“Otherworldly? Is that so?” He cocked a brow in that infuriating way of his. “Well, then, is something troubling you?”
“No. Not at all.”
His expression grew more serious. “If you’ve grown weary tonight, we may pursue the matter of contact with my father at another time.”
Rather surprising, that. Perhaps as likely as if he’d offered to send his driver and carriage on a course to the moon. She certainly hadn’t anticipated he’d show any concern for her comfort with the agenda he’d set. Did he wonder if he’d gone too far in his attempt to prove himself a rogue?
He most certainly had. There was no arguing that, regardless of how delicious the experience had been. But she would not cast aside an opportunity to learn more about his motives over something as fleeting as a kiss.
She infused a light tone into her voice. “The night is young. I see absolutely no need to postpone this sitting.”
He gave a nod, though his expression contradicted the gesture. “You’re quite certain?”
“I am feeling well, thank you.”
He leaned closer, studying her with the same focus he’d devote to deciphering an ancient symbol. The crisp scent of his shaving soap filled her senses. “You do appear a bit flushed. Perhaps you’ve had cause to become…overheated.”
Devil take the knowing gleam in his eyes! Did he observe every nuance of her reaction to his nearness…of her response to him?
“It is a bit warm in here,” she countered. “Nothing to be concerned about.”
He lifted a hand to his jaw, grazing his fingers over the dark stubble of new beard. “Very well, then. But do speak up if you have a change of heart.” His eyes flashed. “Or better yet, have Esme transmit the message.”
So much for his concern. Something in his gaze—his arrogant assurance she’d welcome another attempt to prove himself a scoundrel, most likely—seemed designed to infuriate her. Surely, the man did not believe his blasted kiss had left her too flushed and addled to carry on. The very notion was preposterous. He was toying with her. Well, two could play at this game.
She smoothed her skirts, folded her hands in her lap, and plastered a prim look on her face. “I suppose it is possible your intent to play the rake has induced a delayed onset of the vapors. Pity there is no fainting couch in sight.”
The somberness in his eyes gave way to a look that might well have been respect, even as a hint of amusement touched his lips. “I cannot imagine you are a woman who swoons, much less with such mild provocation.”
“Mild provocation?” she repeated with a lift of her brows.
A wolf’s smile curved his tempting mouth. “Trust me, Sophie. If our circumstances were different, that would have been only the beginning.”
Oh, my.Her blasted cheeks flamed again. She could feel them heating, even as he settled back against the upholstered seat, still watching her, as if to drive home his point.
Again, her fingers went to her cuffs, plucking nonexistent wrinkles from the lace. “I concede this round to you. You have convinced me. You are, indeed, a bit of a scoundrel.”
He frowned, a contrived expression a child might well see through. One could hope Gavin Stanwyck was a more accomplished scholar than he was an actor. “Only a bit? You do know how to wound a man.”
Picturing the sheathed dagger she’d strapped to her thigh, she bit back a smile. “Perhaps better than you know.”
The carriage clattered to a stop. Moments later, the driver opened the door and peered inside. The round lenses of his spectacles and graying muttonchop whiskers lent his plump face an owlish look. With a smile, he announced they’d arrived at their destination and let down the steps.
“May I be of assistance, sir?” he said, flashing Sophie a grin as he tipped his wool cap.
“Not at this time, Avery.” Stanwyck stood and departed the coach, then escorted Sophie from the conveyance.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you, Avery.” Stanwyck regarded the man with genuine warmth. “I anticipate we will depart in an hour’s time.”
“Good enough, sir.” Avery scrambled onto the bench, cracked the reins, and rambled off over the cobbles.
“Loyal as they come,” Stanwyck remarked, watching the coach barrel along the street. “And generally, a man who approaches life at what one might term a leisurely pace.”
“Which would not seem to be the case tonight.”
Stanwyck nodded. “I suspect a certain matron has caught the man’s eye. She runs a public house she inherited after her husband left this earth. The peculiar thing of it is, Avery does not imbibe. Not a drop.” He offered Sophie his arm. “One can only conclude his interest lies in something other than what’s on tap.”
