Marianne's fingers curled around the delicate stem of the pistol; gaining Corbett's name had come at no small price. The knock on the door yanked her from her thoughts.
Never mind the past. Focus on Corbett. He's your last hope.
"Come in," she said.
The doors parted, and a tall, bronze-haired gentleman strode in. Marianne could see why Andrew Corbett was considered the stuff of female fantasies. He had the face of Narcissus: high cheekbones, squared jaw, full lips. His blue silk dressing gown was figured with silver dragons and molded to his athletic form. His velvety brown eyes travelled with practiced sensuality over her. Closing the door, he strutted over and issued an elegant leg.
"My lady," he said in accents clearly polished through elocution lessons, "has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?"
Only about every man I've ever met.The inanity was hardly surprising. From what Marianne had gleaned, Corbett's fame had little to do with his wit.
"How kind of you," she said. "Consider the compliment returned."
"Thank you," he said, preening. "We are a pair, are we not?"
A silence ensued, during which Marianne wondered if she was expected to continue this idiotic game of dousing the butter boat. Surely not. Suddenly, Corbett reached out and ran a finger along her upper arm; beneath her sleeve, her skin crawled. She jerked away.
"Skittish, are we?" he murmured. "Never fear, fair lady. Corby's got a gentle touch."
Corby's going to lose a hand if he touches me again.
"I'd like a drink, if you please," she said, keeping her voice even.
"Whatever the lady wishes." Winking at her, he sauntered on long legs over to the bucket of champagne. He filled two flutes and carried them to the tent. "Shall we make ourselves more comfortable?" he said, nodding toward the cushions.
"I am perfectly comfortable where I am." Seeing the uncertainty ripple across his features, she warned herself to rein it in. In a softer tone, she said, "Could we talk for a few minutes?"
Doubt clouded his gaze. "About what?"
"I'd like to know more about you. 'Tis difficult for a lady to be at ease with a stranger... even if he is as handsome as sin." Marianne made a moue, a coquettish gesture designed to lay waste to male defenses.
Corbett brightened immediately. He came over and handed her a glass of the champagne. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, my love."
She sipped, pretending to ponder. "Have you been here long?"
"Three years, give or take."
"And you enjoy... your work?" she said delicately.
Color spread over his perfect cheekbones.Interesting—so he's not quite as debonair as he appears.She tucked the information away for later.
"What's not to enjoy when I get to spend time in the company of a lady as lovely as yourself, eh?" he said lightly.
Well turned. Her opinion of Corbett rose—which made her proceed with greater caution. "And before Mrs. Wilson? What were you doing then?" she said innocently.
He blinked. "This and that. Nothing of import." Downing his champagne, he set the glass aside. "Now why don't you let me show you—"
She stepped out of his reach and made the calculation. No more pretenses; time to hit the nail directly on the head. "But, you see, your time with Kitty Barnesisof import to me," she said in a low yet clear voice. "And it is the reason I am here tonight."
The color drained from his face. His eyes darted to the peep holes, his brows shooting up at the sight of the velvet buffers.
"I've ensured our privacy," she said.
"Who are you?" he said. "What do you want?"
"I want to know where Kitty Barnes is," she said.
"I—I don't know what you're talking about."
