He finally relinquished the knife, leaving it jammed in the desk, and straightened. “I am—”

He broke off, coming around the desk towards her. She backed away, a wary look in her eyes, and he responded by raising his hands in a show of peace.

“Your benefactor has stolen papers from the British government. I am tasked with retrieving them.”

Her gaze was hard upon his, interrogating, measuring. Her expression was focused, emphasising the largeness of her eyes, the fine point of her nose and the arch of her shapely brows. She was achingly beautiful and Avers found himself willing her to believe his words. To believe he was not a bad man.

“A spy?”

Avers nodded, disliking the moniker but acknowledging its aptness.

With a suddenness that made him step back, she came to life, striding forward. For a moment he thought she meant to strike him, but instead she passed him quickly and came to the desk.

Removing the lid from the left-hand ink pot, she poked her slender fingers inside and began to root around.

The action was so odd, and the explanation so totally lacking, that Avers could do nothing but stare.

After a few moments of wiggling her fingers she withdrew them and to Avers’ surprise they were bare of ink. There appeared to be no reason for her action until he saw the fine chain she had pinched between her first and second finger. She drew it out and upon its end dangled a key.

“Dartois’ hiding place. The gentlemen—they do not notice when I am still in a room,” she said by way of explanation.

She did not pause, making her way around to the side of the desk housing the drawers, and positioned herself in front of the one Avers had been trying to open. Taking hold of the knife, muttering something in French that Avers believed was not entirely ladylike, she gave it a yank.

By the second yank, Avers realised what was transpiring. She was helping him. He came to her aid, standing beside her and leaning over to lend her his strength, when it suddenly came loose. Mademoiselle Cadeaux was sent careening backwards into him.

His hand connected with her waist, her body fell against his arm, and he instinctively pulled her against him so she didn’t hit her head on the wall sconce beside her. By the time she had lost momentum, she was fully in his arms, and turning surprised eyes up at him.

She felt good against him.

He stared down into those dark eyes of hers and got a waft of lavender water. Then he glanced inadvertently at her lips.

Now was not the time.

He shook his head and then looked back into her eyes and realised she was looking at his lips. Was that a tentative desire in her expression? A rush of the same feeling ran over Avers and he instinctively dropped his head lower so that his lips brushed hers. She was soft, warm. He gently pressed his lips against hers and she responded. Pleasure flooded his senses and awareness of their circumstances very nearly deserted him.

Very nearly.

Avers raised his head from the pool of sensation he had been submerged within, and saw a similar look of realisation on her face. Releasing her, he stepped back. With a shake of her head she drew her shoulders back, and focused on the task at hand.

As if they hadn’t just shared a kiss, Mademoiselle Cadeaux stepped forward, placed the key in the lock, and turned it. The well-oiled mechanism slid back easily, and she pulled the drawer open.

After a few seconds staring at its contents, she stepped back, looking over to Avers. He identified the stolen papers quickly enough, taking them from the drawer and searching through the remaining contents to make sure there was nothing else from Wakeford’s office that had found its way there.

The drawer thoroughly searched, he turned back to the woman who had aided him, who now stood by watching.

“Why are you helping me? I have already caused you trouble before.” He gestured to her burnt hand.

“Perhaps—perhaps I wish to make the right choice, not the easy one.” Before Avers could respond, or even take in the profound statement, she spoke again. “What do you intend to do now? Fly?”

“Yes, if I can—I must go before they return.” On a sudden impulse, he blurted out, “Come with me. If they even suspect you’ve helped me it will be more than a burnt hand you’ll need to contend with.”

“I—”

But whatever reply had been coming died on her lips at the sound of voices in the hall outside. Both their heads snapped round to the door, eyes wide, breath held.

Avers made out Dartois’ voice, then the lower timbre of the Comte’s. This was not good.

Mademoiselle Cadeaux came to life first. Snatching the papers from his hands, she thrust them back in the drawer, and shut and locked it before he could react.

“I will get the papers to you, but you cannot take them now. There’s no way you could escape. We must not get caught.” She dropped the key back in the empty inkpot and replaced the lid.

How cool and collected Mademoiselle Cadeaux appeared. Avers felt overwhelmed with admiration for her.

The Comte’s voice sounded again in the hall.

He glanced to the door, half-expecting the nobleman to walk through it at any moment, but it remained closed—for now. On looking back to Mademoiselle Cadeaux he saw that, in spite of her quick wit, there was fear etched across her pale face.

“The window,” he whispered urgently. “We cannot be found alone in here.”

He strode over to it, thankful the latch and hinges had been recently oiled, and swung it open easily enough. Turning back to Mademoiselle Cadeaux he held out his hand.

She looked uncertainly at it, then back to the door, the voices in the hall growing louder. Looking once again at his outstretched hand, she gave the slightest nod, and, as if deciding the situation in her mind, she started forward.

“You will have to—”

But she was already scooping up her skirts with her free hand, exposing her stockinged legs, and lifting one over the window ledge before he could finish his instructions. The wooden heel of her silk mule clicked against the stone on the other side.

“Lift me,” she commanded, bearing her weight on Avers’ arm so she could gain enough purchase to sit astride the ledge. She let go of his hand and swung her other leg over, dropping down silently to the ground below the window outside, her skirts snaking after her.

Giving one last cursory glance around the room to make sure nothing appeared out of place, Avers followed the resourceful woman out the window. Upon reaching the ground he drew the glass window closed—knowing he couldn’t fasten it, hoping it wouldn’t be noticeable.

Their tracks covered, he turned to find Mademoiselle Cadeaux looking perfectly composed, waiting for him. His mouth curved in appreciation. What a remarkable woman.

“It is an odd time to be smiling, n’est pas?” she asked, her fine brows rising.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a half-chuckle. “I’ve just never met a woman who would do what you have just done and appear moments later as if nothing untoward had happened.”

To his surprise, a flush appeared in her milky cheeks. “I would not normally, but the circumstances demanded it. I realise it was very improper—”

“No, no!” Avers immediately raised his hands in supplication. “That is not at all what I meant. It is just that most women I have met would have had an attack of the vapours. Here you are, all calm collectedness. I admire it.”

To his surprise, the flush deepened, and he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Perhaps,” she said, a challenge appearing in her tone, “you have not met any women of substance before.”

It was a bold statement and now she would not hold his gaze, instead focusing on smoothing her already smoothed skirts and looking down the path that ran outside the study window. But though she avoided his gaze, he continued to look at her and saw tiny dimples appearing either side of her irresistible mouth. Was she… flirting with him?

“Perhaps not,” he concurred, coming quickly beside her and offering her his arm. “We had best not be found here.”