Amelia must have looked surprised, because Mr. Moore laughed, “Yes, I asked around about you. Does that offend you?”
To be on the receiving end of a handsome gentleman’s curiosity hardly constituted an offence, but Amelia knew better than to let him know that. She daydreamed only quickly about Mr. Moore asking his high-ranking friends about her.
Fear curled suddenly in her stomach as she wondered whatelsehe had learned beyond the name of her family’s home. There were rumors abound about Amelia’s late mother and father...
If Mr. Moore had learned the truth about her family’s history, he gave no sign of it, turning instead back to the paintings.
“No. I would think you were strange if you did not ask questions about a woman you have never met. Myself... Yes, I have doubts about you, too,” she confessed. “I wondered this morning, for fact, whether it would not be wise to perform a test of your manners—to see if you act as gentlemanly as will be required to dupe Mr. Robinson into thinking you are truly the Duke of Avon.”
“You couldtry…he purred, coming closer to her, where his voice dropped low in a way it had not before, making her tingle. “But I would surely fail, owing in no part to my deception. I ama gentleman in my breeding, absolutely. But my manners have always been…questionable.”
A more level-headed woman, one who possessed an unfragmented mind, might have been concerned by his teasing tone. Amelia found herself smiling and blushing, confused but amused by his answer. His grin certainly seemed rakish, his warm brown eyes glowing with mischief. The door was closed. But she did not fear Mr. Moore’s banter, his daring manner.
Instead, she liked it more than she cared to admit.
“Whoareyou?” she asked, more curious than she should have been—and less concerned for propriety too. She was a single woman, and as far as she knew, so was Mr. Moore. “I know your name. But your profession, if you have one... Your origins... What are they?”
He was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I am a gentleman born in Oxford, but have lived in London for many years. I own properties here and there... I am an art collector, a frequent theatergoer, aliterary, when it pleases me.”
“Butonlywhen it pleases you?”
“Quite. What else…?” He tapped his finger against his mouth, toying with her. “I have a soot-colored terrier namedBosun, a brother, have never married, and I’m born in March. Is that sufficient, Miss Tate, or shall I bore you with alengthierlist of anecdotal information about me? Believe me, I would doso gladly. There is nothing I love so much as speaking about myself.”
“No wife?” she asked, not knowing what had prompted her to ask such a daring question. Her cheeks colored. “I only meant… You had not mentioned whether you are married in that long list…”
He took a step closer, then turned his hand to show her a bare ring finger. “No wife,” he repeated. “Does that make you wary, Miss Tate?”
Amelia was unconvinced on that point.
He liked to play the part of a self-absorbed rake—that much was evident in the way he swayed on his feet, teasing her, making her tingle—but a man whotrulyvalued himself highest of all would never have agreed to help her.
“So long as you can charm Mr. Robinson…” she rasped once she found her voice. “I have no reason to be wary.”
He arched a brow. “Do you doubt it? Do you doubt I will charm him?”
“No... To my eyes, you seem charming to a fault.”
He threw his head back with a laugh, and Amelia understood at once that he thought she was joking.
“Not a good-mannered fellow, nor a convincing actor, it would seem. How it wounds me, Miss Tate, that you are one of the scarce few women immune to my charms. A pitiable state of affairs,” he said, clicking his tongue against his palate, landing in one of the empty chairs by the hearth. “You should have recruited another man.”
“I think you will do just fine for my purposes, Mr. Moore.”
He grinned, and there was something dark in it he was trying to conceal. Something dark responded within her as he murmured, “And I think you will do just fine for mine.”
Amelia froze at his words, narrowing her eyes at him.
“By that, of course I mean,” he began, drawling every word, before leaning over to pat the armchair beside him, “entertaining me by telling me a little about yourself! before your miserly demon arrives, and like two ships in the night, we sail past one another toward different horizons...”
CHAPTER FOUR
Two hours later, Nicholas watched Miss Tate bid Mr. Robinson farewell. She was smiling ear-to-ear, waving at the landlord energetically as the door closed behind him.
Nicholas half expected her benevolent expression to melt the second Mr. Robinson was gone. Instead, she turned and cupped her beaming face in her ungloved hands, setting her grey-blue eyes upon Nicholas with a fervor that almost made him hot.
“You were marvelous,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.
Nicholas warmed in defeat and promptly corrected himself, waving a hand to dismiss her praise.
