When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,125
broad, yet exuding a contained power that his tailored evening clothes could not conceal. But it was his eyes that had nearly made her stumble as she had walked up that alley toward him. Eyes that even now made her breath catch in her throat. They were pale blue, icy irises ringed with a deeper indigo. Predatory and remote. Piercing and impenetrable. It would take all her skill to manage this man and escape unscathed.
That thought was far more thrilling than it should ever have been.
King tipped his head to the portrait. “Is it dead dukes or dead artists with whom you’re so familiar?”
Adeline almost smiled. “It depends on the duke. Or the artist, I suppose. Though unlike you, I’m far from an expert.”
“Unlike me?” A red-gold brow rose ever so slightly.
“Your reputation precedes you as a purveyor of fine…things.”
King considered her. “I confess your presence here this evening is unexpected,” he said after a moment.
“In your study?”
He held her gaze. “In my home.”
“You have a lot of guests in your home this evening,” she pointed out.
“Very true.” He seemed to be considering his next words. “Each of these auctions is a spectacle of greed. A spectacle that lays bare the true character of the titled and wealthy who circle each other in my ballroom, squabbling over possessions. Yet to a man, they cling to the illusion that they are, somehow, inherently better than those who circle each other in the desperate shadows of London’s streets. I know those streets. Fought my way out of those gutters and fought for everything that you see here. And I can tell you that the only true difference between the groups, aside from their tailoring, is that those living on the streets do not cling to illusion of any sort.” He paused. “You said it best.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The lengths to which people will go to portray themselves as something they aren’t. It used to amuse me, the lies that people tell themselves to help them sleep at night.” He still hadn’t looked away. “Lately, I’ve found it tedious and predictable.”
Adeline had no idea what she was supposed to say to that, so she said nothing.
King brushed imaginary lint from the top of his sleeve, a ruby set into a gold ring flashing fire. “You are neither tedious nor predictable.”
“I’m flattered. I think.”
“You didn’t crawl through the hedges or over the fence in that gown. And you came without your weapons tonight.”
Adeline glanced down at her dress, her breasts straining at the embroidered and beaded edge of her bodice, her voluminous skirts falling away. “Mmm.” She made a noncommittal sound.
“Greed, self-indulgence, and umbrage aside, the attendees of this auction all possess an additional three attributes. And those are the familiarity, the means, and, above all, the discretion to purchase what it is I’m selling. Invitations were exceedingly limited.”
“They were indeed.” She ran a finger along the rim of her glass.
“Perhaps you would share with me who was so careless with theirs?” He paused. “As a courtesy from one…professional to another, if you will.”
He might not know exactly who she was, but he knew what she was, to some degree at least. He would, after all, have far-reaching resources, so his words didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her was the peculiar ache of longing that caught her unaware as he uttered them. The suggestion, as absurd as it might be, that they were professional allies of some sort sliced through her carefully constructed walls of solitary distance. For a heartbeat she was no longer alone.
And maybe he was manipulating her, and maybe he wasn’t, but for just this moment, she wanted to hold on to that feeling of connection.
“Lord Reddingforth,” she said, pulling the invitation from her pocket. “His love of art is eclipsed by his love of opium. He’s currently insensible on a brothel bed under the care of a madam who has been paid handsomely to keep him thus until dawn.”
King reached for it, though Adeline did not release it. Their fingers tangled, and heat shot through her veins. She tried to steel herself against the sensation, but all she could concentrate on was the way his thumb was sliding over the back of her hand.
Adeline dropped her arm, leaving the invitation in King’s fingers. “You should have a care in the future,” she said. “The next person to exploit Reddingforth’s weakness to gain access to Helmsdale may have far less…professional motivations than I.”