that you should spare no detail in your report, however mundane it might at first appear. Send me preliminary reports as they become available. Do you have any questions?”
“No, my lord. Your instructions are clear.”
After Smyth left, Bell locked the desk drawer. He wanted to be prepared in the event Montclief became a threat to Laura and her son. Long ago, Bell had learned to trust his instincts, and the information he’d gleaned from Lady Atherton had made him doubly suspicious. The investigation might yield nothing of significance, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.
Chapter Four
The next evening
B ell met Colin and Harry at White’s and ordered a bottle of brandy for the table. After Bell opened a gold case, he offered his friends a cheroot. They sat smoking in silence for a while. Bell’s thoughts turned to a fantasy of Laura in a bath. His blood heated as he imagined parting her thighs and exploring between the plump folds of her sex. He would make her come and then he’d lift her out and apply a towel while he licked water droplets off strategic areas of her slim body. That would require getting her naked and in a bath.
The devil, what was he thinking? She was a proper widow and a vicar’s daughter, not his type at all. His type of woman was improper. She was willing to do anything as long as he showered her with jewels and ball gowns. She was skilled in the sensual arts and completely predictable. Just like his last mistress, Marguerite—boring.
Laura was not boring. In fact, she wasn’t predictable at all. Granted, she was proper, but he couldn’t anticipate what she would say or do. She most certainly did not like it when he took control over matters, but he was accustomed to taking care of problems. And her son was a problem.
But her son was not his problem. So why did Bell keep thinking about the young buck? Why the devil was he so obsessed with Laura and her son? She’d released him from any obligation. It was past time he pushed them both out of his mind.
Unfortunately, the harder he tried to forget her, the more he thought about her. He kept remembering the lush kisses he’d shared with Laura. Usually he could walk away from a woman without a care, but for some reason, he couldn’t get the feel and taste of her out of his head.
He inhaled from his cheroot and recalled her shock when he’d slid his tongue home. He rather liked that he’d taught her a few things and that
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