Goddamnit.Frustration and desire roiled in him as she walked out with the other two.
Clearly, Emma meant to meddle further in his affairs. His title, his wealth and power—hell, hissexual dominance—none of it intimidated her one bit.
He wanted to bare his teeth.
He wanted to screw her senseless.
He shoved his hands through his hair. Even if he felt thetiniesttug of respect for her audacity, no way in hell was he going to let her run amok in his life. He’d have to keep her under watch. If—when—her behavior went out of bounds, he would intervene. Swiftly and decisively. He would show her once and for all who was in control.
Anticipation flared in him. The blood of his ancestors drummed in his veins.
That’s how you want to play it, lass? Then let the games begin.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, Emma paid the hackney driver and descended onto Compton Street, a busy thoroughfare near Soho Square. Storefronts lined both sides of the street, and people and horses jostled along the cobblestone. Emma’s destination was Number Eight, a two-storey building sandwiched between a bakeshop and a pianoforte maker’s store. A small gold placard on the dark green door read simply, “Kent and Associates.”
Stepping inside, Emma paused on the threshold. The sun shone through the bow window at the front of the room, glinting off the reception desk and stairwell that led up to the partners’ new suites, which had been added in the reconstruction. A small waiting area boasted comfortable seating and newspapers to peruse. The scent of baking bread mixed with the occasional discordant chord of an instrument being tuned.
Something about the office had always reminded Emma of the cottage in Chudleigh Crest. Perhaps it was the coziness, the hodgepodge of sights, sounds, and smells, and the hum of activity. Coming here was like coming... home.
She couldn’t give up. She had to convince her brother to give her a chance.
Iamcapable of being an investigator,she thought fiercely.I’ll show everyone—especially Strathaven.
For a brief instant yesterday, it’d seemed as if she and the duke had reached an armistice. She’d discovered his approachable side, a hotchpotch-eating fellow with a heart-melting smile. Then he’d attacked her for no reason, disparaged her goals... and shown her hot, wicked pleasure, the likes of which she hadn’t known existed. Her toes curled in memory of that mind-obliterating bliss.
His carnal whisper shivered over her.God,why can’t I get enough of you?
As if he... needed her.
The notion thrilled, confused, and dismayed her. Why did they share this intense physical attraction when they were ill-suited in every other way? Strathaven was nothing like the sort of man she would envision for herself. He wasn’t principled or kindhearted; he wasn’t a man devoted to his family.Hewas complicated, moody—and a duke to top it off.
The only thing they had in common, it seemed, was stubbornness. He facedimminentperil and yet he still refused her help. How could he expect her to stand by and do nothing?
“Miss Kent, what a pleasant surprise!”
Mr. Hobson, the bespectacled clerk, came bounding down the hallway toward her with a tea tray in hand. Around her age, he had a puppyish quality owing to his downy golden-brown hair and cheerful disposition. His eagerness to please was matched only by his innate clumsiness—a fact that exasperated Ambrose and his partners to no end.
If Hobson hasn’t spilled or broken something, then the day’s not over, Mr. McLeod was wont to grumble.
What Hobson lacked in adroitness, however, he made up for in loyalty, optimism, and unquenchable enthusiasm. One couldn’t help but like him. Even if he constantly splattered ink over everything and smashed all the good tea cups.
From experience, Emma knew to keep her distance from the tray in his tenuous grasp.
“Hello, Mr. Hobson. Is my brother in?” she said.
“Indeed.” The clerk lowered his voice. “He’s with the Mr. Hilliards upstairs. They dropped by unannounced.”
“Ah,” Emma said.
The Hilliards were the father and son bankers who had provided the loan for the rebuilding of the office. Shrewd businessmen, they popped in now and again to ascertain the health of the business—and their investment.
“I was about to bring up tea. Got cakes from the bakery. Thought they might sweeten the two up a bit,” Hobson whispered.
Emma looked at the tray. Two of the cakes had fingerprints embedded on the glaze. The other two had clearly crumbled and been put back together... oddly. They now resembled haphazard little haystacks.
“I had some trouble getting them out of the box.” Hobson’s brow pleated. “Do you think anyone will notice?”
