Page 45 of When a Lady Dares
Damn and blast, I am a fool. The words echoed in Gavin’s mind. He’d put his plan to uncover Trask’s role in Peter’s death at risk, and all to play the hero to a woman—a woman who’d clasped a sophisticated weapon between her slender fingers. She’d attempted to conceal the implement from his sight, but he’d recognized it for what it was—a knife disguised as a fountain pen. Her thumb had grazed the small latch near the nib, but she had not put the blade to use. Where in blazes had Sophie come across such an ingenious means of defense?
He kept a close tether on his thoughts, even as the question taunted him. Any inquiry about the weapon would likely serve to put her on guard. Seated within the carriage, her skirts brushing the fabric of his trousers, she regarded him with a seasoned wariness. With any luck, she might warm to him, might develop trust in him that would prove useful in the long run.
He reached for her, then held back. Best to leave her to her own thoughts, at least for the moment. Even now, after he’d kissed her, after he’d tasted the passion she tried to conceal beneath an icy armor, she regarded him with a practiced disinterest. He knew better than to believe she’d been unaffected by his touch. God knew the heat of her response posed a powerful contradiction to her cool demeanor.
Damnable shame he hadn’t recognized the thugs who’d tried to snatch her off the street. Hired brutes, without a donkey’s ration of intellect between the pair of them. Who had paid them to do the deed?
Stretching out his legs, Gavin reclined against the padded bench and centered his attention on Sophie. Not that she welcomed his interest. Could she hold herself any more rigid? Did she want to deceive him into thinking her response to his touch had been an act? No trace of the warm, receptive woman he’d held in his arms remained. Instead, she met his interest with an assessing gaze of her own, holding her shoulders squared and her hands knotted in her lap, off-limits to his touch.
Amazing, really, how bloody stubborn she was. Did Sophie think he had not noticed the slight quivering of her mouth, had not caught the spark of recognition in her eyes when he’d brought up the carriage’s distinctive crest?
Odd how the defiant lift of her chin appealed to him. It seemed a lifetime since a woman had regarded him with something other than a false smile and batted lashes. How refreshing to see that honesty in Sophie’s expression, even when anger darkened her gaze. Once, when he’d been his father’s spare, content to pursue his academic interests, women had seen him as a man with a man’s passions and flaws—not as the means to a fortune.
He’d even been fool enough to fall in love. Only once. Not that that particular liaison had gone smashingly well. The blue-eyed daughter of his Latin professor had murmured words of adoration in his arms, but when the time came to make her choice, she’d opted for a duke’s heir with a title and blunt to spare.
Truth be told, Gavin had understood her choice. As a second son, he’d hardly been a catch. What woman aspired to become the wife of an academic, much less a man whose research sent him to climates where even the camels begged for a water flask? After Melinda had called off their engagement, he’d made a point to bed only those women who sought to while away pleasurable hours in his arms—willing widows and flamboyant actresses with no designs on him beyond a brief interlude between silky sheets.
In one moment, quick as a blink, his comfortable life had changed. His older brother, Cameron, had fallen prey to an enemy bullet while defending Victoria’s empire on the Gold Coast. He’d succumbed instantly, or so they’d been told. Gavin had become the heir to his father’s hard-won fortune and had suddenly become the target of husband-hunters out to land a wealthy man. Women who’d once desired a spirited tumble suddenly longed for the peal of wedding bells. Proper ladies who’d aspired to a suitable match—supposed virgins who wouldn’t have wasted that most valuable commodity on Edward Stanwyck’s spare—now sought to warm his bed in exchange for a band of gold and spoken vows.
Blast it all, he wanted no part of their schemes. He had no intention of falling prey to their lures. Better some wet-behind-the-ears duke than him.
When she had kissed him, Sophie hadn’t seemed to give a fig about his fortune. Surely, she had some inkling of who he was. His father’s enterprises had made the Stanwyck name known throughout all of Britain. Trask certainly knew who he was dealing with, embracing the preposterous long-lost treasure story as an eccentric quest to be financed by the substantial Stanwyck coffers.
But his wealth hadn’t seemed to faze Sophie. She seemed unconcerned about his position as the Stanwyck heir. And she certainly hadn’t attempted to seduce him. If anything, she’d presented herself with a cultivated indifference.
Until he’d kissed her.
She’d seemed entirely caught off guard by her passionate response to his caress, just as he’d been blindsided by the hunger that recklessly urged him to kiss her senseless.
Was she truly so skilled an actress? Bloody hell, she intrigued him. Neil Trask certainly knew how to pick the perfect lure, a spirited beauty who took a man’s interest off his chicanery and focused it on the words uttered by her perfect bow of a mouth. God only knew the lovely medium had drawn Gavin’s interest.
What a damn shame he’d have to extinguish those sparks before they kindled a blaze, an inferno he couldn’t control.
As the carriage entered Charing Cross, Sophie peered from the window. “We’re at my building,” she said, breaking the oddly comfortable silence. “Thank you. You were most kind to see me home.”
Home. The drab boardinghouse did not fit Sophie in the least. He would have expected a woman like her to be ensconced in a fashionable flat on the Strand, not a nondescript brick structure, several stories tall, its windows illuminated by scatterings of light around drawn shades. Bloody odd. Evidently, she hadn’t capitalized upon her beauty and her charm. She’d certainly have had no trouble snaring a well-to-do protector. A smile tried to sneak onto his lips, but he quashed it. By thunder, why did it please him so that Sophie had not traded her attentions for a rich man’s favor?
Two raps on the carriage roof signaled the driver to stop. Gavin didn’t wait for the man to leave his perch and assist them from the coach. Exiting the carriage as soon as it came to a halt, he unlatched the door and stepped onto the pavement, then extended his hand to Sophie.
She wrinkled her nose as though he’d suddenly developed an abhorrent odor. So, she’d been wounded by his abrupt change of manner after the kiss. She’d pretended to be unaffected by his ungentlemanly conduct, but now, she let the truth show on her features. Good for her. He much preferred her spirit to coolly controlled emotion.
With a slight sniff of her pert nose, she took his proffered hand. Lightly grasping his fingers, she maneuvered her long, full skirt over the pair of steps that led to the pavement. The heavy fabric obscured even the slightest glimpse of her legs. Blast the luck. He’d wager they were as luscious as the rest of her.
Releasing his hand as her feet touched the pavement, she looked up at him. “I feel confident I can venture to my residence without further escort.”
“Of course. Until tomorrow. I’ll plan to meet you at the salon at one o’clock.”
Her delectable mouth pulled taut as a violinist’s bow. “That should prove acceptable.”
“I look forward to continuing our…discussion.” He deliberately punctuated his statement with a mischievous half-smile.
Her lips thinned. Much more, and they’d all but disappear. “We shall keep our focus on making contact with the spirit you seek.”
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” he teased as the creak of a door signaled they were not alone. The entry door at the top of the building’s front stairs opened. A gray-streaked head emerged, a slight scowl marking the woman’s careworn features.
“You’re a bit later than usual,” the matron commented in a tone that seemed by parts both motherly and hungry for scandal. Squinting, she raked over him. “I suppose it’s no wonder, girl, what with a fellow like that one lookin’ out for you.”
Sophie spared him a glance over her shoulder. “He has seen me home out of gentlemanly duty. Nothing more.”
