Page 6 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
Unless she’d selected a dress as drab as a peahen specifically for this occasion—her not-so-subtle response to his request that she wear red tonight. If she’d garbed herself in widow’s weeds, she could not have been less vibrant. Or more defiant.
No wonder Trask looked as though someone had trampled his best-laid plans. Judging from the terse set of his mouth, the blighter was ready for another drink. Gavin couldn’t fault the man, given his lovely assistant had chosen a gown better suited to a stern governess than an alluring distraction. Perhaps it was time to twist the knife a bit.
Gavin leaned forward, resting his elbows against the table. “It seems we have a misunderstanding, Mr. Trask.”
“How so, Stanwyck?” Trask’s question was smooth and calm. Too calm.
“When we met earlier today, I issued a specific request. It would appear Miss Devereaux has chosen to dismiss it.”
“Request?” Trask regarded Gavin over steepled fingers.
“I asked Miss Devereaux to select a garment in a color that would appeal to my father. Instead, she is wearing a dress that might well remind him of his governess. He so detested the woman, he continued to reminisce about her hateful ways even into his old age. He most likely believes the shrew has come back to terrorize him. I doubt he will choose to make an appearance.”
Crimson streaks lined Trask’s face. His jaw set. Gavin would have sworn he could actually hear the man’s teeth grind.
“There must have been a misunderstanding. Miss Devereaux, you must have believed Professor Stanwyck to be speaking of his private consultation.”
She shook her head very slowly. A smile that might have inspired daVinci spread over her lips. “There was no misunderstanding. He requested I wear something red. I have honored his wishes.”
She placed her fingers against the black choker encircling her neck. Somehow, the gesture was as sensuous as a caress. What would that creamy flesh feel like beneath his touch? Beneath his lips? A bolt of carnal hunger surged to his groin. He swallowed hard. Bloody hell, he was hard as a rock.
“You did not specify a red garment.” She tapped the ruby dangling from the strip of velvet. “I believed a jewel would suffice.”
Well played, Sophie.
She met his eyes, triumph shining in her expression. He’d let her enjoy herself. For now.
“In the future, I will endeavor to be more precise. I suppose that trinket will have to do. This time.” Gavin squinted, as though he could scarcely locate the ruby. “Perhaps I will buy you a larger gem. One I don’t need a magnifying glass to spot.”
She swept a stray tendril behind her ear, revealing a perfectly shaped lobe and more of her delectable throat. “Perhaps spectacles would prove a wiser purchase.”
The man with the predator’s eyes stiffened. He slanted his cold gaze at Trask. “Now that we’ve settled what the miss is wearin’, can we get on with this? I don’t have all bloody night.”
“Of course.” Trask nodded toward Sophie, and she acknowledged the gesture. Gavin slanted his gaze to take her in.
Yes, Sophie, do begin. I am curious to learn precisely what kind of drivel comes out of that lush mouth.
“Please clasp hands with the persons to either side,” she said in a somber tone. “We must combine our energies.”
Gavin extended his right hand to Sophie. She’d worn gloves made of finely wrought black lace. Rather odd, considering she was supposedly attuned to her patron’s life force. And yet, she ensured skin-to-skin contact would not occur. Perhaps she was wiser than he’d credited her.
She eyed his ungloved fingers. Her expression was placid enough, but she could not mask the disdain in her eyes. If she’d been asked to take hold of a serpent protruding from Medusa’s scalp, she might not have looked as repulsed. Buying her jewels would be an utter waste. She’d be more likely to cram the blasted gift down his throat than wear it.
Slender fingers curved around his, her touch soft as a caress. Energy flowed between them, a current binding them together. She’d felt it, too. He’d have wagered his house in Kent on that truth.
Sophie drew in a breath, then another.
And then, she closed her eyes and began to speak.
…
Sophie shivered with an awareness that had nothing to do with the occult. What was Trask thinking, forcing her to sit by Stanwyck’s side…to touch the man, for heaven’s sake? Her finely wrought lace gloves provided only a scant barrier against contact with his slightly roughened skin, while the warmth emanating from his body distracted her. She drew in a breath.Not helpful. Not in the least.
The faint aroma of bergamot filled her senses. Stanwyck’s shaving soap, most likely. She lowered her head, eyes squeezed shut.Focus, Sophie. Drive the man away.
Indeed, she would put Sarah Bernhardt to shame with her performance.
“My spirit guide has issued a warning. Dire consequences await if we do not heed her wisdom,” she said, keeping her voice low, huskier than usual. She paused.Count to three. Sigh. Eyes open. Wide.“A non-believer has joined us tonight. His doubt will repel those who have crossed over.”
