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dressing table in the guest chamber he had been assigned. “And do you have many of those here, my lady? Gentlemen visitors at Deepwood?”
    She turned to him in guarded surprise, her slender eyebrows lifted. “A few. From time to time. You disapprove again?”
    “No, of course not. It’s your life. You’re a grown woman.” He paused for a moment. “I just wondered if you have them all inspected for the French disease first.”
    “Ah, I knew you were still peeved about the doctor!” she exclaimed.
    “I think I have a right to be,” he said. “The state of my health is none of your business.”
    “I had to make sure you’re fit for service.”
    “And what service might that be, exactly? I’d just like to know what all is going to be expected of me.”
    She had the decency to blush. Indeed, he could feel the blaze pouring off her cheeks in the cool night air. It told him all he needed to know. “You have to trust me, Nick. I do have your best interests at heart.”
    “Right.”
    “What?” she demanded. “What’s the matter?”
    “I agreed to help you, Virginia—” He used her Christian name with insolence, since she had felt free to use his. “But that doesn’t mean you own me. I’ll kill whoever you want, but I’m not your plaything. Unlike your little toy boy,” he added under his breath.
    Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
    “Well, he is your lover, isn’t he? This chap who’s gone missing.”
    “Not that it’s any of your business—but, no!”
    “Ah.” He absorbed this, unsure if he believed her. But the vehemence of her denial left him feeling like a bit of an ass. “Then it seems I owe you an apology,” he said in cool, sardonic reproach.
    “Yes, you do,” she declared, staring at him in astonishment. “I suggest you go to bed now, Lord Forrester. The strain of all our travel seems to have robbed you of your manners.”
    He cleared his throat, slightly chastened. “Indeed. Then I bid you a fond good night, my lady.” Avoiding eye contact, he turned to crush out his cheroot in a garden urn filled with sand for that purpose.
    “Lord Forrester!”
    Heading back to the French doors, Nick turned warily.
    “You’re a pretty fellow, but my only interest in you is for the case.”
    “Good,” he answered smoothly. Then he gave her a polite bow and withdrew, his ego smarting.
    At least her tart answer had put his mind at ease about her having ulterior motives.
    He just hoped that, having laid out his boundaries, he did not regret telling her in so many words that he had no desire to bed her. Because that was a bold-faced lie.
    G ood Lord.
    Gin stared after him in fiery indignation, her cheeks still flaming brightly. Blast the man, he was too perceptive by half.
    Clearly, she would have to work harder to hide her wild attraction to him.
    Shaking her head at his barbarity and her own foolishness, she folded her arms across her chest and took another pull off her cheroot, trying to calm down.
    How rude could someone be? And as for her . . .
    Idiot! And here she had thought they could be friends.
    She should have known not to trust his quiet, guarded demeanor tonight. All the while, he had been sitting there seething over the medical exam, she realized. Eyeing her with suspicion, and—ever the spy—collecting information on her, which she had freely shared.
    Damn, she wished she had not told him the true story of her marriage. Why not just tilt back her head and offer him her jugular?
    She did not even know why she had done it. But, no, if she was honest, on second thought, of course she did.
    She had seen the way he had looked at her husband’s portrait, as though baffled by the match, and she had felt embarrassed. She had always been embarrassed of the weak, lazy, self-indulgent coward she had married.
    Even though she had brought it on herself, the whole match had been such a bitter disappointment—especially when, as a girl, she had always expected to end up with some bold,