She tasted just like she smelled… a hint of lavender.

A door slammed closed and reality intruded. The thought was like a cold bucket of water.

James broke the kiss and looked down at Calliope. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open. Hell, he wanted to kiss her again, but they had dallied too long and time was running short.

"One of these times we won’t be interrupted, I promise."

James pulled her along in her slightly dazed state. Ternberry’s door was locked.

He withdrew a thin piece of metal from his pocket and worked on the mechanism. It clicked and a remarkably composed Calliope looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

They entered the room and found a mess. It was the opposite of Roth’s spartan and well-organized room. There was a certain irony in the situation, since the two men’s attitudes garnered contradictory impressions.

"This is going to take a while."

James had to agree. There were piles of papers on the floor and they agreed it was the best place to start. Paper after paper was discarded. Sifting through the papers together on the floor was uncomfortable. After that kiss, all James wanted to do was drag her back to her room.

Calliope finally held up a sheet of paper in triumph. "This is it, I recognize this sheet from Pettigrew’s study."

They bent their heads together. Unfortunately for James, her hair and skin smelled like the scent always surrounding her.

Forcing his traitorous mind back to the paper, he read the pertinent part aloud: " 'Something needs to be done about the Stephen Chalmers situation. Look into it right away and take the necessary action.'" It was unsigned, but a recognizable seal was embossed in the corner.

An icy stab flew through James. "This is from the Foreign Office."

What was this contract doing in Ternberry’s room?

Calliope looked at him. "What does it mean?"

"It could mean anything. It’s too cryptic."

She frowned in disappointment and picked up another sheet of paper.

"Looks like a birth certificate."

James took the offered sheet. It was a birth certificate for Edmund Henry Samuel Crane. The date listed was 1802. "That’s Holt’s son."

The clock struck four.

"Come, the time is late and we can’t risk discovery." He replaced the sheets and scattered the pile to resemble its former mess.

James grabbed Calliope’s hand and when she didn’t protest, he pulled her to the door. Peeking outside, he pulled back as a scantily clad woman ran from one room to another, knocking softly on the door. Another glance showed a man buttoning his trousers as he sauntered to a room a few doors away.

Calliope was attempting to peer over his shoulder but he held her back, breathing a sigh of relief when the traffic in the hallway momentarily halted. He locked the door and tugged her outside. They ran down the few steps to her room and fell inside.

Calliope started laughing uncontrollably. "It’s like musical doors around here."

James felt a tug at his own lips. "Yes, house parties can be like that. Luckily we don’t have to play that game."

Calliope’s laughter died as she saw the expression on his face. A fire slowly built. "No, I think that might be a bad idea. I believe we both should retire now. We can talk in the morning."

He didn’t move for a moment and she held her breath thinking he might ignore the entreaty. A part of her wished he would. She tried to tamp the thought down but it wouldn’t desist.

He moved toward her, toward the bed. Her breathing became erratic.

"My lord, no… " Her voice came out breathy and foreign to her ears.

James reached for her and she felt herself swaying toward him, tipping her chin back to look in his eyes. He rubbed his thumb across her lips, and then bent down, two inches, one inch. She rose slightly off the floor. His hand travelled down her arm. Her eyes started to close.

Air. It was the only thing touching her. She r opened her eyes and saw his retreating back, the extra blanket that had been covering the bed in his hand.

Calliope’s jaw sagged slightly.

"I will leave at daybreak. The servants will be up and about and you will be perfectly safe."

He dropped onto the settee, his long legs hanging off the end. It had to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t make a peep.

She was outraged. Calliope stomped to the wardrobe and withdrew her nightclothes.

She looked over at him, but his back was to her.

She changed her clothes with difficulty, not ringing for Betsy. She watched to see if he peeked. He didn’t. And there was no offer of help.

Calliope’s teeth gnashed together. She should be relieved. Instead, she was confused and irritated. And she couldn’t explain any of it.

Slipping under the covers, she stared at the ceiling.

She was still staring at the ceiling when he rose and quietly left the room at dawn, as promised.

What a terrible night.

Every muscle in his body ached. Between the lumps in the settee and his overactive libido, he was certain he hadn’t slept a wink. Calliope had set the terms of their relationship and he had abided by them. Yet she had slammed the wardrobe and acted like a mad bee that had lost its honey. He knew she had slept as poorly as he-her breathing had never gained the even wave of someone comfortably settled. Sometimes he didn’t understand the fairer sex.

James threw the blanket on the floor and rose from the uncomfortable settee. Calliope finally appeared to be asleep. She was a small lump under the bedcovers. How to deal with her? She was the most skittish courtesan he had ever met. She acted like an outraged virgin, a category of women that he avoided like the plague. He wondered if she was even aware of the mixed signals she sent.

He had never needed to woo any woman, yet sometimes he felt that was precisely what he was doing with her.

James exited the room and quietly but firmly locked the door. He trudged across the hall to his room. His valet, Rogers, was waiting.

"I’m not in the mood for a long, drawn-out affair, Rogers. Let’s try to keep this to a minimum."

Rogers sniffed. He had probably spent an inordinate amount of time brushing James’s trousers and polishing his boots. Rogers liked to be appreciated, but James wasn’t in the mood.

After sending Rogers off in a snit, James walked down to breakfast trying to divine the workings of the female mind. Fortunately, Roth was the only one at the table.

"Good god, Angelford, you look awful. Wouldn’t have expected such a scowl after seeing you retire with Esmerelda." Roth looked positively cheerful. "I anticipated an expression of the cat stealing the canary, not such a woebegotten air."

James sent him a withering look and snatched a plate from a waiting servant, who scurried off.

He helped himself to the delicacies at the sideboard. " Did you tup the countess without trouble?"

Roth’s grin widened as he poked a sausage on his plate. "l did not, much to the dismay of Lady Flanders, who was hoping to enjoy an early celebration in honor of Lady Pettigrew’s birthday. Supposedly she’s inexhaustible. And while that’s an admirable trait, her other attributes don’t entice me into spending the requisite time."

James smiled. "I’m quite sure she was irritated, since she appeared ready to have you unwrap and sample her overly abundant charms." Roth was a font of information and James decided to use Roth’s knowledge to his advantage. "By the way, speaking of birthdays and gifts, Holt was talking about taking Edmund out for some debauchery now that he’s older. Can’t recall how old the lad is, but seems Holt thinks it will be amusing, what with his birthday approaching soon."

"Boy will be twenty. Time to join up, just like we did."