Her Hired Husband (Her Magnificent Mistake #3)

Prologue

Hunter Lindsay only felt the fingers dipping into his pocket because he’d been expecting them. Without dropping the apple he was munching, he snapped his right arm out, fist closing around the pickpocket’s ratty jacket, and slammed the other man calmly up against the brick facade of a haberdashery.

“Give it back,” Hunter growled, forcing himself to sound furious when in fact he was mildly amused. “That is no’ yers.”

The man—old enough to be Hunter’s father—smiled, revealing five whole teeth. Old enough to be his grandfather, he revised. “No ‘arm, no ‘arm, guv. Right quick ye are!”

Hunter took another bite of his apple while he held the man at arm’s length. The old-timer didn’t fuss or struggle, merely beamed at Hunter as if pleased to have been caught and was waiting politely on an explanation.

Finally Hunter swallowed and explained. “Ye were looking at me too hard.” He jerked his head back toward the corner he’d so recently rounded. “Trust me, I’m no’ that interesting.”

He knew for a fact he wasn’t. Och, he might technically be the nephew of a duke, but he was a bastard who’d made his own way in the world, despite his family’s constant attempts to foist inheritances aggressively on him.

His suit was average, his speech was average, his education was average, and his appearance was…

well, conveniently average. Years of detective work had made him an expert at blending in.

And that meant he was an expert at spotting who was not.

“Mebbe I look at everyone that way?” the old man protested. “Mebbe I just like looking. Mebbe I’m blind and can’t ‘elp where I’m lookin’. ‘Elp! ‘Elp! Oh, lawks! This bastard’s hurtin’ a poor old blind man!”

Unable to help himself, Hunter’s lips curled upward. “Ye’ve a shiteload of bravery for a man just caught pickpocketing.”

“Aye, well, ‘tis ‘ard to be afraid at my age. Ye couldn’t spare a few hundred quid, could ye? Likely time for me to retire, find me a rural wife, settle down in the country.”

Outright chuckling now, Hunter shook his head. “Just give me what ye stole.”

When the man lifted the wallet between them, Hunter jammed the apple into his mouth and snatched it from the thief. Without loosening his hold, he flipped it open to check that the notes were intact, along with the photographs and letters he cherished far more.

Aye, there was Uncle Rourke’s bland expression, Aunt Sophia’s smile, and the twins’ smirks. The letter from Hunter’s sister was still folded neatly, and the telegraph from Bull—the one which had brought Hunter to this very street this afternoon—were all in place.

With a grunt, he slid the wallet back where it belonged and reached into another pocket for a crown. The pickpocket’s eyes grew round as Hunter dropped the coin into the man’s hand and simultaneously bit down hard on the apple as he pulled it from his mouth.

“There,” Hunter said as he chewed, nodding to the coin. “And I dinnae want to hear about ye pickpocketing again, aye? And I will hear. No one should be fearing the pickpocket.”

“Only the naked man fears no pickpocket,” grinned the miscreant.

Trying not to snort with laughter and keep his face serious, Hunter reiterated, “Ye’d do better begging. Yer cockiness will get ye far in life.”

When the old man tried to squirm free Hunter let him go, but turned to keep the thief in his sights.

“All part of the plan, guv!” the pickpocket declared, tipping his decrepit hat in thanks. “Ye ‘ave me thanks, but I think I’ll continue with me trade. No’ many’s as good at looking as ye are!”

With that, he scampered away with far more energy than his bent back and single-digit teeth should have implied.

Shaking his head on a chuckle, Hunter tucked his elbow against his side, took another bite of the apple, and turned toward the red brick townhouse which marked the headquarters of the Bull Lindsay Detective Group

Bull’s telegram had said Hunter was expected at three sharp for a new job.

Hmm.

He checked his pocket watch. Twelve after three. No need to rush, then.

Hunter chomped through the apple to the other side, adjusted his hat, wondered if he had time for a quick drink at the George, then sauntered toward the front stoop.

By the time he’d flirted with the landlady and bade his good afternoons to the downstairs tenant, he was fairly confident another three minutes had passed. No sense in letting Bull think he was in charge, or anything so silly.

He reached the apple core at the same time he planted his palm on the door of the Lindsay Group. “Hello,” he called brightly, pushing his way inside and tossing the rest of the apple into his mouth, stem and all.

“It’s about damn—Christ, Hunter, that’s disgusting! Ye cannae eat the core of the apple! That’s where the poison is!”

It was an age-old argument between Hunter and Bull Lindsay, the man who was technically his uncle, but with only a five-year age difference.

The man had become a good friend. In fact, the reason Bull hated his apple core habit was exactly why Hunter made a point of masticating the entire fruit…

but if he’d known Bull had a guest, he might not have been so petty.

Might not.

Well, perhaps he would have, no matter how feminine those skirts looked.

The woman sitting in the leather chair at Bull’s desk turned slightly, just enough for Hunter to see her gloved hands folded in her lap and the delicate turn of her wrist resting on the gray satin.

Unfortunately that was all he could see, because for some reason she wore a heavy dark cloak, the hood pulled up to hide her features—even in this fine spring weather.

Hunter swallowed audibly.

“Well, ye’re here,” Bull sighed dramatically. “Finally. Sit down, and I’ll explain the mission to ye, ye can decide if ye want to take it.”

Grinning as charmingly as possible, Hunter crossed to take the free chair beside the mystery woman. “I’ll be more likely to take it if ye assure me it’ll come with such beauty. Miss…?” he prompted hopefully.

And that’s when the woman turned to him, and Hunter’s breath caught.

She was stunning—high cheekbones, a pert nose, full lips…smooth, dark skin surrounding topaz eyes, and eyebrows! God in Heaven, those eyebrows! Some women might think their eyebrows were regal, but this woman’s put them all to shame. The woman was queen of the eyebrows!

After a moment of studying him the woman lifted her hand, allowing Hunter to close his fingers around it, his hand lingering. Doing nothing so crass as squeezing, for fear of crushing something so delicate, but cherishing the touch, nonetheless.

Well if he’d known that face was waiting for him in here…

“Missus,” the woman said, her voice surprisingly low, tempting…and delicious. “Missus Helena Lickfold. And yes, I am here to hire you.”

Hunter swallowed, trying to force his heart to beat at a normal pace, his cockstand to subside. She was a missus. She was married, so he had no business ogling her.

To be fair, ye have nae business ogling a woman who isnae married, if she doesnae wish to be ogled.

Fair point, well made…and Hunter would absolutely consider it in a moment. When his blood had managed to make it back north to his brain and he could think straight again.

Thoughts were important. He would have need of thoughts, and just as soon as his mind decided to have them, they were going to be good. And he would speak them. Or not.

It wasn’t until Bull cleared his throat that Hunter realized he was still holding Mrs. Lickfold’s hand, and dropped it carefully.

His friend sounded amused as he finished the introductions. “Mrs. Lickfold, this is Hunter Lindsay. Technically my nephew, although that makes me sound ruddy auld, so we’ll just say that he’s one of my best detectives, which he also is.”

The woman was still studying Hunter. “You remembered my stipulations, when I contacted you?”

Stipulations? Hunter was finally able to tear his gaze away from the mysterious beauty to raise a brow at Bull, who sounded amused as hell as he explained.

“Aye, and I believe I followed them. Hunter’s forte is his brawn, no’ his brains. He’s a champion bare-knuckled boxer when he’s no’ working for me, and I’d trust him with my life.”

Hunter’s other brow joined the first.

She’d specifically requested hiring an idiot?

Och, Hunter was no idiot, and Bull knew that well enough…but he’d been speaking the truth about Hunter’s other skills. His own twin sister Gabby had always been the brains of the operation, while Hunter…Hunter wasn’t.

Still, it was strange this Mrs. Lickfold had made such a stipulation. Hunter glanced at her, then back to Bull, more certain than ever that he wanted this mission. After all, he was a detective, and this was sounding more and more intriguing.

“Hunter.” Bull turned to him, expression serious, although there was a spark of mirth in his gray eyes. “Mrs. Lickfold has come to the agency with a very specific request. She wants to hire ye.”

He’d gathered as much. “Aye, of course.” He nodded to the woman. “Hire me to do what? Do ye need protection—a boxer?”

When the woman took a deep breath, her shoulders straightened even more. He could read her body language, read how nervous she was in the way her fingers tightened around one another, the way her lips flattened. It was a language he loved to read.

She shook her head. “No, Mr. Lindsay. I do not need you to strike someone. I need you…”

When she swallowed, Hunter found himself intrigued by the sensual way her throat moved. What would she taste like there? His cock was urging him to find out.

And when she’d uttered those words? I need you. Good Christ, his chest had tightened. He’d never been able to resist stepping out of place to help someone, even if it was smarter to keep his head down. Gabby had scolded him more than once for having a soft heart.

Was it about to get him into trouble again?

“Aye?” he murmured, leaning forward and scooping up Mrs. Lickfold’s hand, determined to ease her nervousness. “What do ye need me to do?”