If He's Wild Read Free Page A

sister, Madame Claudette des Rouches.”
    “They are French?”
    “Émigrés. Claudette’s husband was killed for being on the wrong side in yet another struggle for power, and Margarite married an Englishman shortly after arriving.”
    “For shame, you rogue. A married lady? Tsk, tsk.”
    “A widow, you brat. Her husband died six months after the wedding.”
    “How convenient. Ah, well, at least Margarite did not stink of roses. If she had, I might have been forced to deal with her again.”
    Iago scratched his cheek as he frowned in thought. “No, Margarite does not use a rose scent. Claudette does.”
    Alethea stared at the two women and briefly wished she had a little of her cousin Modred’s gift. There was something about the pair that unsettled her. Iago’s frown told her he felt it, too. It would make solving this trouble she had been plunged into so much easier if she could just pluck the truth from the minds of the enemy. She suspected she would quickly be anxious to be rid of such a gift, however. If she and Iago both got unsettling feelings from the two women, she hated to think what poor Modred would suffer with his acute sensitivity. Although she would prefer to avoid both women, she knew she would have to at least approach the sister who favored roses at some point. There was a chance she could gain some insight, perhaps even have a vision. Since a man’s life was at stake, she could not allow fear over what unsavory truths she might uncover to hold her back.
    “I believe we should investigate them a little,” she said.
    “Because they are French and Claudette smells of roses?”
    “As good a reason as any. It is also one way to help solve this problem without revealing ourselves too much.”
    Iago nodded. “Very true. Simple investigation. I even know a few people who can help me do it.” His eyes widened slightly. “Considering some of the lovers those two women have had, I am surprised they have not already been investigated. Now that I think on it, they seem overly fond of men who would know things useful to the enemy.”
    “And no one has seen them as a threat because they are beautiful women.”
    “It galls me to say so, but you may be right about that. Of course, this is still all mere speculation. Nevertheless, they should be investigated and kept a watch on simply because they are French and have known, intimately, a number of important men.”
    Alethea suddenly tensed, but, for a moment, she was not sure why she was so abruptly and fiercely alert. Sipping her champagne, she forced herself to be calm and concentrate on exactly what she was feeling. To her astonishment, she realized she was feeling him. He was irritated, yet there was a small flicker of pleasure. She suspected that hint of pleasure came from seeing his cousin.
    “Allie!”
    She blinked slowly, fixing her gaze on her uncle. “Sorry. You were saying?”
    “I was just wondering if you had a vision,” he replied in a soft voice. “You were miles away.”
    “Ah, no. No vision. Just a feeling.”
    “A feeling?”
    “Yes. He is here.”

Chapter 2
    Hartley Greville, seventh Marquis of Redgrave, greeted his plump cousin Lady Beatrice Bartleby with all the charm he could muster. She was a good-hearted woman, if a bit silly. In many ways she was more like some sweet, affectionate aunt than a cousin, being fifteen years his senior. When he was still a boy, she had, on several occasions, been his only source of comfort. Gratitude for those times was what brought him to her door, made him almost willingly enter into the foray of a ton event. She also only made the occasional halfhearted attempt to find a wife for him, something else he was very grateful for.
    He exchanged greetings with her gruffly jovial husband, who knew far more about Hartley’s life than Beatrice did. William’s bluff country-squire appearance hid a brilliant mind that efficiently sorted through much of the intelligence men like Hartley gathered for