“Are you able to sense his presence without your guide’s assistance?” Stanwyck asked, taking on a more serious tone.
“Without Esme to act as a liaison, my abilities are limited at best.”
“So, the old flirt is playing coy, is she?”
“Playing coy?” Sophie heaved a deliberate sigh. “I assure you Esme does not find such comments amusing.”
“Then she is here, after all.”
Sophie composed her features. “She is near. Perhaps, if you refrain from referring to her in such a flippant manner, she will come forward.”
“I’d no idea spirits were such dull creatures. One would think that over the centuries, the old girl would’ve cultivated a sense of humor.” He leaned closer, interest dancing in his eyes. “While we wait for Esme to put in an appearance, perhaps you will indulge a curiosity of mine.”
Sophie resisted the urge to down another sip of wine. She had to keep her head about her. Given the mischief in his gaze, he might well be thinking of kissing her again, if only to discombobulate her. Then again, unpredictable as he was, there was no telling what notion had caught his interest. “A curiosity? Of what sort?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
Dash it all, were her emotions so readily transparent? She took a drink of water. “What do you have in mind?”
If he detected the tension in her voice, he chose to ignore it. “Trask informed me you’ve a knack for reading palms. Quite a talent for deciphering the lines and creases, to hear the man speak of it.”
“That was rather generous of him.” Sophie made an effort to keep her features placid. Generous was an understatement. Full of horse droppings might’ve been more to the point. Why, she’d never read a palm in her life. Her only experience with the subject had occurred when Trask took her hand and proceeded to inform her that she was precisely what he was looking for in an assistant. He’d run his fingertip over her right palm, muttering some babble about the tiny brown mark in the center marking her as one who had been born with the gift of mediumship. What rubbish.
He extended his right hand as if for her inspection. “Tell me, Sophie. What surprises does life have in store for me?”
She slipped forward in her chair, making a show of taking a closer look. Searching her mind, she dug about for the vague pronouncements Trask had uttered while analyzing the matrix of creases on her hand.
Pointing to a line curving between his index finger and the base of his thumb, she infused what she hoped was the appropriate level of solemnity into her tone. “This line tells me that you’ve been gifted with a long life.”
He nodded. “Logical, it would seem, given the ripe old age at which my father enjoyed his last shag. And the fact that my mother is currently still very much on terra firma.”
“I can tell you only what I see.” She leaned closer, studying another line. “And this line…well, it indicates you will have great adventure in your life.”
“You don’t say.” Ah, that smug voice of his, regarding her as if she were concocting it all, and not in a particularly clever fashion. Of course, she was indeed pulling the predictions out of thin air and her imagination, but he did not have to see through them so readily.
“I would say it rings true, wouldn’t you?” she countered.
“I’ll give you that.” Once again, his mouth thinned into a semblance of a smile. A crocodile’s grin might’ve appeared more sincere. “You could say the expeditions fit the description. And of course, there was the time a sultan put a bounty on my head. Some silly commotion over one of his wives, as I recall.”
“A silly commotion, you say?” She kept her voice deliberately flat, only vaguely interested. He was a cheeky one, wasn’t he?
One shoulder lifted and fell. “The bloke had more women than he could handle, I’d say.”
“Of course,” she agreed. Somehow, she could well imagine his tale held as much truth as hers, but she certainly couldn’t let on about that.
With his left hand, he brought her fingers to his still outstretched palm, guiding her index finger to a line crossing the middle of his palm. The contact was gentle, nearly feather-soft. And yet, a current rippled through her, subtle and warm and not in the least bit alarming. Touching him felt natural. Right. Drat the man, this simple touch should not feel so bloody good.
“Tell me, Sophie, what does this line reveal?”
She pulled in a breath, then another. “I’ve asked you to address me as Miss Devereaux,” she said, stalling.
“I know. But that doesn’t answer my question.” He drew her fingertip along the slightly roughened skin of his palm. “What is this line trying to tell me?”
“This is your heart line.” She gathered her thoughts. “In your case, it seems to pose a contradiction.”
“A contradiction?” He watched her with intense blue eyes. “Do you care to elaborate?”
She’d been prepared for the question. With a nod, she went on. “You will love a woman early in your days on this earth, but she will wound you.”
“I’m starting to think Esme is here after all, whispering choice details about my life in your ear.”
“Nothing of the sort,” she said. In truth, she’d simply made an educated guess given his attitude toward hearth and home. It seemed she’d struck her mark.
“And in the future?” His tone had grown more serious.
She leaned forward, studying his hand with an interest that she hoped appeared rooted in some archaic skill. “As I am interpreting this…and it is, simply an interpretation, certainly not an expert one, your heart will find its mate.”
Was it her imagination, or had a flame sparked in his eyes at her pronouncement? Was it possible this infuriating, confounding man harbored some thirst for love deep within his soul?
His gaze cooled, and with it, his voice went low and laced with a thread of cynicism. “How very poetic. It appears you may have missed your true calling. Perhaps your next endeavor might be in penning verses for Valentine’s cards.”
My, that was rather unexpected. If a flame had indeed been kindled, he’d doused it with maddening speed. She should thank him, in all honesty, for ensuring her lamentably sentimental heart did not get the better of her.
“An intriguing possibility. I must keep that option open for consideration.”
His mouth went taut. “For future reference, bear in mind that my heart does not have a mate. It’s quite black and hollow, you see.”
She studied him for a long moment. The emotion on his features contradicted his words.
“Even a scoundrel can fall in love, Professor.”
“Love is for fools. Gullible dolts.”
“Surely you don’t believe that.”
“Of course I do. Love is a myth. Nothing more.”
She lifted a brow, holding his gaze. “I assume you speak from experience.”
He nodded slowly. “I was young. And naive. But I learned a lesson I’m not apt to forget. I will not make that mistake again.”
“Perhaps someday, you will reconsider.”
“Not bloody likely.”
“Do you always fancy yourself to be in control of your emotions?” Slowly, she extricated her hand from his.
“Of course.” His fingers caught her hand in a light grip. “Not so fast, Miss Devereaux.”
Her curiosity aroused, she resisted the indignant urge to break free. “Is something wrong?”
“We haven’t examined your palm. Shall I take a look?”
“You possess a knowledge of palmistry?”
He gave a nod. “Rudimentary at best.”
“How very odd. I was not aware university studies included the occult arts.”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “A crewmember on my first expedition had learned the art as a lad. His mother had been quite skilled, or so he claimed.”
Skeptical, she lifted a brow. “He wished to determine you were not all doomed before he set off on the endeavor?”
&n
bsp; Stanwyck shrugged. “Perhaps that was his motive. We viewed it more as a diversion than a harbinger of our fate.” With his free hand, he reached into his vest pocket and extracted a pair of spectacles. “Blasted nuisance, needing these bloody things.”
“All that reading you’ve done in your studies, I suppose.”
He gave a nod and settled the lenses in place. Dash it all, it hadn’t seemed possible, but somehow, the spectacles lent him an intellectual air that made him all the more handsome. Perhaps it was the way the silver frames softened the arrogance he wore like a top hat. Or was it the way tiny lines crinkled around his eyes as he studied her hand? She couldn’t quite explain why the lenses enhanced his appeal. But she couldn’t deny the effect on her, no more than she could deny the way she longed to sweep the unruly lock of hair that brushed his brow back into place.
“Now, let’s see what the future holds for you.” His tone had grown thoughtful. If she hadn’t known better, she might’ve believed him to be sincere. But she was not such a fool as to entertain that notion.
Taking her hand in his, he traced her lifeline with the index finger of his right hand. Awareness rippled through her, traveling to the tips of her fingers and toes.
He grinned what seemed a genuine smile. “If there’s any truth to this theory, I can well imagine you prancing about with your walking stick, driving your grandchildren to distraction as they attempt to keep up with you.”
His offhanded prediction triggered a yearning she couldn’t quite explain. “A long life…well, that’s something to look forward to, though I cannot envision myself as a grandmother.”
“Why is that, Miss Devereaux?”
An image of a chubby-cheeked whirling dervish flashed in her mind. Sophie’s tenure as a governess to a wealthy widow and her brood had been a time of happiness in her life, but chasing leads for a story had proven far more rewarding and ultimately less exhausting than reining in curious, boundlessly energetic children.
“I cannot imagine tying myself to hearth and home,” she said truthfully.
“With your lovely face, I imagine you must fend off many men who’d like to do just that.”
“Quite honestly, I have not faced that particular challenge.” She pulled in a breath, as if doing so would slow the elevated tempo of her pulse.
He seemed to consider her words, then cocked his head, as if adjusting his view of her. “Now that is a mystery of the highest order.”
“I’ve little taste for a life of gentle domesticity. Perhaps, someday. But not yet.”
“What is it you do seek out of life?” What appeared to be genuine interest colored his tone.
“I’d love to travel, just as you have,” she confessed. After all, what harm was there in revealing that rather bland truth?
“Is that a fact?” He made a show of looking at her hand. “Well, there it is. That line right there…” He touched his fingertip to a small crinkle near the center of her palm. “That clearly shows you possess a thirst to explore faraway lands.”
She bit back a smile, even as she subtly edged her hand away from his. “I suspect you’re teasing me.”
“Not at all,” he said. “Now, tell me where you’d like to venture.”
“That’s not a matter of importance. We should turn our focus back to your father.”
“The old man can wait. After all, it’s not as if he has any appointments to keep these days.” A hint of amusement lit his eyes. “Now, tell me the places you want to visit. I’d imagine Paris would be high on your list.”
“Of course, I would enjoy a visit to that beautiful city. But someday, I intend to experience something more exotic. Egypt holds particular appeal. I suppose you must find that answer rather convenient, given your explorations.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. Egypt is all the rage these days, or so it seems.”
Something in his tone set her back, just a bit. He’d assumed her interest was shallow and transient, that she was simply following the crowd. Odd, how the dismissiveness in his tone stung.
“Actually, I’ve harbored a fascination for all things Egyptian since I was a young girl, not yet in the schoolroom. Recently, I attended Professor Alexandra Quinn’s lectures. She’s quite a riveting speaker. I’m told her skill in interpreting ancient languages is second to none.”
“Is that so?” He swatted the rebellious lock of hair from his brow. “How did you come to take an interest in Egypt?”
Peculiar, how comfortable she felt with him at that moment, as if they were old friends who’d met for an impromptu reunion. “My father journeyed to Cairo as a young man, before he met my mother. He was fascinated by the land and the culture. When I was a girl, he purchased a book for me, A Thousand Miles Up the Nile. He’d read passages from Amelia Edwards’s travelogue with me, infusing the descriptions with his own memories of Egypt.”
“The sights are indeed unforgettable.” He studied her, his expression unreadable, before glancing down at her hand. When he lifted his gaze, the warmth in his eyes had cooled. It seemed he’d lowered a shield over his countenance.
A flash of awareness shook her composure. “Is something wrong?” The words blurted out before she had the presence of mind to hold them back.
He gave his head a small shake. “Of course not. It does occur to me that one does not need to journey to another continent to take in intriguing sights. You’ve managed to pique my interest sitting right here in dreary England.”
She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. How this man could unnerve her with the slightest change of his expression. “Perhaps we should turn our attention back to our purpose in coming here.”
“Of course. But first…” Gently extending her hand against his, he shifted his attention back to her palm. His forehead crinkled in a frown. “Now this line…is a bit of a puzzle.”
His fingertip skimmed over her flesh, setting off delicious little tingles. She steadied her voice. “What is it that confounds you?”
“Your love line…it indicates you are a woman of great passion.”
“And that puzzles you?”
He lifted his gaze to lock with hers. “You’ve grown adept at hiding that emotion, haven’t you?”
“I’ve made no effort to hide my passion, for lack of a better word. Not from you, nor anyone else.”
“Is that so?”
She pressed her lips into what she hoped appeared a placid smile. “One has no need to hide what does not exist.”
His eyes flashed with what seemed a silent rebuttal. “I sense another challenge. Shall we make it more interesting this time?”
Chapter Nine
A challenge? My, the man was incorrigible. Staring down at her hand, clasped within his long, warm fingers, Sophie reined in her rampaging thoughts. She tamped down the impulse to dash her wine across his too-handsome-for-her-own-good face.
If he persisted in pressing his case, she’d have no choice but to extricate herself from this situation. After all, even a woman employed by the likes of Trask would not tolerate such scandalous innuendo. A bit of indignation might add to the authenticity of her role as the charlatan’s assistant. But she couldn’t chance driving Stanwyck away before she’d deduced why he’d come to Trask.
She regarded him beneath her lashes, detecting the amusement in his eyes. She had nothing to fear from him. Of that, she felt reasonably certain. Still, she had to maintain the upper hand. She could not jeopardize her mission for something so trivial as a flirtation.
If only he’d stop looking at her like a fox eyeing a tasty hen. It wasn’t as if he believed her defenseless. The enticing glint in his eyes made it clear he savored a challenge.
“I assure you that will not be necessary,” she managed in a cool tone.
“You are quite sure?” He made no effort to disguise the teasing notes in his tone. “A deeper exploration of the subject might prove enlightening.”
With a curt inclination of her head, she cast a speaking glance to her ne
arly full crystal glass, if only to warn him he trod on perilous ground. “I am afraid I must disagree.”
“Very well. Our experiment might’ve proven rather interesting. Perhaps another time.” His fingers uncurled, releasing her hand from his hold. “Shall we change the subject?”
“That may be advisable, given your desire to make contact with your sire before the entrée is served.”
“And what of your guide? I take it she believes in making an entrance.”
Reaching for her glass, Sophie brought the vessel to her lips. Keeping her gaze fixed on him, she took another sip. Perhaps it was time for Esme to put in an appearance.
“I sense her presence.” Sophie pulled in a deep breath and, with a theatrical flair, closed her eyes. “Esme is here.”
A discreet throat-clearing behind her back cut through her concentration, and she opened her eyes. Standing to the side, the waiter balanced a soup tureen on a silver tray.
“I could not help but overhear the lady. You are expecting another guest, sir?”
Tiny crinkles formed around Stanwyck’s eyes, but when he replied, his tone was matter-of-fact. “None that are your concern. Thank you.”
“Very good, sir.” The waiter went about the task of serving the first course of turtle soup with practiced efficiency. He turned to Stanwyck. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Not at this time.”
The waiter briskly turned on his heel and took his leave.
Stanwyck took a spoonful. “Do have some, Miss Devereaux. Is it to your taste?”
Sophie sampled the soup, savoring the subtle flavor. “Delicious.” She set down her spoon. “If the timing does not pose an inconvenience, Esme wishes to proceed.”
“Of course.” He met her eyes. “And my father? Has he accompanied her?”
Sophie shook her head. “He is not here.”
When a Lady Dares (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Page 10
