Hunt ignored her request. He continued to finger a strand of her hair, and the gesture affected her strangely. Her blood grew hot, her chest tight. The tips of her breasts stiffened, chafing against the linen. As he continued his bold appraisal of her, she saw that his irises were the brown-black of coffee and embedded with flecks of copper, giving the impression of a burnished gleam. With his thick, tawny brown hair and hard-edged features, Hunt possessed a distinctively wolfish mien.
"Go ahead and talk," he said.
How could she, with the dratted man standing so close? His scent, woodsy and uncompromisingly masculine, curled in her nostrils, and the proximity of his tall, muscled form set loose a swarm of butterflies in her belly. Nerves, that must be it. She was simply unused to gentlemen contemplating her as one might a tasty snack.
Not that Hunt was a gentleman. Oh, he made efforts to carry himself off as such. His ink-black jacket and grey trousers were exquisitely tailored, molding to his long, virile lines. Above the dusky plum waistcoat, his cravat held a perfect knot. Even his accent was polished and not the Cockney she'd expected, making her wonder about his origins.
What does that matter, you ninny? Perhaps he didn't grow up in the stews or he's had elocution lessons... who cares? Beneath that civilized veneer lies a predator. Beware.
"I am very sorry to have misled you," she said, clearing her throat. "But you must understand I only did so out of necessity. Having a reputation to consider, I could hardly walk in here as myself."
"How prudent of you."
Flushing, she said, "Would you mind taking a step back, sir? It is difficult to converse when you are standing so close."
His hard mouth curled in a mocking manner, but he did as she asked.
"Thank you. As I was saying, I did not mean to deceive you. Given my brother's dire situation, I had to resort to desperate means."
"Talked to him lately, have you?"
Though Hunt said the words casually, she sensed his keen interest. His ears might as well have pricked. Well, she was no feather-wit. If he thought she'd betray Paul's location, he was sorely mistaken. She held herself to her full height which, unfortunately, brought her only eye level to his chest. She had to tip her head back to gaze beyond the broad span of his shoulders and past the granite edge of his jaw to meet his eyes.
"Even if I had, Mr. Hunt, I would not tell you. I know that you are after him for the deed to his shares," she said. "So long as you cannot find him, my brother remains safe."
Hunt's gaze darkened. "A coward can only hide so long, Miss Fines. If I am forced to hunt your brother down like a dog, I will do so. I do not treat kindly those who betray me."
He paused, no doubt to let his threat sink in. Her gaze flitted from the damaged side of his face to the massive, large-knuckled hands bearing countless marks of violence. What manner of a man was Hunt? What was he capable of? Up until this point, the only villains she'd encountered were those who populated horrid novels. 'Twas fitting that Hunt's club was named The Underworld for she fancied he possessed the cruel, merciless demeanor of Hades.
On second thought, given her own namesake, 'twas a mythology better left untapped. As she thought of the Hades and Persephone of legend, a shiver passed over her. She slid an uneasy glance at Hunt; even he wouldn't go so far as to cart her off and ravish her... would he?
"There must be something that can sway you. I have an allowance," she said in a rush, "and jewels. It would not cover the debt, of course, but perhaps it might buy a little time—"
"This is not a lending institution, nor a jar in which to toss a few shillings now and again." He cast a pointed glance around the room. "Do I look like I need your paltry baubles?"
She could not deny he was a man of obvious means; the abundance of gilt, marble, and mahogany screamed wealth—if not precisely good taste.
"I suppose you've plenty in that arena," she said with a sinking feeling. Dash it, negotiations were going nowhere... was she bungling things up yet again? She could practically hear Mama's exasperated voice:For heaven's sake,thinkbefore you act, Persephone.
"Why the dejected look? You seem like an enterprising sort, Miss Fines. I am sure between the two of us we can come to an agreeable solution," Hunt said.
To her surprise, he bowed and waved her toward the sitting area. After a moment's hesitation, she scurried past him to the seats clustered around a coffee table and perched on the edge of a settee. Instead of taking the adjacent chair as any gentleman would, however, the blighter sat down next to her. He took up his cushion and some of hers, pulling her toward his center of gravity. She had to cling to the arm of the settee to prevent from tumbling onto his lap.
Seeming oblivious to her predicament, he leaned back and stretched out his long legs. "That's more comfortable, isn't it? Now back to the matter at hand. Since money has no appeal to me, perhaps there is something else you might care to offer."
"Such as?" she said guardedly.
"A service you could render, perhaps. A way to get into my good graces so I might consider leniency toward your brother."
Eyes narrowing, she said, "What kind of service?"
He raked her over with a slow glance. "Your charming company would suffice."
"My...company?" When he confirmed her suspicions by waggling his brows, she jumped to her feet and backed away, cheeks aflame. "You must be touched in the upper works! There is no way on earth I'd consent to… to…"
"Warm my bed?" he suggested, following her step for step. "Do the buttock jig with me?"
No one had ever spoken to her in such a fashion before. Shock temporarily divested her of speech. All she could do was scramble away from him, her lungs burning.
