Bellamy smiled and sat back against the swabs, crossed his arms over his chest, and tapped at the breast pocket of his jacket.
“May I have it please?” She put out her hand.
“No. Are you not worried that some may find it peculiar if I am winning money off your reputation when you are my mistress?”
Her hand fell back to her lap, her expression incredulous. “I am not your mistress! I am not your anything.” She tapped her pocket watch open, frowned, and then snapped it closed again in agitation. Why did she let him do this to her? He did it on purpose. He was tricky, manipulative, annoying, and she wished that he would not keep trying to challenge her authority.
“That can be easily amended, my dear. You need only give me the nod.” Bellamy moved his arm across her shoulder but stopped when her pistol jabbed his ribs.
She shook with nervous energy. Lisbeth had tried to forget about the pistol but he was moving too close and she panicked. She wanted to give him the nod, all right, with something hard. He made her mad enough to scream but she must remain cool, detached, and in control. The Black Raven must keep playing her part.
“I need only pull the trigger to put a nasty hole in your lovely jacket and your list.”
“You, madam, are a very difficult woman,” he complained.
“Not difficult, Bellamy, just determined. You must keep your hands to yourself. I told you I will be leading this investigation; you are merely assisting. Is that understood?”
“Absolutely.” What was wrong with him? He couldn’t stop looking into the deep, inky depths of her eyes. He did not want to be involved with this woman and yet… confusion warred with desire while sanity seemed to sit back and laugh.
He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss all the stiffness out of her, and he had no doubt where that stiffness would end up. He also knew this woman held him in low esteem, somewhere under the coal boy, probably lower.
His mental meanderings needed to be reined in because while he was swimming about in her eyes and bemoaning his status she had slipped her hand into his jacket and retrieved his list.
A whisper of a smile passed over the corners of her lips as she tucked the list in her bodice and lowered her pistol.
“Cheeky minx.” She was just getting him back for the notebook, he supposed. He looked at her bodice. Was he really feeling envious of a piece of paper? Oliver smiled to himself as he watched her looking entirely too pleased with herself. “You may think yourself the cleverest of thieves but it will do you little good.”
“Don’t be a bad sport, Bellamy. Ah, we are here. Shall we go in or do you wish to sulk for a moment?”
“Oh, no, let us go in. I am exceedingly excited by the prospect of gaining a headache.”
“Do you not like music, Bellamy?”
She asked the question with such an innocent expression and yet he knew she was cheered by the prospect of torturing him.
“It isn’t that I dislike music or singing. What I dislike is music played badly and singing which leaves one’s ears near to bleeding. I despise caterwauling amateurs who do little but posture about playing a badly tuned violin like a two-year old.”I much prefer a good opera, where the singing is in tune and the girls are pretty.
“I’m glad you will be enjoying yourself then.”
He laughed, for what else could he do?
They were led into a large room which was decorated in rich golds and greens. Large French doors led to a conservatory and many of the various plants had been moved inside for the evening, their exotic blooms releasing a sweet honeyed spice into the air. An assortment of chairs and sofas were arranged around the room, at the end of which a small platform, justlarge enough for a handful of musicians and a singer, had been created. The musicians were already tuning up their instruments and Lady Costello looked panicked as to where to put the infamous Black Raven and her companion.
Lisbeth tried to ignore her hostess’s stricken expression and informed her, “We will sit here.”
Lady Costello appeared to nearly swoon with relief and no wonder; many of the women had their fans held up to their left ear indicating they did not want the notorious Black Raven sitting next tothem.
A familiar pain invaded Lisbeth’s body. A feeling one would think she would be able to control by now. In the ballroom earlier, crowded and overheated with bodies, she had been able to pretend they were not truly there, just a sea of people she would not focus on. Here, there were too few guests. She had let her guard down for just a moment and she had let their twitters creep in. Let their judgmental whispers penetrate her defenses, pressing and straining against the walls she had spent so many years building. She pressed back. She would not give in. She would not let them know how their actions affected her.
Their seats were aptly at the back of the room and as soon as the lights dimmed and the music began Lisbeth took out Bellamy’s list of wagers. She scanned it, frowned, and then looked sideways at him.
“I can’t read this,” she said into his ear.
He smiled and closed his eyes. “I know.”
“Bellamy!” she whispered in agitation. “Is this the real list?”
“Actually, it is a shameful and wicked list of all the things I’d like to—”
