She took a deep breath, and for a moment, he thought she might not. For a moment, he thought that this whole night might end here, now. That she might stop the carriage and toss him out. That she might rescind her offer for a harmless affair.
Because suddenly, it did not seem very harmless at all.
She leaned forward, her beautiful face coming into view.
She wasn’t wearing paint.
She might be dressed in Anna’s frock and wearing Anna’s wig, but she was Georgiana tonight. Come to him freely. For an evening of pleasure. A week of it. Two weeks. However long it took for her to secure her husband and her future.
A life away from this one, where she played messenger between London’s two most powerful men.
She extended the file. “Take it, and return the evening to something more than business.”
He looked at the parcel. Tremley’s secrets, which he needed to protect his sister. To protect his life. Tremley’s secrets, more valuable than anything else he owned, because they were the key to his future.
And yet a part of him wanted to toss the damn file out the window and tell the carriage to keep driving. To get her far from Chase. To get himself far from his truths, truths that seemed to haunt him more and more each day.
If not for his sister, would he do it?
He took the package. Placed it on his lap as she leaned back, returning to her shadows. “Something about it – about you being a part of it – makes the evening business whether we intend it or not.”
And he hated that, even as he opened the parcel, eager to see what was inside. He extracted a pile of paper, written in Chase’s familiar hand. Held the top sheet up to the small candle in its steel and glass compartment in the wall of the carriage.
Funds removed from the exchequer.
He turned a page.
Missives from a half-dozen high-ranking members of the Ottoman Empire.
Secret meetings.
Treason.
He closed the file, his heart pounding. It was proof. Undeniable, perfect proof. He returned the pages to the envelope in which they had come, considering the implications of their contents. The sheer value of this information was nearly incalculable. It would destroy Tremley. Wipe him from the earth.
And it would protect West without doubt.
He lifted the small scrap of paper that accompanied the package. Read the words there, in that bold, familiar scrawl.
I do not for a moment believe that your request was the result of a reporter’s skill; you know something that you are not sharing.
I do not like it when you do not share.
Too goddamn bad.
West had no intention of sharing with Chase – either his connection with Tremley or his connection with Georgiana.
His gaze flickered to her. No. He would not share her. “You’ve done your job.”
“Well, I hope,” she said.
“Very well,” he acknowledged. “This is more than what I imagined.”
She smiled. “I am happy to hear it is worth your trouble.”
There it was again, the implication that his assistance was purchased. And so it was. Even as he resisted the truth of it. He pushed the thought away. “And now we are here. Alone.”
There was a smile in her voice when she said, “Are you suggesting that I’ve paid you for companionship?”
It sounded ridiculous. And yet, somehow, it didn’t. Somehow, he felt manipulated, as though it had all been carefully planned.
“Tit for tat,” he said, echoing so many of their conversations. Her words. His.
He could not see her face, but was keenly aware of the fact that she could see him. The light in the carriage was designed to unbalance. To empower only one side – the side in the darkness. But he heard the emotion when she finally spoke. “It is not like that tonight.”
“But other nights?” He hated the idea that this moment was a repeat of another. A dozen. A hundred.
Her hands spread wide across her skirts, silk rustling like nerves. “There are nights when the information is payment. And others when it is given freely.”
“It is payment, though,” he said. “It is payment for the articles in my papers. For every dance you’ve had with Langley. With others.”
“Fortune hunters,” she said.
“Every one,” he agreed. “I never promised otherwise.”
“You promised acceptance.”
“And social acceptance you shall have. But a husband who is not a fortune hunter? You’re not likely to find that. Not unless —” He stopped.
“Unless?”
He sighed, hating the deal they had. Hating the way it tempted him. Hating the way it whispered pretty possibilities in the darkness. “Not unless you are willing to show them the truth.”
“What truth?” she said. “I’m an unwed mother. Daughter to a duke. Sister to one. Trained as an aristocrat. Bred for their world like a champion racehorse. My truth is public.”
“No,” he said. “It isn’t near public.”
She gave a little huff of humorless laughter. “You mean Anna? You think they would be more likely to have me if they knew that I spent my nights on the floor of a casino?”
“You are more than all that. More complicated.”
He didn’t know how or why, only that it was true.
He made her angry. He could hear it. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He wanted to reach for her. To pull her into the light. But he kept himself at a distance. “I know why you say you like the darkness.”