Page 37 of When a Lady Dares
“Indeed.”
“I shall instruct Avery to wait and see you to your residence.”
“Following our meeting, I anticipate Trask will escort me home. Waiting would be an utter waste of your driver’s time.”
“Very well. I shall inform Avery.”
“Thank you.”
He gave a nod. “Good night, Sophie. I had not taken you for a hard-hearted woman, leaving a man to dine alone.”
“I’ve no doubt you will survive the experience. Good night.”
She moved to the conveyance. The driver had left his bench and let down the steps. He greeted her with a smile and a tip of his hat. Gaslight gleamed against his balding pate. Following an exchange of pleasantries, he helped her maneuver her skirts into the carriage. Stanwyck issued a few instructions, and the coach departed the café.
She glanced from the window, indulging in one parting glimpse of Gavin Stanwyck. He’d turned to reenter the café, but as if he’d sensed her gaze, he pivoted toward the coach, watching as the wheels rattled over the cobbles.
Pressing back against the plush upholstery, Sophie closed her eyes. She didn’t want to like the man. Heaven knew she didn’t trust him. What was it about Stanwyck that made her want to throttle him one moment and taste his kiss the next?
She allowed herself a few moments of restful solitude as the driver navigated the coach through the darkened streets. Arriving at Trask’s studio, Sophie thanked Avery and slipped inside the dimly lit space.
Trask sat in a leather wing chair, a tumbler of whiskey on a small side table, reading the evening edition of theHerald.Beneath the banner, another headline in smaller print caught her eye. The Thames had claimed another life, or so the lurid text declared. Had the unlucky bloke drowned? Or had yet another murder been made to appear a dreadful accident, as seemed to be the fashion where the deaths along the river were concerned?
Trask peered over the paper. His forehead furrowed as his mouth pulled into a slash. “I had not expected you so soon.”
Her skirts swishing around her ankles, she sauntered to the shadowed corner. Plopping exhaustedly into a chair, she sighed. “The evening did not go as planned.”
“That much is evident.” Trask folded the paper and placed it on his desk. His eyes had gone hard. “What the bloody hell happened?”
“Nothing to be concerned about.”
“I will be the judge of that.”
Sophie ignored the ice in his tone. “Professor Stanwyck is a skeptic. It’s in his nature. He was testing me tonight, but I was on to the bloke.”
“I don’t care about that rubbish. You need to make the man feel as though you are indispensable to him.”
“I’ve had to take steps to gain his trust. I’m confident I passed his blasted test.” She drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair, emphasizing her words. “He has requested another sitting during the daylight hours.”
“I expect you to do whatever it takes to keep the bastard happy. There’s no telling how much he’ll pay for the information he wants.” Trask’s stare bore through her. “If you are not capable of giving the man what he wants, I will find an assistant who is up to the task.”
…
Gavin downed a few bites of fish, enough to appease his hunger. Odd, how unappetizing the expertly prepared Dover sole had become since Sophie’s abrupt departure. The waiter eyed him with concern, no doubt anticipating that he’d found fault with the chef’s fare. No, Gavin corrected himself. That was not the case. The waiter was a man, after all. Despite his discreet demeanor, the server had certainly seen enough of Sophie to understand Gavin’s change in mood after she’d fled his company.
After presenting the waiter with a generous gratuity, Gavin left the café for the second time that night. An hour or so in the comfortable smoke-and-whiskey-filled ambiance of his club was in order. A round of billiards would be just the thing to quell his nervous energy.
He spotted his coach ambling toward the café. For a moment, he considered sending Avery on his way and covering the distance to his club on foot, but a clap of thunder in the distance led him to reconsider. Being drenched in a downpour would certainly cap off what had already been a remarkably unsatisfactory night.
“To the Hound and Fox, sir?” Avery asked.
“Yes.”
Settled within the coach, he peered into the gaslit night. Bloody hell, he’d never before allowed himself to be so drawn in by a woman. Even the prim beauty he’d once asked to become his bride had not captivated him as Sophie had. Like a fool, he’d allowed his attraction to Trask’s assistant to cloud his thinking. Instead of using his time with Sophie to glean intelligence he could use to prove Trask’s involvement in Peter’s death, he’d wasted the hours engaging in what seemed an increasingly personal contest of wits and wills. He’d been determined to shake her confidence, as if that would cause her to admit that her performance was nothing more than a charade. But she’d clung with a tongue-in-cheek flair to the persona she’d affected, employing a cantankerous spirit as her excuse for her utter lack of occult skill. If she’d truly wanted to put on a display of her abilities, she simply should have put those deep brown eyes of hers to use. God knew they could mesmerize a man.
In his thirty-one years of life, Gavin had never seen eyes quite like Sophie’s. As dark as mahogany, yet, brightened with tiny flecks of amber and gold, her irises gleamed with a keen intelligence and wit. At times, it seemed she could read his secrets. A man could lose himself in a gaze like hers.
If a man was naive enough to be drawn in by such a transient thing as beauty, that is. If a man allowed himself to be duped by a lovely face and a honeyed voice. He was attracted to Sophie, but he knew better than to trust her. She had allied herself with an unscrupulous cur like Trask. There could be little doubt as to her capacity for deception.
