“That could change,” he murmured. “Now, it is my turn.”
His hand rose, tracing a line from her wrist to her shoulder, then down the curve of her arm. His touch was deliberate, patient. When his fingers reached her waist, she squirmed despite herself.
“Why do you need the money?” he asked quietly.
Her voice failed her for a long moment. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breath mingling with her own. Her thoughts scattered like frightened birds.
He touched her again, lightly, as if coaxing words from her skin. “Tell me.”
She closed her eyes. “I need to run away,” she whispered. “That is all.”
He stilled. “Run away?”
“Yes.”
He drew a slow breath. The air between them tightened. “From whom?”
Gwen’s composure broke. She stood up abruptly, the legs of her chair skimming across the carpet. “I cannot answer that. Please, allow me to leave now. I don’t like this game as much as you do.”
He rose as well, but he did not touch her. The firelight made his expression unreadable. “If that is what you wish.”
“I do.” She gathered her cloak with shaking hands.
The room felt too small and too warm all at once. She had to get out.
As she reached the door, his voice followed her, low and quiet. “You are brave, Lady Gwendoline. But bravery and recklessness are seldom far apart.”
She did not turn back. “Perhaps,” she muttered, “but one of them has kept me alive.”
Then, she slipped out into the corridor and into the night, her pulse echoing the warning in his words.
CHAPTER 6
Victor dressed for the morning with the same economy he applied to figures and fields. Crisp linen, sober coat, boots polished to a tolerable shine.
Roderick had sent a note before breakfast suggesting they call together on Mr. Halden of Broad Street, a merchant who fancied himself indispensable to every gentleman’s fortune. Victor did not mind the errand. He disliked Halden’s conversation but valued his ledgers.
They met at the corner of Hanover Square. Roderick arrived with his usual lazy grace and a smile that set shopkeepers to bowing. He tipped his hat toward the pale winter sun.
“You look as if you have not slept,” he observed.
“I slept,” Victor replied. “The city did not.”
“Cities rarely do. Shall we walk? Your mother will accuse me of leading you into vice if we arrive at noon.”
“Your reputation will survive her censure,” Victor drawled.
They walked on in companionable silence. It was the sort that men wore when they had long practice at speaking or saying nothing.
At the mouth of the alley that led to Halden’s warehouse, Victor paused. “Go ahead,” he said. “Inform Halden that we are here.”
Roderick’s gaze slid over him. It held curiosity and a measure of care. “I can wait.”
“Go,” Victor repeated, mild and unyielding.
Roderick inclined his head and disappeared beyond the dim entrance of the counting house.
Victor drew back beneath the jut of a stone lintel and braced one palm against the cool wall. He inhaled and let the breath leave him, slow and methodical. Again. And again. The habit was old.
