Page 16 of Burning Secrets of a Lady's Pen
“I don’t suppose I can wait in the carriage?” Spencer asked half-heartedly, already tucking Imelda’s hand into his arm and leading her over toward the steps of the house.
“You—”
All of her frustration with her brother was forgotten as she saw the other body walking up the steps across from them. She was already going to be dealing with one devil, what in Hades’ name had seen fit to deal her two?
“Mr. Merrit, Miss Merrit,” Corin greeted them politely, stopping just short of them. They made an oddly shaped triangle, the three of them standing just at the bottom of the steps. And the way Corin’s eyes glittered left Imelda’s mouth dry.
“What are you doing here?” Imelda demanded, all decorum forgotten as her fingers tightened into a vice grip upon her brother’s arm. Not even Spencer’s hiss of reproach could make her tear her eyes away from Corin, though.
One impeccably groomed dark brow rose as Corin tilted his head, his expression darkly amused. “I live here.”
He what?
No, he didn’t.
“You cannot,” she replied, ignoring her brother’s warning grip on her arm.
The look of amusement on Corin’s face deepened. “I can,” he assured her with a slow drawl, “and I assure you that I do.”
Despite his apparent amusement, he wasn’t laughing, curiosity filling his gaze as well, and with a sinking feeling, Imelda looked down at the paper she still clutched in her hand. The address was the same. There had been no mistake made there.
“This is supposed to be the home of the critic Prospero,” Imelda bit out, her heart rate quickening as she looked back up just in time to see Corin’s expression shutter.
It was as if shutters had fallen into place over his tawny eyes, his gaze moving slowly from her to her brother and back again.
“Perhaps, Miss Merrit, this is a conversation better suited for inside.” He didn’t pause to wait to see her reaction to such a statement. He said it with all the arrogance of a man who just expected to be followed, his tone immovable as he walked up the front steps and to the door.
The door that he didn’t bother knocking on, instead just opening it and holding it as he waited for she and Spencer.
She was half-tempted to refuse just because of his expectations and the arrogance with which he had them. But…she was more than half-tempted to find out what relationship he had with this critic and how she could get a hold of him.
The home, of course, was even nicer on the inside. Imelda didn’t want to notice how nicely it had been decorated or how the dark accents set off the architecture so well. She would have preferred something gaudy and tasteless, something that screamed money—but in a way that she could abhor.
“Mr. Merrit, if you’ll kindly wait here in the hall, my study is just through those doors.” Corin was already moving again, speaking with all the authority that his station could afford him.
Imelda spluttered, but she could hardly deny him.
Not if she wanted to know about Prospero.
“I’ll be right back,” she gritted out, letting go of Spencer’s arm and marching into the study past Corin where he held the door open for her.
Damn him for having an impeccably decorated study as well.
“Now, you listen here,” Imelda started as she whirled around to the quietwhickof the door closing behind them.
“How in the devil did you get this address for Prospero?” Corin demanded, cutting her off before she could even formulate what she wanted to say next. He strode past her, passing her and bee-lining straight for the drink cart on the other side of the room.
Imelda could only stare, hating how she noticed how powerfully he walked. Like a caged panther, all barely concealed athleticism and danger.
She didn’t want to tell him how she had gotten this address. She’d had her uncle call in quite a lot of favors for it, after all. Critic’s addresses weren’t just things to be publicly bandied about.
“Never mind how I got it,” Imelda said stiffly, lifting her chin defiantly. “Why don’t you tell me why he hasyouraddress listed as his.” Were they friends? Was he someone that Corin employed? Or…
Corin laughed, pouring a glass of brandy as he eyed her with a look she wasn’t quite sure what to make of. “Why else?” The sarcasm was obvious, as was his renewed amusement as he lifted his glass to his lips, leaning his hips back against the desk behind him and looking Imelda up and down in a way that had her unconsciously straightening.
“I’d offer you a glass of brandy…but…” Corin trailed off, that hint of teasing in his voice sending Imelda’s back up even further.
How dare he reference their shared past at a time like this.
