“This is no closet,” she pointed out. “Where are we?”

“Where no one will think to find us. What you ought to be asking is did anyone see us leave? The answer is no. I don’t think so, but just in case…” He twisted and shut the doors to the room, seeming to shrink the outdoor space even more. “Now, what could be so important you lowered yourself to mingle with the likes of Mrs. Talbot?”

Céleste ignored the harshly disapproving tone and cleared her throat. She was suddenly anxious to speak with him considering what it might take to convince him to help her. She had used her trump card just to get him to speak with her, and she didn’t have much left to offer. Could she go so far as to use her body to entice him? Yes, she could. She was determined to find the truth, but she doubted she would be enough to tempt him, even if she wasn’t past her prime.

She forced herself to meet his gaze with all the confidence she could gather. He was a force to be reckoned with, a beast that had somehow convinced all of Paris he was a merry jester—harmless and unbothered.

He was most definitely bothered now, and she had never believed him harmless. She could feel his anger crackling in the air.

The moon was full, and a torch lit the garden just below, making him appear larger and more intimidating. It illuminated him: his hair, his eyes, his angled jaw just above the fine folds of his cravat. The way he narrowed his eyes at her made her feel like a troublesome insect he could crush at any second. No one had ever made her feel so small.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I want to engage your services.”

His hard expression held for a moment, then softened with a touch of amusement and… bewilderment? Then he smiled, and her jaw clenched.

He was far too charming when he smiled.

“You are the first,” he said. “I have been cornered in my box at the opera, pulled into a closet, had my clothes held ransom in Hyde Park—don’t ask—but you are the first to use threats of ostracizing me for a place in my bed. M’dear girl, if you wanted to be my mistress—”

“No!” Céleste burst out. “Good heavens, no. That is not what I meant.” She stopped herself and managed a scolding tone. “I understand you are a scoundrel, but I shall ask you to keep those hobbies to yourself. This is strictly business.”

“Love is a business, m’dear,” he murmured. “A lucrative one.”

She ignored him with a stern shake of her head. “I believe my husband was murdered, and I need you to find out who did it.”

Nick had to bite back a chuckle at her discomfort on the subject of love, but he sobered immediately at the rest.

“It was declared a suicide, was it not?”

“Well, yes, but they found no reason for it. There has to be a reason. Someone must have driven him to do it.”

“No doubt of it,” he muttered, looking her over warily. “Look here, whatever you have heard about me, it was wrong. Besides, if anything was there to find, it has long been covered up by now.”

“Béarn recommended you. Surely, it is worth your efforts for his sake if not for your own.”

Nick’s jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes on a long blink. Béarn? Why? Nick could take a joke, but this? This was blackmail… and Béarn had facilitated it.

Nick made a quick mental inventory of any factories he might have forgotten about which might have reached the duke’s attention. Maybe one or two… or three. Any with dead bodies? No. None that Nick had put there, anyway. Allard’s death wouldn’t reach the duke’s ears until next week at the earliest, and that was only if the police ever found out who owned the building. The paperwork for that shack was horrendous.

“Please,” she said, bringing him out of his thoughts. She licked her lips, immediately drawing his attention there. “I would do anything.”

Very well. He would admit the woman could surprise him, a feat very few women could pull off, and she had done it more than once.

“Is this worth so much to you?” His cock was screaming, yes, yes, yes, but his brain sensed a trap. Or a test. Or simply a fantastically terrible idea.

“Pierre was everything to me, and I am determined to prove he was an honorable man,” she insisted. “Was it not yourself who said there was such a thing as an honorable rake? If that is possible, then an honorable man committing suicide is not so unreasonable.”

She was being terribly foolish. She was beautiful, even more so under the moonlight on this balcony overlooking the dimly lit garden. It was damned poetic.

Had he been anyone else, he might consider risking Paris for one night with her. He might consider seducing her into his bed, to hell with Parisian fêtes and gaming. After all, there was always Venice. If only the cost were not the lives of others…

He raised one hand to tuck a dark curl behind her ear, his fingers tracing its outer ridge before he forced his fist back down to his side.

“You, m’dear girl,” he murmured, “are old enough to know better than to tempt a scoundrel.”

“I know what I am doing,” she spouted back indignantly. “I am not a child.”

“No,” he agreed easily. “You are certainly not a child.”

“Then I would expect you not to treat me like one.” Her eyes flashed, giving him a teasing glimpse of passion.

Lady Dumonte possessed passion?

Another surprise.

“Of course not.” He frowned in mock seriousness. “How should I treat you? As a lady or a mistress?”

“As a woman,” she ground out. “I am a woman!” Her lips pursed together as she glared up at him.

He smiled broadly; he couldn’t help himself.

“Ah, yes,” he agreed, looking her over as though he had only just noticed. “I believe you are.”

She took in a deep breath, pushing her breasts against the tight fabric of her bodice.

His cock jumped to attention.

“I was wrong about not liking you. I hate you!”

“And yet,” he mused with a knit brow, “you throw yourself at me like all the others. You are either in denial of your overwhelming attraction to me or a glutton for punishment. For my own complacency, I choose the former.”

Céleste shook her head slowly, her eyes narrowed and seething with anger.

“Regardless,” he continued frankly at his own peril, “you had better run along, or you may find your offer accepted, and we both know you never expected that. Your bluff has been called, Lady Dumonte. Go on home like a good girl.”

“I never bluff.”

“Never say never, m’dear,” he murmured with a purposefully wicked smile.

He’d had enough. No man could just stand there while this woman was offering herself up like a feast, especially with that temperament peeking through.

Lady Dumonte might just be quite the feisty, little cat had someone the courage and ambition to bring it out in her. Even so, that someone couldn’t be Nick. All he could do was scare her into behaving herself and leaving him the hell alone.

With that goal in mind, he let go of his restraint and touched her. She startled, but she didn’t back away. He settled his hands high on her waist and hugged her curves as they slid down to her hips, testing her figure, not that he hadn’t already known precisely how her waist curved into her perfectly rounded buttocks. To his great discomfort, he had dreamt about said buttocks the night before and had woken up irritable and unsated.