The Trouble With Moonlight Read Online Free PDF Page B

ascertain. A shaft of moonlight struck the pocket watch where it had rolled when Locke’s trap was sprung. A smile tilted her lips. She stooped to retrieve it and held it out to him.
    “You promised me twenty pounds, sir. I’m here to collect.”
    “And I will happily pay you that and much more.” He chuckled, a low sound that made her apprehensive. “Like it or not, Miss Havershaw, you’re now part of the game. A very vital part.”
    She could think of only one game where a gentleman paid a woman a great deal of money. Her spine stiffened, and her cheeks blazed hot with embarrassment. “I will not be your whore, Mr. Locke.”
    He choked on his wine, splattering drops of the liquid on the desk and papers. She turned and headed for the door, making it halfway across the room before she heard him gasp. “Wait! You misunderstand, I would never . . . I mean, not that I wouldn’t . . . I mean . . .”
    The poor man looked half-strangled. She waited for him to catch his breath so he could properly apologize. He owed her that much. She supposed she could forgive him for making such an assumption. She was, after all, alone in his residence, stark naked. A man might be inclined to think . . .
    “Good Lord, woman, I was inviting you to be a spy.”
    Stunned, she felt her indignation drain from her, leaving embarrassment in its wake. On one level, she was strangely disappointed. No one had ever made an indecent proposal to her before. She glanced at Mr. Locke, still struggling to clear his throat and catch his breath. Under different circumstances, she might consider . . . but then, there was no point proceeding down that path. The man obviously wasn’t interested in her for those purposes, but a spy? Surely, he could not be serious. She glanced at his glass, half expecting to see it drained. It was not. A spy?
    “Miss Havershaw, what you fail to realize is that you have no choice in this matter. Now that I know of your unique abilities—”
    She felt the blood drain from her face. “You can’t tell anyone about me. You have no idea what will happen if people find out.”
    “I’m sure Her Majesty’s service will take the utmost care in preserving your identity. After all, you will be performing a valuable service for—”
    “I’m afraid I shall have to decline, sir. You’ve overestimated my skills.” Her extremities began to tingle, a warning that she would transition soon, first to a pale ghost image and then her full solid self. Had she clothes on, the phase cycle would not present a problem, but as she did not . . .
    “It is a bit unusual, isn’t it, Mr. Locke?” Just thinking of the ridiculous notion made her smile. “A woman spy?”
    “I’m sitting here having a conversation with an invisible woman,” he replied. “I’m afraid, Miss Havershaw, you’ve redefined the meaning of the word ‘unusual.’ ”

Three
    "MISS HAVERSHAW?”
    He strained his ears listening for the sound of her breathing. She was gone. Her fragrance was fading. Had he not choked on his brandy upon hearing her misinterpretation of his offer, he might have avoided forcing that burning liquid into his nose and thus noticed her departure earlier. Not that it mattered; he knew exactly where she would go. However, the room felt emptier, colder without her presence. Odd that her absence would affect him that way. He glanced at the open door. All his life, he’d learned to survive on empty and cold, yet at this moment, it felt . . . insufficient.
    He took a long swallow of his brandy. Of course, insufficient was becoming a close companion. Ever since his release from those long days trapped in a coffin-sized prison cell, he’d been aware of his own insufficiencies. He carried the knowledge of how to open a safe in his head—no one else in all of England knew as much—but his own traitorous left hand refused to listen. He clenched the hand tight into a fist, digging each fingertip deep into his palm, but it was no use. He couldn’t