Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle (40 page)

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empty. Brandon Wycroft would be out of her circle of influence for ever. She would be responsible for his ruin and whatever feelings The Cat had aroused in him with her sensual games would be gone in the wake of his embarrassment and loss of face.

She did understand completely what he risked. A peer meddling in trade was highly uncommon, no matter how practical it might be. His failure with the mill would make him a laughingstock. The consequences he potentially faced sat poorly with her. It was becoming more difficult as the days passed to jus

one individual for the sake of many.

These were dangerous thoughts. She was too close to the Earl, developing real feelings for a man who should be her adversary. If she had any good sense at all, she'd seriously consider leaving Stockport-on-the-Medlock right away before the projected hazards became realities.

The mantel clock struck ten. Gracious! How long had she stood there, wool-gathering over S tockport? She glanced down at the list in her hand. St John's would be her best option. It was time to hit there again and keep his fear alive. He was a big investor and, if he grew too complacent, he might decide to increase his level of financial commitment. She would go on Wednesday night when he and his wife were out at the Squire's playing cards.

That decision made, she decided she could indulged in the luxury of going to bed early.

In the deep part of the night something or someone else found her too. Years of training had taught her to awake alertly and surreptitiously so as to rob the intruder of the element of surprise. Nora fought the urge to open her eyes. Instead, she let her other senses take in the alteration of the room. It might be nothing more than a branch scratching the window, but it always paid to be cautious.

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She inhaled, her nose searching for a smell that verified the presence of another. The tang of spicy soap reached her nostrils.

Stockport! He was

her, the stubborn man.

If the situation wasn't so dire, she would roll over and laugh at him, but now he had complete proof that The Cat at least lived with Eleanor Habersham, if not proof that they were one and the same. The dratted man must have been very sure of himself to have dared such an entrance.

Thankfully, she slept on her side, one hand under her pillow.

Stealthily, she slipped that hand around the smooth handle of the small dagger she kept there for just such occasions.

The scent of his spicy soap intensified and Nora began to calculate how close he was. He must be very close for the smell to be so obvious. She listened for the sound of his breathing to

her guess. Yes, he was close, right next to the side of the bed at her back.

Nora tensed beneath the quilts and rolled, using the force of her arm beneath the pillow to fling it up and backwards, into Stockport's startled face.

'Stockport!' She leapt out of bed, keeping the bedstead between them and brandishing her dagger.

Stockport staggered back a step under the surprise of the pillow and righted himself too quickly. She'd hoped he would trip or catch his foot on the bed, anything to slow him down and enhance her advantage. What she intended to do with that advantage, she had no idea. She was making this up as she went along. It didn't help that Stockport looked completely collected.

'Hello, Cat,' he drawled in maddeningly smug tones, 'Or should I say Eleanor? It's hard to tell. That nightrail is definitely Eleanor's, but the rest of you is all Cat.' The conceited man let his eyes peruse her body in an all-knowing manner that made her feel exposed.

Nora tightened her grip on the dagger, desperately trying to

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quell the heat rising in her. 'What are you doing in my bedroom?

'I've come to return your calls. It's only seemly to reciprocate a call. I regret that I've been so tardy in doing so. You came to my bedroom and now I've come to yours.' He smiled wolfishly and began to move.

'Stay there. I won't hesitate to use this,' Nora warned as he circled the bed. She didn't remember him being this large in their previous encounters. Tonight, she was fully aware of his height, the power of his broad shoulders.

'I am not here to do you an injury, my dear Cat. I am here for proof.' He bent to the lamp she'd left on the vanity and brought up the light until the room was visible.

'What will you do with the proof?' Nora asked warily. She had not believed until this moment that he would assist in her capture.

He grinned at her discomfort. 'I rather like having you at my advantage for once. As to the proof, I want it so that you and I can strike a deal without any of your chicanery involved.

I want you to know explicitly that I know The Cat and Eleanor are one and the same.'

Nora smiled at that. It was as close to conceding a small victory as she was going to get. Men like Stockport didn't admit outright when they'd been gulled. She gave a small laugh. 'So I did have you convinced that night at the card party.

What changed your mind?'

Stockport looked up from a drawer he'd opened. 'Nothing.

Until I saw you sleeping tonight, I wasn't fully certain my guesses were right.'

Nora raised her eyebrows at that, a smart retort rising to her lips. 'Really? It is fascinating to speculate on what you might have done had you been wrong.'

'I would have crawled back out the window and left poor Eleanor in peace. Aha!' Stockport reached into the vanity

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drawer and pulled out her spectacles. 'Eleanor's glasses.' He held them aloft and peered through them. 'Just as I suspected, these lenses are hugely distorted.'

'Satisfied?' Nora lowered the dagger and moved towards him, wondering if her wiles would work dressed in unbecoming white flannel. She felt out of her element, not dressed for the part.

This time, Stockport was ready for her. 'Not a chance. I might have proven to myself that I was correct about the connection, but this only proves to the public that Eleanor wears a wig and glasses. Where's The

garb?' His blue eyes

darted around the room,

a likely hiding spot.

'The deal you propose is nothing short of blackmail,'

Nora accused.

'Tsk, tsk. Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer "protection".' His eyes lit on the wardrobe. 'There's a likely hiding place. Let's see what Eleanor hides behind her bevy of ugly dresses .'

Nora experienced a moment of true panic. He strode towards the wardrobe and she knew it was do or die.