Once again, she ran her tongue over her lips. Her tactics were effective, he had to admit. For a moment, thoughts of his father and the nonexistent treasure faded away, replaced by an image of Miss Devereaux and her uncorseted curves lying on the decadent bed.
“I must respectfully disagree.” Sophie offered a glimmer of a smile. “Many believe you carried on an affair with her. After all, you provided a residence in this very hotel until she found another…protector. Yet you demanded nothing in return.”
How did she know of the arrangement he’d made on Miss Malone’s behalf? Sod it all, the manager must’ve run his mealy mouth all over London. He’d bloody well have a talk with Mr. Bailey. Discretion, indeed.
“I wanted nothing to do with the woman’s favors. But it seemed only decent to provide a roof over her head until she had a chance to move on.”
She regarded him for a long moment, silent and assessing. “Many believe you are a rogue—a reputation, by all accounts, you appear to relish. And yet, you were generous with a woman you had no obligation to assist, while refusing to take advantage of what she offered.”
Her knowing gaze seemed a pebble in his shoe. “You may rest assured that my motives had nothing to do with altruism.”
“Duly noted.” She gave a nod, crisp as a well-trained clerk. “Before I make contact with those who have crossed to the other side, Esme demands clarity of your expectations.”
Amazing, how sincerely she’d voiced the words. It must require a Herculean effort to keep her features in such a humorless mask. He’d break that careful control. And he intended to enjoy the experience.
“Ah, Esme,” he said, meeting her gaze. “That wicked girl. I can only imagine the sly flirt she must’ve been while in this realm.”
“My spirit guide does not appreciate being referred to in such a flippant manner.”
“My apologies.” He schooled his features. “I must remember to strive for propriety while in her presence. Damned shame she is not as spirited as my Esme had been. Quite the vixen.”
“Do make an effort to mind your manners, or Esme will take her leave.” Her mouth thinned, and for a moment, she reminded him of the shrill governess who’d tried in vain to corral him when he’d still been a lad in short pants.
He pushed the notion from his thoughts. The dour-faced harpy could never have compared with Sophie’s sweetly rounded countenance. Despite the way she’d pulled her lush mouth into a stern seam, Sophie was a beauty. Even then, when she regarded him with a too-damned-proper gaze, the prospect of sampling her kiss made his groin hitch.
Bah, he was a fool. Only a blooming chump would entertain the thought of her kiss. Banishing the notion, he pressed on with the task at hand. How bloody absurd, to be conversing about an imaginary entity. “Esme—she is here with us now?”
Sophie nodded. “She has made her presence known. But, she will not speak until the time is right.”
“And when might that be? At this rate, I may be a decrepit old man before I obtain the answers I seek.”
“She wishes to understand you before she offers her assistance. You must admit, you’ve been less than respectful in her presence.” Only the faint glimmer in her eyes betrayed any hint she was engaged in a clever performance. She’d missed her calling treading the boards.
“I shall endeavor to demonstrate the proper respect.” Damn it, but the words sounded mocking, even to himself.
Her eyes narrowed, as if she fully realized they both played a blasted game. What would it take to get her to drop the facade?
“Esme finds you to be a bit of a puzzle,” Sophie said. “You are an academic, a trained scholar.”
“Again, that information is well-known. It hardly merits revelation by a spirit.”
“And yet, you evidently savor a good scandal.”
“So, Esme does keep up with the London rags. Quite enlightening. I’d never imagined a ghost would have a penchant for scurrilous gossip. Tell me, how does she turn the pages? Or is that your role?”
“Esme is aware of much that goes on in our realm.”
“I must say, I feel for the poor chap who’s got to put up with that minx’s cold breath on his neck as she leans over his shoulder to read that rubbish. Esme most likely makes her appearance just as the bloke’s settling in next to a rip-roaring fire, a glass of port in one hand.”
Sophie shook her head. “I assure you she has no need of the papers.”
“Bloody good thing. She might well induce apoplexy in some unsuspecting gent.”
“Indeed,” Sophie said. “Still, you must admit she has a point. You do not conduct yourself like a scholar. And yet, your research has been described as brilliant.”
Had Sophie decided to try another tack? Flattery was an effective tool with most men. Damnable shame he was immune to such rubbish.
“Brilliant? You don’t say. So, Esme keeps up with the latest journals. What are her thoughts on the hunt for Hatshepsut’s tomb?”
Sophie’s delicate brows drew together, but she did not quite frown. “If she has an opinion on the subject, she has not expressed it to me.”
What in blazes was the woman about? He’d brought her to this place, to this chamber—to the blasted bed where his father had expired, no less. He’d thought to fluster her, to jar her into babbling some truth or another about Trask’s enterprise. But she’d deftly turned the tables to keep the focus on him.
She stood by the bed, studying him with those large, doe-brown eyes. Her hand grazed the polished surface of the bedpost. A show of nerves, most likely, rather than an attempt at seduction. Did she sense she’d gotten herself in over her head with this charade?
But blast it all, if she wasn’t as tempting as any siren emerging from the sea. If she thought to take his mind from his purpose in coming here, she hadn’t succeeded, but damned if she hadn’t put his will to the test.
“Esme wishes to fully understand your intentions before she offers her assistance. If all you seek is treasure to enrich your coffers, she has no interest in your quest. In her eyes, you are a rogue. A brilliant rogue, but a rogue nonetheless.”
“And what of it?” he said. “I make a point to be open about my intentions, or lack of them. It’s not as though I’ve left a trail of ruined virgins in my wake.”
“Quite so, Professor. You try to act the scoundrel.” A subtle smile curved her pink-coral mouth. “But Esme…and I…know better.”
He didn’t want her to look at him that way, as if he were a man she should trust—a man who’d insisted she accompany him to a hotel, no less. Sod it all, he’d thought Trask an unscrupulous charlatan before, but the mere fact the bastard sent Sophie to this place under the escort of a known rake was low, even for that guttersnipe.
Of course, she was a clever one. Too clever to blithely put herself at risk. Was this all part of her act, feigning vulnerability until he let his guard down? For all he knew, she might have a bodyguard trailing her every step, an ox of a man who waited in the wings, alert for the slightest indication of distress.
Perhaps he’d teach her a lesson, one that might spur her to cut ties with Trask once and for all. He might well end up with some bastard’s fist plowing into his face, but that would be a small price to pay to turn her against the fraud.
He pinned her with what he intended to be a piercing gaze. She didn’t look away, not so much as offering the first blink. Rather, she held her chin high.
“You can’t fool Esme.” Her voice had gone low and smooth as velvet. “She’s exceedingly well versed in the ways of men like you.”
He leaned against the dresser, propping himself lazily on one arm. “So, am I to understand you concur with the old girl’s opinion—you believe me to be a rogue, but not a scoundrel? A rather fine distinction, I’d say.”
“You fancy yourself to be a rake, unencumbered by commitment or emotional bond. But you can’t truly bring yourself to take advantage of a woman.”
“Is that so? And why, precisely, would you c
ome to that conclusion?”
“Esme knows more than you believe possible.”
“You are not conveying information from some daft spirit with an ear for gossip, Sophie. Do you take me for a fool?”
She gave a little shrug. “Believe what you’d like. The fact remains, you’re not nearly the cad you’d like me to believe. You keep your honor hidden away, perhaps even from yourself. But it’s still there. You can’t escape it—not entirely. If you think to intimidate me or rattle my nerves, you’ll have to try harder.”
Honor. How long had it been since a woman had spoken of such a thing, in connection with him, no less? How remarkable, really. His mistresses didn’t tend to trouble themselves with such concerns as his character. Typically, a tumble between his sheets and a pricey bauble or two comprised the extent of their interest. Did Sophie believe her own words? Surely she didn’t believe he possessed a noble streak. More likely than not, she was lying through her pretty teeth, hoping to set him off guard. In either case, he’d have to disappoint her.
“Will I now?” He studied her, smiling to himself as she fidgeted a little beneath his gaze. Her tongue darted out again, drawing his attention to those plump, tempting lips. Ah, he really should kiss her and find out for himself precisely how delicious that sweet mouth would taste.
You’ll have to try harder.
Sophie should know better than to tempt fate with a man like him. Who was he to let her challenge go unanswered?
Chapter Seven
Sophie had thought herself well prepared for this farce of a sitting with Gavin Stanwyck. Miss Beddingham, the Colton Agency’s ever-so-competent researcher, had obtained resources from the Herald’s files that had provided an illuminating picture of both Stanwyck and his sire. Sophie had reviewed as much as time had allowed, poring over news clippings of Stanwyck’s expeditions, the man’s society conquests, and his father’s blatant romps about town with his mistress, a woman not quite a year older than Gavin. Still, he’d managed to set her off base.
Never in her wildest dreams had she anticipated she’d wind up here, in an opulent, if overdone, hotel room, debating with Stanwyck whether or not he truly was a scoundrel. Bloody ridiculous, really. When the man wasn’t off in some foreign land exploring a tomb or translating some ancient text, he gallivanted about London with one merry widow or the next. Yet, here she was, trying to convince him that he wasn’t a true rogue.
Somehow, while playing the cad, he’d revealed hints of a decent heart lurking beneath the arrogance he employed as armor. Perhaps it was the muted pain in his eyes when he spoke of his father’s dalliances. Or perhaps, it was the unexpected compassion he’d shown his father’s paramour. Sophie wasn’t certain why she wanted to believe he was not a skirt-chasing bounder. What did it matter, in truth? She had not come here tonight to deduce what resided in Gavin Stanwyck’s heart.
She had a job to do. She’d best turn this discussion back to Edward Stanwyck. With any luck, she would convince Gavin that his patriarch had gone on to some other reward, far from this place with its marble-topped chests, gleaming crystal fixtures, and that ridiculously large and sturdy bed.
She steeled herself. Drat the man. If only he’d stop looking at her…like that. As if he had seen through her, glimpsing the truth of her charade as readily as she’d seen through him.
Her heartbeat sped, ever so slightly, and she let out a breath, slow and controlled, relaxing the tension. She glanced at the door. Stanwyck cocked a brow. Devil take the man and his all-too-observant eye.
“Surely you are not concerned that the ever-vigilant Miss Cornwall has wandered off. Do you anticipate the need to be rescued?”
She forced a little laugh. “Rescued? How very absurd.”
His eyes narrowed, as if searching for some crack in her carefully crafted armor. “So, what precisely would it take to convince you that I am, in fact, a cold-hearted rogue?”
She held his gaze, determined he would not disconcert her. Or at the least, she would not let on that he had.
“I see no point in carrying on this discussion. Esme informs me that your father is not present. If we are going to attempt to contact him, we must move along to another locale that will prove more favorable.”
He gave a little snort, making it clear he’d seen through her suggestion, to her desire to leave this closed-in, far-too-intimate space. “You’re certain the old goat’s not here?”
“Yes. Now, shall we proceed to the next location? I believe you’d planned to take a meal at Café Susannah.”
Thank heavens this torture is about to end.
“And what of Esme? Is she still flitting about us?”
“Not at the moment. Rest assured, I shall experience no difficulty in summoning her.”
“So, we are alone?”
Sophie fought the urge to gulp a bit of air. She was being a goose. If only Stanwyck was not watching her so intently, a chess master calculating his next move.
“Except for the secretary with her ear to the door, yes, we are alone.” She fashioned a placid smile. “I assume your driver is waiting with the carriage.”
He nodded. “He’ll wait. As long as it takes.”
She held her head high, striving to present the illusion that he had not succeeded in flustering her. This was all quite silly, really. She’d faced a brute in an alley the night before and walked away, unscathed and, for the most part, unshaken. Standing here, face-to-face with a blasted man of books, should not set her nerves on alert.
Cocking her chin, she walked to the door. “I am ready to leave, Professor Stanwyck.”
He didn’t move, other than to cross his arms over his chest and rock back on his heels. “The way I see it, you set forth a challenge. I am debating whether or not to accept it.”
“A challenge?” She frowned. “I don’t follow.”
He unfolded his arms and stalked to where she stood. Gently, his hands draped her shoulders. Strong, but without pressure. Without violence. “You said I would have to try harder for you to be convinced I am a scoundrel. What is that, if not a challenge?”
Words hovered on the tip of her tongue but failed to escape her lips. He shouldn’t be holding her, regardless of how warm his hands were against her body. He shouldn’t be so very near. She drank in subtle notes of sandalwood on his jaw and his throat. He shouldn’t be studying her with those perceptive eyes, a glint of sensual interest darkening his sapphire irises.
She drew in a breath, even as he held her closer still. If she’d detected any hint of danger, she would’ve brought him to the ground with a well-placed knee or a calculated swing of her weighted reticule against the pulse point behind his ear. But this man did not present that nature of a threat.
No, the danger in his touch was more subtle. More insidious. And ultimately, far more powerful. She could not betray the effect he had on her. She could not give him that weapon against her.
“I meant what I said.” A miracle, how steady she held her tone. “When I look at you, I do not see a cad. I see a man in need of answers. The only question is, what are the answers you truly seek?”
“And if I kissed you? Would you think me a rogue?”
The heat in his gaze kindled a spark deep within her, but she steeled herself against the sudden and powerful need. She could not let on how delicious his breath felt against her cheek, how good…how right…it felt to be in his arms.
“No.” She lifted her gaze to lock with his. “I would think you a man, with a man’s desires and needs. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“You are a temptation I could not have anticipated.” A tiny muscle in his jaw tensed. “And I…well, I am a bloody fool.”
His hands slid lower, settling on her leg-of-mutton sleeves, and he dipped his head. She might’ve imagined the sound, but his breath seemed a sigh. And then, his lips claimed hers in a kiss.
Oh, my, such a delicious caress. Shock rippled through Sophie’s veins, coupled with an instinctive alarm. Not fear. Far from it. Ra
ther, this man’s touch should not feel so very tempting, so very tender. So maddeningly right.
His kiss was a leisurely possession. Gentle. Exploring. And, she knew in her heart, a testimony to his restraint. He infused the soft touch of his lips with hunger, stirring her own bone-deep need. Yet, he held back, the passion she glimpsed in his eyes tightly leashed.
His muscles taut, his hands light upon her arms, he held her so loosely she could…and should…break away.
Break away. Her logical mind chanted the words like a litany. If only she did not welcome his touch and his kiss, the heat of his strong, lean body. Closing her eyes, she gave in to temptation, savoring the feel of him, the taste of his kiss, the tautly controlled power in his body. His essence, crisp and clean and so very male, filled her senses, and she drank it in.
His tongue parted her lips, intensifying the flames kindling within her. She should end this madness. Here and now. It wasn’t as if she’d never known temptation. She knew better than to mix pleasure with her duty.
Peculiar, how natural it felt to be held by him, to be kissed by him.
Pity he was a man she knew better than to trust.
Bracing her palms against his shoulders, she broke free. An indignant inner voice urged a sound slap across his smug face for taking such a liberty. Blasted shame she was in character. Sophie Devereaux, charlatan, would never risk putting off a well-monied client.
Facing him directly, she steadied her voice. “Well played, Professor. I did not anticipate you would follow through on your challenge. Your assessment of your own character is correct.”
A sly smile curved his mouth. “So, I have convinced you that I am a scoundrel? I was hoping it would take more than a kiss to prove my point.”
She shook her head. “You stated that you believe yourself to be a fool. At this point, I am inclined to agree.”
To her surprise, his smile intensified, wry and too dratted appealing for her own good. This assignment would be far easier if he were a loathsome troll of a man. How unfortunate the man was as handsome as he was clever. Well, she’d simply have to maintain an alert focus on her mission.
When a Lady Dares (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Page 8