A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard) Read Free

spotlight halted on the lithe figure of a young woman sitting on the ledge of a balcony. She wore a tightly fitted bodice and a dancer’s skirt of filmy, translucent layers, which parted as she rose from her perch and raised a jaw-dropping length of leg slowly into the air—in arabesque. The very term caused a sudden shiver of uncanny intuition. Finn had dredged up the word— arabesque —from distant memory.
    The ballerina tilted her head and opened gently wavering arms, a preening bird preparing for flight. With eachflutter she loosed ribbons of red and gold silk. Her pointe slippers pawed the ledge as she traversed the upper tier, unfurling wing and tail streamers along the way.
    Strains of music built quickly to a crescendo and she plunged off the balcony. The audience gasped as the diving bird swooped down over the audience attached to a delicate golden perch and gilded wire.
    Hardy leaned forward. “Nice set of gams, wot?” As if in answer to his brother’s crude observation, every man in the theatre lifted his opera glasses to inspect those lovely limbs. She floated across the stage, heading straight for their box. With arms outstretched, she unfurled yet another length of delicate fabric, gaily tossing it ahead of her as she reached the end of her arc.
    Before he could stop himself, Finn reached out over the edge of the balcony and caught the ribbon of silk. Their eyes met in shock and surprise. Every fiber of his being came alive.
    Catriona.
    The roar of cheers from the male audience below barely registered. The trapeze swung the ethereal bird back over the heads of the audience and lowered her gracefully to the floor of the stage. The ballerina leaped to earth amongst an eruption of applause, and danced a series of precision pirouettes across the stage into the arms of a male dancer who lifted her high above his shoulders and rotated her slowly in the air.
    Zak and Hardy joined in the applause. Without taking his eyes off her, Finn gathered the firebird’s fluttering silk ribbon. She was everything he remembered, only more so. Finn sank into his chair. He had never seen Catriona dance in Spain, or France for that matter. In fact, he had hardly gotten to know her at all. Tall and willowy with large sapphireeyes and raven hair, she was so . . . achingly beautiful. Mesmerized by her every move, his mind returned to a night of unforgettable passion they had shared—Christ, how long was it now? Well over a year, at least.
    Most provocatively, she slipped back down to earth in the arms of her partner. Finn was quite sure every man in the audience was aroused by her slide down the male dancer’s torso. Twirling and leaping across a stage flooded with moonlight, her body moved with a light, ethereal quality—a sensuous grace—as if her feet had no real need to touch ground. Fields of gravity did not apply to this lovely creature.
    She arched her back and swept an arm in the air, signaling farewell. One could feel the enchantment as everyone gasped a collective sigh. Waves of energy rippled through the room as the audience stood in ovation. She took her bows amongst a host of bravos and applause.
    Zak leaned forward. “Though she dances with the Paris ballet company and has taken a French stage name, she is actually—”
    “Catriona Elíse de Dovia Willoughby.” Finn worked at holding himself together as he met Zak’s gaze. “Born to a Spanish mother and British father, raised in both countries, attended finishing school in France. Much to the family’s dismay on both sides of the channel, she auditioned for the Paris Opera Ballet and was accepted.”
    Hardy raised both brows. “I say, Finn, you know her?”
    Zeno poured them each another dram. “According to the dossier your brother compiled on Miss Willoughby, I’d say he knows her rather well.”
    Finn shot Zak a cautionary glower. “Never thought you were the type to read between the lines, Kennedy.”
    “Quite a stunning young woman, Finn.