Her eyes widened slightly for a moment before long dark lashes lowered and broke the contact between them. She walked a few paces and turned back to him. “I don’t believe we have met before, Lord Bellamy. I must say, I am intrigued to hear why you are so anxious to see me.”
Her voice was calm and extremely alluring. He could have listened to her all night. He tried not to sway in her direction.
A finely arched brow rose in unimpressed expectation.
He cleared his throat. “Well, yes, I imagine you are. Intrigued that is. I came here because…” Bloody hell, why was he here again? He couldn’t think of a damn thing, except he was hungry and felt like eating toast smothered in marmalade. Citrus! That’s what she smelled like.
“Come, Bellamy, surely you know what it was that had you camped out on my stairs?” she urged.
Oh, yes, the wager. Well, he could hardly tell her that, could he? He gave her his best half-smile to cover the fact he could only come up with the most pathetic of excuses, none of which he could use. “Of course, I know why I am here.”
“Then pray continue, my lord. You have ten minutes left.” She made a cursory glance at the mantel clock.
“Ten minutes?”Ten minutes ’til what?He looked at the clock too, but it did little to help him with his current dilemma. It was a nice enough clock to be sure and he supposed it kept good time—
“Yes. I would hate to see you out on my steps again tomorrow when you finally remember why you wanted to see me.”
“Ah, yes, that…” Oliver looked around him as if the shelves would somehow whisper some sort of logical answer, but to no avail.
She sat now in an olive-green, overstuffed chair situated in the middle of the room with its mate opposite, a small inlaid table set between and occupied by a silver coffee service. Hastily he glanced around him. Nothing unusual here. A large desk over towards one corner was the only other piece of furniture. All else seeming safe to ignore, he returned his gaze to the woman who had her eyes directed solely at him.
The intensity with which her eyes bored holes in him was a little off-putting, to say the least. They were like the ocean before a storm, dark and broody. He felt a storm brewing in this very room and then a little voice inside his head yelled,“Retreat now!”
At least on the steps below he hadn’t felt like a lummox, having trouble putting two words together.Reality was such a cruel mistress.
The Countess of Blackhurst was in black, of course. What else would she be in? She was a widow, after all, and they didn’t call herThe Black Ravenfor nothing. She wore a delicate black shawl over her shoulders, which made her look oddly small and fragile. This conflicted exceedingly with the other image he had of her—the one where she stood over her husband’s dead body with a smoking pistol in her hand.
“Perhaps some coffee will help your memory, Lord Bellamy?”
Her emotionless yet husky tone made him start to sweat but for what reason he wasn’t quite sure. His breeches seemed tighter too. Perhaps he did know the reason after all. “That would be lovely, thank you.” Coffee would sober him up enough to get out some sort of decent excuse and get this doomedinterview over with. But how to explain a lie when one had not yet thought of the lie?Think, Oliver, think.
She handed him a cup, and he sniffed at it suspiciously. “What is this strange smell?” he asked as he eyed his cup.
“It could be a touch of cinnamon,” she informed him. She sipped delicately at the edge of her cup, watching him all the while.
“Oh,” he replied, and happily stirred in an extra lump of sugar.
Wait a minute! Could be?
He put his cup down on the table so fast it clattered and spun on its saucer. He wanted to say,“Now see here, just because you are beautiful and I am full to the brim does not give you the right to toy with me in this manner,”but of course he didn’t. It was simply too many words all in one go.
The Black Raven’s lips twitched slightly. “Are you all right, Lord Bellamy?”
“Ah, yes, fine. I just remembered I have to be… somewhere.”Yes, definitely somewhere else.
“But you have yet to tell me the reason for your visit.”
“I believe…” He gave her a sheepish look meant to charm. “I wanted to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh?” Her tone turned cold. “For what reason, Lord Bellamy? You wanted to advise me on a financial matter?” she suggested, sipping her coffee and watching him intently. “Perhaps you thought I needed a protector? Were you about to volunteer your services to the poor little widow?” she enquired.
This is going very badly, Oliver thought. He was usually so good with women, charm being one of his more rewarding traits. Somehow he knew his usual tactics would not work here, nor unfortunately his brain.
“Did you say you required a protector?” he said, nearly picking up his coffee cup again.
“No,” she replied. Her hands held her cup with long graceful fingers which were slightly ink-stained. “Not exactly.”
Confusion set in like a rotten tooth. He must get out of here. He looked up from his study of her delightful digits to be confronted with eyes that blazed with an impatient intensity. It set his pulse racing in a way he hadn’t experienced in quite a while—not since he had been back in England at any rate.
