Page 35 of When a Lady Dares
She pulled in a breath. “Would you prefer fool’s errand?”
“But which of us is the fool? Multiple attempts at contact, and with no result? Conspicuous silence from my father. If he is hovering about this place, he’s likely laughing his bloody arse off.” He flashed a scowl. “And what of that moody ghost of yours? How blasted convenient for you that she’s chosen to make herself scarce. An ideal ruse for a medium who possesses no more ability to converse with spirits than I do, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d say nothing of the sort.” Sophie held her voice steady. “I do not pretend to know what it is you’re truly seeking, but your motives have nothing to do with any blasted heirloom. I feel it in my bones.”
“Woman’s intuition, eh?” he scoffed. “And what of your flighty spirit? I assume she shares your conviction?”
“Call it what you will. As for Esme, your comments have been blatantly offensive. Is it any wonder she has chosen to withhold her assistance?”
“If the old gal has been traipsing around this planet for centuries, I’d think she’d be accustomed to dealing with skeptics.”
“There, you’ve said it.” Sophie pinned him with her gaze. “You are a skeptic.”
“You’ll get no denial from me on that account. What rational man would not harbor doubt when a woman claims she can communicate with the dead—but only when some cheeky ghost is hovering about and in the proper mood to commune with the other spirits?” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You must admit the notion boggles the mind.”
She let out a long breath, not caring whether or not he noticed. Given the circumstances, she had good cause to display a bit of nerves. Appearing unflappable might actually raise more suspicion on his end. Evidently, he had not seen through her disguise. But if he’d set his mind to unmask her as a fraud, the damage to her cover identity might well prove catastrophic.
She needed to employ a different tactic. Perhaps, she should play along with his game. Participating in the man’s absurd quest would leave a bitter taste in her mouth, foul as quinine. But at the moment, she could think of no better strategy.
“So, you’ve set out to prove a point…to debunk my abilities?” Keeping her tone low and gentle, she wove notes of worry through the words.
He shook his head. “It may surprise you, but I have far better uses for my time than roaming about London in an attempt to disprove your purported talent.”
Something in his tone seared her, burning through her intention to placate the infuriating professor.
“Oh, you must forgive me. I’d forgotten that you are such an important man. A scholar with an empire to manage when he’s not trotting off to some desert or other—far too busy to waste his time trying to destroy a woman like me.”
“Destroy you?” His brows hiked. “I hadn’t taken you for the dramatic type. My interest has nothing to do with ruining you. If anything, I believe you need to protect yourself from men like Trask.”
“And from men like you?”
“Especially from men like me.” Regarding her beneath hooded lids, he kneaded the back of his neck as if it ached. “My conduct has been boorish. Perhaps inexcusably so.”
If Stanwyck had sprouted wings and flapped about the room like a dragon who’d run out of fire to spew, she might have been less surprised. His eyes revealed no clue to his sincerity or lack of it. The man was indeed confounding.
A nagging inner voice murmured its warning.Leave.Now. She should walk away from this mercurial man without so much as a parting glance.
But that was not an option. As much as she’d love to tell Stanwyck precisely where he might stow his non-apology, doing so might cost her access to Trask’s clients and files. The greedy fraud would expect her to do whatever it took to obtain a slice of Stanwyck’s fortune. If she refused to go along with the man’s requests, Trask would likely find another assistant by the next sunset.
She released a sigh, dramatic and pensive. “As I see it, there’s been no harm done.”
“Very good, Miss Devereaux.”
At least he’d chosen to address her in a proper fashion this time. Not that she disliked the sound of her name on his lips. If anything, the way his voice caressed her name was a temptation she needed to avoid. Just as she needed to avoid the lure of his touch.
“So, shall we continue our endeavor?”
Before Sophie could answer, the waiter approached and placed a domed silver platter on the table. As he moved to unveil the dish the chef had prepared, Stanwyck stopped him with a curt shake of his head.
“Thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
His drawn features making it plain he’d sensed the tension in the air, the waiter responded with a crisp nod. “Very well, sir.” Without a backward glance, he strode briskly away.
Sophie massaged her temples, easing the dull, tension-filled throb against her skull. It was high time she concluded this unfortunate farce of an evening and looked ahead to her next move.
“I’m afraid I have developed a bit of a megrim,” she said.
He frowned, but his eyes did not reflect a sense of surprise. Had he anticipated she’d call off their supper?
