An even greater loss to her, but she didn’t want to think about that, let alone say it.
His face settled into stony lines, and her stomach took a swift drop as she thought he might actually throw her out—until he paused. He glanced into the room behind him, then cast his eyes upward. “As you wish, madam.” He stepped to the side, bowing obsequiously and sweeping one arm toward the doorway.
Emilia ignored his tone and hurried into the room before he could change his mind. The big man closed the door behind her with a loud snap.
The room was dominated by a billiard table. Three lamps, suspended above the table, illuminated the green felt surface. A man stood at the far end, his jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled up, holding a cue. His face was impossible to see in the shadows.
“Come in, Miss Greene.” His voice was rich and smooth; dry, faintly amused. “Since you insist.”
Now Emilia’s nerves began to twitch, when she most needed them to remain firm. “Mr. Nicholas Dashwood?”
He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “The very one.”
“Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
“I wouldn’t, normally.” He glanced pointedly at the note lying open on the edge of the billiard table, its forged signature just visible. “A delicate and important matter, is it?”
Emilia nodded once. “I have a proposition to make to you.”
His shoulders shifted. He leaned down to line up his cue. The light fell across a hard, angular face and cropped hair. His nose had clearly been broken, but his lashes were thick and dark and he was undeniably attractive, if in a dangerous sort of way. “I rarely accept propositions.” He took the shot he’d set up, sinking the red ball into the pocket right in front of Emilia.
“You’ve never received one like this,” she told him honestly.
He straightened and began unrolling his sleeves. He was back in shadow, but she still saw his eyes flick downward, moving over her with lightning quickness and hot enough to make her face burn. “Odds are that I have.”
She flushed. “It’s notthatsort of proposition. Don’t flatter yourself.”
He paused, looking at her more keenly. The lamplight caught his face, giving her a good look at him for the first time. His eyes were amber, like a cat’s, she thought; glowing golden-brown, vibrant enough to see from across the billiard table. His dark hair was cut short, but not short enough to hide its tendency to curl around his ears. He fastened his cuffs and reached for his jacket, flung over a nearby chair. “Well, that does intrigue. What is it?”
“A business proposition.”Please let this work,she prayed one last time.
His mouth curled. “No.”
She started. “You haven’t even heard it!”
“I don’t need to.” He pulled on his jacket, settling it on his shoulders with a sharp jerk. He smoothed one large hand over his chest, and suddenly looked far more dangerous, in his elegant evening attire, than he had before.
“Please,” she said in a rush. “I came here at dawn, specifically to speak to you when the club isn’t busy. The least you can do is listen.”
“But I don’t need any more business dealings.” He said it gently, as if speaking to a child. “I don’t wish to waste your time.”
“It’s a cracking good one, my proposition,” she retorted, losing her temper for a moment. “Only an idiot would refuse it.”
His face had grown hard as she spoke, but at the last he suddenly grinned. “Indeed? I’ve been called worse.” He regarded her for a moment, then waved one hand toward a door at the back of the room. “Very well. I discuss business in my office.”
Head high, heart pounding, she marched through the door and took the seat he indicated. He went around the desk and sat down, leaning back with that trace of amusement still clinging to his face. “Do tell me all about your unrefusable proposition, madam.”
She frowned at the way he said the words. “Do you know the name Henry Sidney?”
“He’s not a member, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Of course he’s not,” she said tartly. “He’s been dead for a hundred years.”
“Has he really?” He lifted one shoulder. “Then I can hardly know him.”
She took a deep breath. Thisman. “With his wife Genevieve, Henry had a son, Thomas, who had a son, and a grandson, and so on and so on.”
“How remarkably virile of dear Henry,” he said, sounding more than a little derisive. For a moment, Emilia burned to storm out and let the stupid man carry on as he was, a low-class cardsharp.
