He handed her the note; she took it, slipping it once more under her cloak. "You've built something of a reputation for exposing fraudulent schemes, and"-lifting her head, she studied him-"you're a Cynster."

He almost laughed. "Why does that matter?"

"Because Cynsters like challenges."

He looked at her veiled face. "True," he purred.

Her chin rose another notch. "And because I know I can entrust the family's secret to a Cynster."

He raised a brow, inviting explanation.

She hesitated, then stated, "If you agree to help us, I must ask you to swear that you will not at any time seek to identify me or my family." She halted, then went on, "And if you don't agree to help, I know I can trust you not to mention this meeting, or anything you deduce from it, to anyone."

Gabriel raised both brows; he regarded her with veiled amusement, and a certain respect. She had a boldness rarely found in women-only that could account for this charade, well thought out, well executed. The countess had all her wits about her; she'd studied her mark and had laid her plans-her enticements-well.

She was deliberately offering him a challenge.

Did she imagine, he wondered, that he would focus solely on the company? Was the other challenge she was flaunting before him intentional, or…?

Did it matter?

"If I agree to help you, where do you imagine we would start?" The question was out before he'd considered-once he had, he inwardly raised his brows at the "we."

"The company's solicitors. Or at least the ones who drew up the note-Thurlow and Brown. Their name's on the note."

"But not their address."

"No, but if they're a legitimate firm-and they must be, don't you think?-then they should be easy to trace. I could have done that myself, but…"

"But you didn't think your agent would approve of what you have in mind once you discover the address, so you didn't want to ask him?"