Winter's Kiss (Howertys #3)

Chapter 2: Mistaken Identity

Throwing her a quick glance, he considered the possibilities of who she was. Her dress was made of expensive fabric, so she was most likely a member of the beau monde herself, which meant he would have to be careful not to run into her at a social gathering. Fortunately, he attended only as few as he could get away with before his mother complained that he wasn't trying to find a wife, so hopefully, he could avoid her.

She could be married, a widow, or a bastard daughter who was not there for the Season. She looked young. In fact, she looked very young. Perhaps too young to be a widow, but he rather hoped she was. A widow was fair game for an affair. He shook his head to clear it. She was a client; he would not have an affair with her! At least not yet. The treacherous thought was there before he could stop it. Maybe once her case was closed, and she was no longer a client. It was those damned lips. They had tasted too much like heaven and he wanted to kiss her again.

Trying to steer his mind towards other thoughts, he asked, "Is there anything specific you wish to know about him?"

She pondered this for a moment, pursing her lips slightly as she did so. He tried not to notice. "I would like to know his contacts," she finally said. "Who he sees. If he gambles. Does he have money problems?"

"Very well." He made a few last notes on the paper and then stood. "We shall do our best to get this information to you as quickly as possible. How do I contact you?"

She stood as well. "If you just send a note to the Duke of Winterbourne he will inform me, then I can come here to speak with you."

Walking over to the door, he opened it. "I will do that. A good evening to you, Miss."

As she was leaving, she stopped in front of him, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "And a good evening to you, Mr Rose. I hope I did not interrupt your plans for the evening."

Damn, but if the choice had been his, she would have been his plan for the evening. He quickly buried that thought behind a bland smile. "Not at all."

As soon as she left, he leaned his forehead against the cool wall of his office, cursing fate for throwing him so completely off his feet that evening. He straightened. It wasn't fate as much as Winterbourne and his blasted brother. They could have damned well given him a warning about the evening's client. Grabbing his cloak he decided to pay White's a visit after all.

Gabriel reached White's a short while later and as expected found Winterbourne sitting alone at a table in the back of the coffee room. His friend had never been very sociable, and being a Duke most of the ton accepted this and left him alone. A few papers were spread out on the table in front of him, as he perused their contents. Trust Winterbourne to bring work to White's.

"Thanks for the warning," he said as she sat down across from his friend.

Not even pretending ignorance, the other man raised his head. "So she already visited you." It wasn't a question. "I didn't expect she would so soon. It was only this afternoon that I spoke to her."

"Who is she?"

Returning to his papers, Winterbourne showed his disinterest in the conversation. "It is of no importance. She wishes to remain anonymous."

"But she knows you." Sometimes having a conversation with this man felt rather like having one with a brick wall. Though he suspected a brick wall might be more responsive.

Marcus Dashcombe, the Duke of Winterbourne, was his best friend and one of the few who actually knew him. They had met when they were both in the Peninsular War and had been friends since. Gabriel had been an Intelligence Officer under the Quartermaster-General, while Winterbourne was incredibly adept at solving codes and had been one of the men working to break the codes and missives that were picked up.

He was also a fairly intimidating man at well above six feet, with massive shoulders and a broad chest. If one didn't know him, it was difficult to believe the bulk housed a man who would rather read a book than smash his fist into someone's face.

When he didn't stop staring at him, Winterbourne finally looked up again, a trace of irritation on his face. "Do you mind?" he asked. "I'm trying to work."

"At White's?" Gabriel shook his head. "You must be the only man who can work at a gentleman's club."

"I can work anywhere," the duke said dismissively. "And my apartment is rather dull."

"Your wife is in town?" Whenever Winterbourne's beautiful, young wife Miranda came to London, he vacated his house and took an apartment at the Albany. The couple avoided each other as much as they could, and no one really knew why since neither would tell. All Gabriel knew was that they had been estranged since their wedding night, though he had his suspicions.

As expected, the duke didn't even reply. He preferred to keep any conversation away from the topic of his wife. This was something Gabriel counted on. His friend would latch on to practically any other subject to move away from that of Miranda.

"So why am I taking this case and not an agent?" he asked casually. "Normally you and I never handle clients personally."

Winterbourne gave him a dark look, obviously knowing exactly what he was doing, but answered anyway. "She's a special client. We cannot allow any of our agents to handle the case."

Trust Winterbourne to create more questions than answers. Gabriel gave him an exasperated look. "Why? Why is she special?"

"Let it go. Can you just handle the case?"

"I will, but I don't appreciate being kept in the dark about this. We're supposed to be equal partners in this. Do you know her name?"

When he didn't answer, Gabriel supposed that meant yes. So she was someone close to Winterbourne, which made little sense. No one was close to Winterbourne. "Is she your mistress?"

"Of course not." The other man almost sounded offended. "You know very well that I've not been with another woman since—" He fell quiet, but Gabriel could complete the sentence himself. Since his wedding night.

"Someone would have to be the first," he said with a shrug, finally having to accept that he would get no further information from his friend tonight. It was impossible to force him to do something he didn't want to, and Gabriel wasn't in the mood to try. At least she wasn't his friend's mistress. That was one possibility crossed off his list. Feeling rather pleased, he left Winterbourne to his brooding and went home.

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