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lifted her onto the desk and rucked up her skirt. The heavy walnut furnishing had been in the family since before Cromwell. Many a time, Sebastian had watched his father poring over Chaucer or laboring on the estate ledgers behind the venerable piece.
         The ancient desk had borne up under plenty of ducal occupation and diversion, but never anything like this.
         The thought of the long line of his disapproving forbearers might have been what gave Sebastian the strength to stop, but he still possessed the presence of mind to make a rational decision on his own. Much as he wanted her, he couldn't trust this woman.
         He grasped Arabella's wrists and pulled her hands from his trousers. He held her immobile while he willed his heart to stop galloping in his chest. The scent of her arousal tickled his nostrils and the look of abject need on her lovely face nearly weakened his resolve.
         She's a traitor to her king , he reminded himself between heaving breaths. My king.
         “Do not think, madam, that you may purchase my assistance with your sweet slit,” he said as soon as he trusted his voice not to rasp with need.
         Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?” she said through clenched teeth. “You thought to purchase use of my body for the next three months with your bloody contract.”
         He released her hands and stepped back, but the effort was Herculean. The way she was seated on the old desk, knees spread, her skirt hiked above the top of her lacy pantalets with one stocking bunched at her ankle--it was the most erotic pose he'd ever seen. He rearranged his small clothes and buttoned his drop-front trousers. Since he was fully roused, it was a difficult trick. When he looked back at her again she'd pulled down her skirt, but she was still perched on the desk.
         “It appears,” he said woodenly, “that we have sufficiently established that neither of us can be bought.”
         He walked around to the other side of the desk and rang for Cobb. She hopped down and twisted her fingers together in nervousness.
         “What are you going to do?” she asked, white-lipped. “Summon the magistrate?”
         “No.” He tugged down his waistcoat, but nothing would disguise his current state. He sat in the leather desk chair before Cobb arrived. “I intend to protect the Crown's interest. And incidentally, yours.”
         Relief weakened her knees. Arabella sank into one of the heavy Tudor chairs flanking the small fireplace as Sebastian's butler entered.
         “Contact our most reliable Bow Street Runner and ask for a complete dossier on one Fernand de Lisle, also known as Viscount Gimois, currently attached to the French embassy,” Sebastian said crisply. “I want known associates, current whereabouts and as well as the usual curriculum vitae, military training, weapon of choice, etc.”
         Arabella bit her lip to keep from interrupting. What good would that do? If Fernand learned someone had taken an interest in his doings, it would only enrage him. And innocent people got hurt when Fernand was angry.
         “Very good, Your Grace. It will take a couple days.” Mr. Cobb made notes on a small pad of paper.
         “Tell him I need his best speed, but not to sacrifice thoroughness,” Sebastian added. “Oh, and be sure he understands discretion is paramount. The subject is not to know he is being investigated.
         “Of course, Your Grace, will there be anything else?” 
         “Yes, I want de Lisle watched, surreptitiously. If he puts so much as a toe out of line, I wish to know of it.”
         Mr. Cobb nodded. “Immediately, sir.”
         “In addition, there is another matter of some delicacy and importance. There is a certain family I wish to safeguard, but they are not to know they have been brought under my protection,” Sebastian said. “Miss St. George, the name of your brother-in-law and the location