put the card down. As her husband was missing, her caller was an ideal target. Besides, she needed answers. Billy had sent word through one of his urchins. Not even a whisper of West Moon Club, or any variant thereof existed on the streets. Given the way information ran through the veins of London’s street rats, this was odd.
The gentleman’s back was to the door as he stood in the salon with his top hat tucked under his arm, taking a detailed study of the room’s objects. He turned at her entrance, and his vivid blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ah, Lady Archer. Time only enhances your beauty.”
“It is rather late for a call, sir,” she said as Gilroy shut the door.
The corners of Mckinnon’s eyes crinkled. “Would you rather I called when Lord Archer was in residence?”
She moved to stand by the mantel, with its close proximity to handy weapons such as andirons and scuttles. “Been watching the house, have you?”
He smiled readily. “Nothing so sinister as that.” The crisp line of his frock coat broke as he seated himself comfortably on the settee. “I happened to see Archer riding down Shaftsbury. He causes quite a stir, you know.” Mckinnon let out a relaxed sigh and put an arm along the seat-back. “I do believe one lady actually swooned.”
Pea-brained nitwits. She studied the ormolu clock upon the mantel and waited.
Blue eyes studied her with growing humor. “Come now, madam. Would you not be more comfortable sitting down?”
There was no use standing like an uncommunicative statue; Mckinnon would never leave that way. Stiffly, she moved to the chair closest to her, but Mckinnon frowned. “And leave me sitting all alone?” The mocking in his voice worked upon her nerves like nails on slate. She leveled him a hate-filled glare and then stomped with ill grace over to the settee.
“There,” he said when she plopped down on the far end of the couch. “Much better.”
He angled himself toward her, drawing a knee within touching range of her thigh. She twitched as the gentle brush of his fingertips moved the cap-puffed sleeve of her evening dress.
“Understand me.” Miranda glared into his smiling eyes. “My patience only stretches so far. I agreed to meet with you, nothing further. As I said before, no enticements of Archer’s secrets shall induce me into letting you touch me.”
Absently, Mckinnon caressed his left cheek as though feeling the spot she’d slapped the other night. “And as I said, I’d no intention of taking what isn’t freely offered. But what of the little question of your secret, Lady Archer?”
“Will remain so if you’re a pile of ash on my floor.”
A burst of shocked laughter left his lips. “Touché.” The self-satisfied smile he’d been wearing returned. “Fortunately for me, we both know that won’t happen.” He leaned in, his hot breath wafting across her neck. “How about we come up with an arrangement? I shall answer a question from you, and in return, you shall give me something I want.”
She wrenched away, ready to flee, and he held up his hands. “Hold! Hold! I believe you suffer under a misunderstanding, Lady Archer.” Sharp teeth flashed beneath his trim mustache. “I’ve no interest in blackmailing a woman into bed. It offends my pride.”
“Despite all evidence to the contrary,” she snapped. Her skin crawled with the desire to move away from him.
Mckinnon’s eyes skimmed over her form, lingering at the low edge of her bodice. “You keep jumping to conclusions and I’ll wonder if you like the chase.”
When she glared, he smiled. “Oh, I want you, to be sure. But I’d rather you see the error of your ways. You’ve aligned yourself with the wrong man. And I fear it will get you hurt.”
“Do tell me, sir, how is it that I’ve got the wrong man?”
He crossed one long leg over the other. “Is that your first question?”
“No. It was rhetorical, you boor. What is West Moon Club? And I will not accept one-word answers.”
His teeth flashed. “Very well. They were a society of scholars, noblemen all who had one common goal—use science and medicine to discover ways to enhance men, to cure them of disease.” He choked over the word as though it was distasteful to him. “And ultimately, find a way to end death itself.”
She could see how Archer, who dreamed of tombs and death, would find such a mission appealing. It would bring him a sense of purpose. But how had it gone so very wrong?
“What precisely were