Page 33 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
How bloody peculiar. A true charlatan would embrace any display of emotion on his part, would pounce upon any sign the man she wished to fleece was growing enamored of her. After all, the surest way to a man’s fortune was through his desire. If she viewed him as a fool she could lead on, he would appear more malleable, more apt to fall prey to whatever scheme Trask had devised to part a fool from his tin.
Yet, the slight show of emotion on his part had made her want to flee.
Ah, Sophie was an enigma—one he itched to solve.
“Is something wrong?” He knew full well the answer to his question, but with it, he’d bought time to formulate his next move.
She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip. “I will not be able to make contact with your father.”
“By the old man’s standards, the night is still young.”
“I do hate to disappoint you,” she said in a tone that contradicted her words. “Unfortunately, this circumstance does not invite contact. Esme has departed our realm. As such, I see no point in wasting your time.”
He forged a bland expression. “I do not see that any part of this evening has been a waste of time.”
Her lips thinned to a seam. She looked away, rather studiously regarding the lace tablecloth. When she lifted her gaze, she met his eyes without hesitation. “I am afraid I must disagree.”
“Do you care to elaborate?”
“Is it truly necessary to tell you what you already know?” She slipped her chair away from the table and began to rise. “You do not need to trouble yourself with an escort. I am fully capable of hiring a hack.”
How damnably ironic—his honesty had set her rushing for the door, while the rubbish he’d spouted to rattle her had done nothing of the sort. Was her conscience troubling her? Or did she doubt her ability to maintain her charade in the face of genuine emotion?
He couldn’t abandon the pretense that had brought him this far. It was bad enough he’d let his disguise slip away in a moment of damnable honesty. He couldn’t allow Sophie to walk out of this place believing he’d turned from a cynical treasure hunter to a besotted bloke in the course of one evening.
“I’d no idea mediums were so temperamental,” he said, biting back a smile at the breath she’d let out in a little huff. “Our business here is not done, Miss Devereaux.”
She lowered herself back to her chair, smoothing her skirts around her. “Allow me to assure you, you have not yet witnessed a display of my temper.”
“Do tell.” He summoned a contrived nonchalance to his tone. “Somehow, I suspect that would prove an interesting sight.”
She folded her hands primly before her, loosely lacing her fingers. Was that intended to prevent any agitated trembling?
“What is it you want of me?” Her voice had grown stronger, though still quiet and discreet.
His gaze traced over her hands, even as his traitorous thoughts recalled the satin warmth of her skin, the feel of her imprinted in his mind. Ah, he’d been a dolt to touch her, to hold her.
“I believe I’ve already made myself clear.” He infused his tone with ice.
“I know what you’ve said, what you’ve told Trask. But the thing of it is, I don’t believe you. Not one bloody word.”
Chapter Ten
Since girlhood, Sophie had demonstrated a talent for games of skill. Her uncle deserved much of the credit for her strategic acumen, but she’d instinctively understood the art of interpreting the small, scarcely noticeable signs that betrayed another player’s secrets. Even before her parents had been killed and she became Uncle George’s ward, her mother’s genial brother had delighted in teaching her to handle a deck of cards. While her peers were stitching samplers to hone their embroidery prowess, Sophie much preferred dealing a hand of whist to jabbing herself with a needle. Now, sitting so near Gavin Stanwyck she could smell the hint of sandalwood on his skin, her skill at reading tells proved exceedingly useful.
She made a point to hold his gaze. Any sign of reluctance would weaken her position. The man was up to something. At this point, admitting her doubts as to his purposes would set him back on his heels. He wouldn’t expect her to confront him. Not about his motives, at least.
His forehead furrowed for the briefest of moments. No, he had not anticipated that she would question his purposes. If anything, he’d expected that she’d react in a huff to his sensual advances. But she had not allowed his kiss, no matter how delicious, to interfere with her subtle inquiries. And now, her words had caught him by surprise. If she pressed the issue, perhaps he would let down his guard. That might well be the key to uncovering the truth.
“You don’t believe me. Is that so?” His voice was icy, but the expression in his eyes was anything but cool.
“I believe I spoke clearly. Not. One. Bloody. Word.”
He cocked a brow. “Come now, Sophie. Such language…from a lady.”
Did he think to goad her? Well, he’d find she was made of sterner stuff than that. She set her chin at an arrogant tilt. “So, you disparage me for the use of an epithet? I am not surprised that a man like you would hold a woman to a higher standard than himself.”
A thin smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “A man like me? So, you do admit I’m a cad. I have convinced you.”
