Provocative in Pearls (38 page)

It could be the result of his wealth, evidenced in the cut and make of that dark gray riding coat he had removed, and the quality of the high boots and snug doeskin that encased his legs. Even his dark hair was expensive, with the short, wispy, flyaway cut that damp and wind enhanced rather than ruined.

His appearance was the least of it, however. She could not ignore the way the atmosphere in the room had altered with his arrival, as if he gave off tiny, invisible lightning bolts of power.

“Sir, I think that we should get on with the purpose of this meeting.”

“With the weather, there is no hurry. Neither one of us is going anywhere soon.”

She wished that she had not allowed him to come so close. He stood no more than six feet away and towered above her. She could not ignore his size, or the way he made her feel small and vulnerable and at a bigger disadvantage than was fair.

“I would still like to finish this in good time.”

One of those smiles half-formed, a private one that reflected some thought in his head. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“It may matter a great deal. For all I know, you thought I wanted to meet a different Kelmsleigh, and you will leave here with facts that you should not have. That could cause an innocent, unsuspecting man grief.”

“I should say that is unlikely.” Her voice sounded sharp to her own ears. He spoke as if his information would not be good news. “However, since you fear making revelations to a disinterested party, I will identify the Kelmsleigh who interests me. He was employed by the Board of Ordnance. I am hoping that your information relates to his position there.”

His smile proved less amiable this time. A tad predatory, if truth be told. It could be the harsh light, of course, but—to her dismay, he stepped toward her with his attention fixed on her face.

“I insist that you stay where you are.” She hated the way her demand came out a fearful bleat.

He continued toward her.

She jumped to her feet. The shawl fell to the ground. She did not aim the pistol but she gripped it soundly. “Do not come any closer. I do know how to fire this.”

He halted an arm’s span away. Close enough that she could see that his eyes were dark. Very dark. Close enough that if she did fire, she could not miss. He ignored the pistol and instead studied her face.

“Who are you?” he asked again.

“You call yourself something as silly as the Domino, and you demand that I reveal my name? My identity is no more important than yours.”

“What is your part in all of this? Are you an accomplice? A lover? Perhaps you are a relative of one of the soldiers who died? I would not want this meeting to start a vendetta.”

His gaze all but skewered her and his scrutiny unsettled her in the oddest way. For all his suspicions he kept flashing that vague, appealing smile that offered . . . friendship and . . . excitement and . . . things that she should not even be thinking about at this moment. He had the kind of face that made women silly, and it annoyed her that she was proving more susceptible than this situation should ever allow.

She raised the pistol just enough, so it did not point down but instead out from her hip. He glanced at the weapon, then his gaze was all for her face again. Only now he looked like a man who had been challenged but knew he would win the contest.

“What information do you have?” she demanded.

“How much money do you have?”

“Enough.”

“How much do you think is enough?”

“I am not so stupid as to bargain against myself. Name your price.”

“And if you don’t have it?” He nodded to the pistol. “Do you think to force me to reveal everything, no matter what?”

Suddenly he was even closer. His body stood an inch from the pistol’s barrel, and only a few more from her. She looked up at him in surprise.

Her breath caught. He appeared very dangerous now, in ways that had nothing to do with pistols . . .