“And I’m quite certain I mentioned my bed during my convalescence,” he said. Having been force-fed opium by the doctor, he’d been drowsy at the time and could have told her anything. “That’s how you know it’s ebony.”
“Perhaps.” There was a playful glint in her eyes as she proceeded to taunt him with facts. “You might wonder how I know you sleep with your right leg out of the bedsheets or that the third board from the door creaks.”
His heart leapt a little.
But he firmed his jaw and studied her intently.
“The cufflink box on your chest of drawers is made of leather and brass,” she continued, almost gloating. “You possess every cologne one might purchase from Floris, though you favour sandalwood and clove. You keep an empty bottle on the bottom shelf of your armoire.” A sensual sigh breezed from her lips. “Everything smells of you.”
Theo straightened. The lady had his undivided attention, but the constant howling from the audience made it hard to think. “What else do you know about me?” He prayed Miss Darrow had mystical abilities because the alternative meant she had been in his room.
Impossible.
“You keep a tincture of opium on your nightstand, though your desire to prove you’re as strong as your brothers prevents you from taking the tiniest drop. Even when your shoulder pains you, which it does most nights.”
Devil take it. He must have spouted nonsense in his sleep. No wonder she’d barely left his bedside. She’d been rubbing her hands in glee while he mumbled like a drunken fool at the fair.
“You feel safe in the dark,” she added.
The comment had him jumping out of his seat.
He had not uttered those words to a living soul.
“Excuse us for a moment.” He didn’t look at Aramis as his fingers encircled Miss Darrow’s upper arm. The softness of her skin sent an unexpected surge of awareness coursing through him. Damn the woman. Something about her stirred a complex mix of emotions. Evidently, the line between desire and disdain was perilously thin. “This conversation demands discretion.”
He guided Miss Darrow into the candlelit hall and yanked the curtains closed. Never had he felt so exposed.
“How did you arrive at that conclusion?” He drove her back against the wall and braced his hands above her head. She was at his mercy now. “It’s certainly not something I would say.”
Perhaps she was a mystic who could see into a man’s soul.
Maybe she had read the leaves in his teacup.
She blinked rapidly. “It was merely an observation. I dress people for a living. There’s a vast difference between the person they present to the world and the one they keep hidden.”
“You dress women, Miss Darrow. Men are a species unto their own.” Yet he wondered what the complex knot in his cravat and his penchant for new coats said about him.
“That’s not true.” She swallowed hard. Clearly, his proximity unnerved her. “An alluring gown might be a lady’s weapon of choice. Men choose arrogance. Both serve the same purpose.”
“Is that why you’ve come armed to the teeth tonight?” Lured by the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, his errant gaze skimmed the neckline of her gown. “Did you hope your pretty countenance would leave me defenceless? That you would force me to surrender and admit I have your beloved box?”
“Do you have it?” Her sudden alertness came as no surprise, though the flicker of hope in her eyes tugged at his conscience. “Tell me, Mr Chance. I have been mindless with worry.”
“Over spools of expensive threads?” It made no sense. She was hiding something, though he’d be damned if he knew what. After picking the lock on the box, he’d found nothing valuable.
“It’s a family heirloom.”
Theo knew enough about antiquities to know that was another lie. He’d get the truth from this woman if it killed him.
“Then one wonders why you were careless enough to lose it.”
“I didn’t lose the box.” A fire ignited in her eyes, and accusations flew like hot sparks from her tongue. “You stole it from under my nose. You crept into my room while I slept. It was on my nightstand when I went to bed and was gone the next morning.”
Guilt weighed heavily in his chest.
Yes, he wanted to keep the box and win his wager with Aramis. He wanted to punish Miss Darrow for making him coffee and smiling at him over the top of his newspaper. Both were devious tactics she’d used to cover her tracks.
“Have you searched the rooms at Mile End? Have you questioned the staff? One of them may have moved it.”
“With your sister’s permission, I scoured every room.”
Keen to drag a confession from her lips, he said, “If it makes you feel better, I shall buy you a new box. Pick whatever threads you need and send the bill to Fortune’s Den. Choose something expensive. It’s the least I can do.”
She shook her head and seized his gold waistcoat in her fist, gasping like a drowning sailor struggling against the tide. “You have my box. I know you do. You’ll give it to me tonight, or I shall sneak into your room at Fortune’s Den and shoot your good shoulder.”
While he should demand to know how she planned to enter the club without a key, the threat of violence intrigued him.
“So the vixen breaks cover and bares her teeth.”
“Had you been civil, we might have joked about this over a bottle of claret and a game of piquet. As it is, you force me down a road I had hoped to avoid. I mean to reclaim my box, Mr Chance, by wicked means if necessary. ”
He wasn’t the least bit fazed. “Challenge accepted. You sound like my kind of scoundrel, Miss Darrow, and I am more than willing to play your game.”
Indeed, he could not recall when he’d last felt the potent thrum of excitement coursing through his veins. Any hopes of outwitting her evaporated when he noticed three people appear at the end of the long corridor.
The popinjay leading two ladies towards them was not the Earl of Berridge but his only son and heir, Viscount Wrotham—Theo’s inept cousin. The beauty gripping his arm was none other than Lady Lucille Bowman. The deceitful wretch who’d refused Theo’s suit so she might marry the heir to an earldom.
Panic ensued.
