Page 22 of When a Lady Dares
“Esme wishes to fully understand your intentions before she offers her assistance. If all you seek is treasure to enrich your coffers, she has no interest in your quest. In her eyes, you are a rogue. A brilliant rogue, but a rogue nonetheless.”
“And what of it?” he said. “I make a point to be open about my intentions, or lack of them. It’s not as though I’ve left a trail of ruined virgins in my wake.”
“Quite so, Professor. You try to act the scoundrel.” A subtle smile curved her pink-coral mouth. “But Esme…and I…know better.”
He didn’t want her to look at him that way, as if he were a man she should trust—a man who’d insisted she accompany him to a hotel, no less. Sod it all, he’d thought Trask an unscrupulous charlatan before, but the mere fact the bastard sent Sophie to this place under the escort of a known rake was low, even for that guttersnipe.
Of course, she was a clever one. Too clever to blithely put herself at risk. Was this all part of her act, feigning vulnerability until he let his guard down? For all he knew, she might have a bodyguard trailing her every step, an ox of a man who waited in the wings, alert for the slightest indication of distress.
Perhaps he’d teach her a lesson, one that might spur her to cut ties with Trask once and for all. He might well end up with some bastard’s fist plowing into his face, but that would be a small price to pay to turn her against the fraud.
He pinned her with what he intended to be a piercing gaze. She didn’t look away, not so much as offering the first blink. Rather, she held her chin high.
“You can’t fool Esme.” Her voice had gone low and smooth as velvet. “She’s exceedingly well versed in the ways of men like you.”
He leaned against the dresser, propping himself lazily on one arm. “So, am I to understand you concur with the old girl’s opinion—you believe me to be a rogue, but not a scoundrel? A rather fine distinction, I’d say.”
“You fancy yourself to be a rake, unencumbered by commitment or emotional bond. But you can’t truly bring yourself to take advantage of a woman.”
“Is that so? And why, precisely, would you come to that conclusion?”
“Esme knows more than you believe possible.”
“You are not conveying information from some daft spirit with an ear for gossip, Sophie. Do you take me for a fool?”
She gave a little shrug. “Believe what you’d like. The fact remains, you’re not nearly the cad you’d like me to believe. You keep your honor hidden away, perhaps even from yourself. But it’s still there. You can’t escape it—not entirely. If you think to intimidate me or rattle my nerves, you’ll have to try harder.”
Honor.How long had it been since a woman had spoken of such a thing, in connection with him, no less? How remarkable, really. His mistresses didn’t tend to trouble themselves with such concerns as his character. Typically, a tumble between his sheets and a pricey bauble or two comprised the extent of their interest. Did Sophie believe her own words? Surely she didn’t believe he possessed a noble streak. More likely than not, she was lying through her pretty teeth, hoping to set him off guard. In either case, he’d have to disappoint her.
“Will I now?” He studied her, smiling to himself as she fidgeted a little beneath his gaze. Her tongue darted out again, drawing his attention to those plump, tempting lips. Ah, he really should kiss her and find out for himself precisely how delicious that sweet mouth would taste.
You’ll have to try harder.
Sophie should know better than to tempt fate with a man like him. Who was he to let her challenge go unanswered?
Chapter Seven
Sophie had thought herself well prepared for this farce of a sitting with Gavin Stanwyck. Miss Beddingham, the Colton Agency’s ever-so-competent researcher, had obtained resources from theHerald’s files that had provided an illuminating picture of both Stanwyck and his sire. Sophie had reviewed as much as time had allowed, poring over news clippings of Stanwyck’s expeditions, the man’s society conquests, and his father’s blatant romps about town with his mistress, a woman not quite a year older than Gavin. Still, he’d managed to set her off base.
Never in her wildest dreams had she anticipated she’d wind up here, in an opulent, if overdone, hotel room, debating with Stanwyck whether or not he truly was a scoundrel. Bloody ridiculous, really. When the man wasn’t off in some foreign land exploring a tomb or translating some ancient text, he gallivanted about London with one merry widow or the next. Yet, here she was, trying to convince him that he wasn’t a true rogue.
Somehow, while playing the cad, he’d revealed hints of a decent heart lurking beneath the arrogance he employed as armor. Perhaps it was the muted pain in his eyes when he spoke of his father’s dalliances. Or perhaps, it was the unexpected compassion he’d shown his father’s paramour. Sophie wasn’t certain why she wanted to believe he was not a skirt-chasing bounder. What did it matter, in truth? She had not come here tonight to deduce what resided in Gavin Stanwyck’s heart.
She had a job to do. She’d best turn this discussion back to Edward Stanwyck. With any luck, she would convince Gavin that his patriarch had gone on to some other reward, far from this place with its marble-topped chests, gleaming crystal fixtures, and that ridiculously large and sturdy bed.
She steeled herself. Drat the man. If only he’d stop looking at her…likethat.As if he had seen through her, glimpsing the truth of her charade as readily as she’d seen through him.
Her heartbeat sped, ever so slightly, and she let out a breath, slow and controlled, relaxing the tension. She glanced at the door. Stanwyck cocked a brow. Devil take the man and his all-too-observant eye.
“Surely you are not concerned that the ever-vigilant Miss Cornwall has wandered off. Do you anticipate the need to be rescued?”
She forced a little laugh. “Rescued? How very absurd.”
His eyes narrowed, as if searching for some crack in her carefully crafted armor. “So, what precisely would it take to convince you that I am, in fact, a cold-hearted rogue?”
She held his gaze, determined he would not disconcert her. Or at the least, she would not let on that he had.
“I see no point in carrying on this discussion. Esme informs me that your father is not present. If we are going to attempt to contact him, we must move along to another locale that will prove more favorable.”
