Chapter 5

"Mine?" For a second she wondered if she could blame Susan for the whole sordid thing. Truth to tell, she was so stunned she struggled to wonder anything. James Flint James Flint Blackmoore couldn't have been caught and sold as a servant. A valet, of all things.

"Look. The years obviously haven't been any kinder to you than they have to me."

The remark astonished her. If she removed the bruises from the equation, she felt she was doing not so badly. How like the mighty Captain Flint to think otherwise.

"Look, I mean you know what I mean." He gestured wearily.

"No. Not really. I can't say as I do."

She considered asking him to leave, but because he was Malmesbury's valet, she swallowed the consideration. Where would he go, after all, except back upstairs to tell Malmesbury everything?

"It's like this, James. They have and they haven't been. May I?"

"Your house, sweetheart."

She assumed the armchair opposite. She even fingered her throat, largely to mask the shudder of unease that passed through her that he knew of her scheme. Although it wouldn't have surprised her in the least to find the paste sapphire absent from her neck. The chain it sat on too. Without her even noticing it had gone. She must deal with him and she must do it now.

"Thomas is dead. In fact, I think you may even have seen him in the cellar. Unfortunately, his mother never liked me and has made that disdain plain, for reasons I have never been able to understand."

He glanced at her. "Me neither, sweetheart, you want to know the truth."

The truth? It would be a first. Him pretending to like her, too. All the same, it didn't matter. She'd do anything not to lose this now. Even bite her tongue in order to refrain from saying so.

"Look, if it's money you want, I can help you, for old time's sake. I just can't do it right now. The fact is, these jewels are all I have."

Naturally she wasn't about to impart the fact they were paste, although if he tried to blackmail her something he was adept at he could have them and welcome.

His gleaming blue eyes stared as if he'd no idea what she meant. As if he didn't have the foggiest what a jewel was. Or money either.

"So? What the hell will you do, Fury?"

She swallowed to moisten her mouth. One thing was for certain, she wasn't going to be touched by his concern. No. The jewels weren't the only fake thing around here. Did he really think she was still so stupid she didn't see through this this new, novel, hangdog approach? She saw through it and more.

"What about?"

"What do you think? This mess you're in."

"Oh, I wouldn't say it was that, exactly. No. A mess depends on how you look at a thing. It's really very simple. I need to produce an heir. That's why Malmesbury's here."

"Malmesbury?"

Why did he look so astonished, as if Malmesbury were some drooling idiot and she needed her head examined? Why, her plan was perfect. Foolproof too.

"And the others, yes."

"Others?"

"A woman must be careful in producing an heir, to ensure she chooses the right sire. I have given the candidates considerable thought at the interview stage."

"You think this will work?"

"Since Thomas's mother is in England, yes."

It was hardly a mistake to blurt that out. Not when she'd already promised him money--the one thing he understood. Even if he'd have to wait for it. Besides, she'd sooner say that than have him leering over what was meant by the interview stage--which she never should have mentioned--the miracle being he hadn't yet picked up on it.

"I am going to bury him. Just not yet. How can I?"

"I'm not meaning that. You think Malmesbury and the others can have children?"

"Oh, yes. I have every dirty little secret there is to be had on them. As some of these secrets include bastards, I think we can conclude they can. That's also why I know they won't talk."

"Impressive."

"I'm so very glad you think so."

For a second his gaze held hers in the candlelit darkness. Subtly. Acknowledging. So much like old times, she thanked God he didn't ask about her own ability to produce a child. Then he eased back, setting his long legs forward. "Actually, I have a proposition for you."

She rose from her chair. "Oh, I don't think I'm in the mood for any business proposition of yours right now, James. Not with so much at stake. That's before we even get to the fact you're a valet, in no position to have any prospects. I've said to you I've no money to hand, and I'm a little busy trying to secure some "

"Let me do it."

"What?"

Him? Oh, she was going to allow that, wasn't she?

He curved his sensuous mouth upward. "You heard."

She had heard. She just hadn't wanted to. So? This was the garden path he'd been leading her up just now? Or thought he was.

"No."

The word didn't even burst from her--it was merely a flat statement of fact.

No wonder. What was there to consider about this, after all? Nothing, which was why she hadn't wanted to consider it even before he asked, before he strolled in here, before she saw him in that flickering candlelight.

"What's so wrong with that, sweetheart?" He didn't shift his gaze, his body, anything. "That way, you at least know what you're getting. Not like with these monsters."

She knew, which was why the tiny flicker of memory of the nights spent in his bed shamed her. Nights where she'd sought his touch, his embrace, and her fingers had tangled in that same hair now framing his scholarly-looking face, entwined in unrestrained passion.

She also remembered how he'd abandoned her on a London quay and the words he'd used to dismiss her.

When it came to monsters, she'd known the very best, which was why she wasn't even going to consider this. Not when she could have all that pleasure in refusing him, instead, now he was every bit as desperate as she'd been that day.

She tilted her chin. Of course she'd keep it civil. Revenge was always best executed cold. Heat only showed passion.

"And why should I do that?"

"Haven't I just said? Isn't what we were before to one another reason enough?" He looked at her, and for a second not only was the old Flint in his eyes and the tilt of his jaw, she saw that what the damned man wore didn't matter. Whatever he wore, he wore it with that casual air. Most women wouldn't even look at the clothes. They'd be too busy thinking about what lay underneath them. Well, she wasn't most women.

"Look, I'm not even asking you to buy my freedom, seeing as you've got no money. I'm just asking you to use that information you said you have. Then we can get to it. Just like old times. Never knew another woman like you, Fury."

How like him to pretend not to see what she really meant. Oh, yes, a pleasure? A pleasure with clogs on.

She smiled.

"No, James. Why should I? Why should you? Never mind what you did to me. A valet? The father of my child? The Beaumont heir? I think not. You know, one must be very fussy about these things."

His gaze froze, still focused on her face. Still smiling, she swept across the elegant floor tiles, past the eroded statues of Cupid, toward the doors.

"It's not just that I don't think so. In fact, you may even say that first I would rather rot in everlasting hell. Yes."

She grasped the handles and drew the doors open.

Pleasure? She'd seldom been happier. Now she would sail up the stairs and knock on Malmesbury's door. Thank God she hadn't hung about in her own bedroom after dismissing him. Heavens. It still might be that the three men had all left by now seeing as she was so long in knocking on any of their doors.

Even if they had, she would only choose Flint over her dead body. And if she was dead, producing an heir would be the least of her worries.

"Now, if you don't mind, I do have some extremely important business to attend to. Business that--well let's just say no more, shall we?"

She waited. He'd rise. He'd amble out. Any second. Any minute now.

Instead his voice came from the darkness behind her, as only Flint's could. Calm. Quiet. Measured.

"You might not think that when it happens, sweetheart."

She laughed. "I'll take my chances. Preferable to taking you."

"Not really. You see, as it happens, when it comes to putting my cards on the table, I have the ace."

"Oh, do you?" She glanced over her shoulder.

"You want me telling these gentlemen upstairs who you really are?"

"You wouldn't dare."

His eyes met hers.

"Try me."