Free Elizabeth Boyle by Brazen Trilogy Page B

him.
    When Giles leaned forward to assist, she shrank away from his touch. Her scathing look sent him back in his seat.
    I couldn’t care less what you think of me, you little minx
, he thought.
    “Are you all right, my dear girl?” Monty continued, fussing over her like a nursemaid, straightening her skirts, sighing over the torn lace and the ruined state of her silks.
    A deep sigh escaped her pink lips. “I’m well enough.” She brushed her skirts out and with the movement cast off Monty’s hand.
    Her eyes remained downcast, as if to ward off any invasion into their dark blue depths. Still, Giles noticed she was taking a furtive inventory of everything and everyone around her and, more importantly, watching the passing scenery to determine her destination.
    He pulled the cord on the shade so it dropped and blocked her view.
    She looked up and directly at him—a slight nod acknowledged his small victory, but also told him he hadn’t yet won the war.
    As the carriage careened through the empty streets, Giles knew he should be planning his questioning, considering alternatives for his investigation if the Brazen Angel refused to cooperate with the Crown. But he found himself unable to concentrate.
    Instead, his gaze wandered down to catch stray glimpses of her trim, silk-clad ankles poking out beneath the edge of her skirts. He inhaled the scent of her perfume filling the carriage with its witchery and promise. Nor could he miss the triumphant glow of her eyes behind her mask.
    She was plotting her escape.
    It was there, so obvious, in her eyes. They burned with something so mysterious, so intimate, he felt as if she knew him, knew him like a lover, and would use that power to outwit him.
    She caught him staring at her and smiled in return. At first it was so slight he barely discerned it, but then it curved at her lips, her lashes fluttered over her eyes, her head tipped slightly. Somehow, her shoulders rolled back, her breasts pushed upward against the tattered remains of her bodice.
    An open invitation for him and only him. At least that was how she made him feel.
    He forgot Monty, forgot why he wanted this woman, knowing only
that
he wanted her.
    Looking away, Giles ground his teeth. If only he could dismiss this woman from his thoughts as easily as his wayward bride. Of course he hoped Lady Sophia was well and safe. But she certainly didn’t leave him wishing for—
    The carriage came to a stop.
    Monty sprang out before Giles could stop him. The duke held out his hands to the lady as if she were a princess.
    She shot a look back at Giles, her brows arched above her mask, a smug smile on her lips.
    You see
, her expression seemed to say,
this is how a lady is supposed to be treated.
    Regally, she began her descent from the carriage.
    “I hope you will forgive us for these high-handed antics, but you are in terrible danger, my dear,” Monty fussed.
    She paused at the bottom of her step. Giles couldn’t see past her wigs and skirts, but from Monty’s tone he was positive his friend was in high form.
    “I hope,” she stated in sweet, innocent tones, “you will forgive me.”
    Before Monty could respond, she whirled around, slamming the carriage door shut on Giles. The latch jammed in his hands, but he was able to jerk aside the window flap just in time to see her put both hands on Monty’s chest and shove the smaller man backward into a heap of puce and green brocade. His wig rolled off his head like a top, spinning toward the gutter.
    She whirled once again, this time to grin at Giles, before she was off and running.
    “Damnation,” he cursed as he struggled with the handle. Furious at this turn of events, he put his shoulder into the carriage door. It sprang open, the force carrying him sprawling onto the walkway next to Monty.
    Giles looked up to find his butler, Keenan, standing at the front door, his mouth wide open. The man, known for his stoic features, rarely batted an eye at even the strangest of