“But it is.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out her necklace. It flashed in the light, a dragon with a fat belly all done in the vague shape of a shield. “A pretty bauble, this,” he said as he turned it over in his hand. “Especially if one knows to do this.” With the tip of his thumb, he twisted the hidden latch. The gold popped open and exposed a polished dark red stone, the dragon’s heart.
“Oh, you found the catch,” she said lightly. “It’s not a very pretty stone underneath. I think that’s why it was covered.”
Well, she was a half-decent liar. Not good enough to fool him, but maybe some others. And the ruby was exquisite. Polished, not faceted, the light compressed into three bright lines that crossed in the middle to make a star.
“That’s not why,” he said, humor lacing his tone. “Tell me about your mother, Miss Spalding. Tell me about what this stone meant to her.”
Panic edged her expression, ruthlessly suppressed. “I don’t know what you think you’ve heard,” she began.
“But none of it’s true?” he finished for her. “I think a little bit of it is true. And maybe a great deal more.” He did love a mystery, especially ones that involved jewels and pretty ladies.
“It’s all exaggeration, rumor, and guesses,” she said.
He pushed off the bedpost to saunter forward. He was a big man, but she was tall. He had to step very close to try to intimidate her, and she gave not an inch. Now that was spirit he could admire. He stepped in even closer. Tight enough that she would feel his heat, and he could smell her scent.
She shied backwards as a maiden would, clearly nervous despite her spirit.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He grinned, ridiculously pleased she had asked the very question he’d been tormenting himself with. Fortunately, he had a ready answer. It was glib, but it served his purpose. “What I want is more than you can imagine. What I want from you is something we must discuss.”
She held up her hands as if to push him back. “We have nothing to discuss.”
He heard steel in her voice which told him he needed to tread carefully. But when it involved a beautiful woman, he rarely listened to the voice of caution.
“Nothing?” he taunted, just to see how far he could push her. “I think we do. Tell me, Miss Spalding, what you would give to have this trinket back?”
It was an honest question. Her answer would set the baseline for the minimum he would ask.
“I have my pin money,” she said. “It’s not much—”
She cut off her words when he touched her cheek, trailing his finger down along her jaw. Damn him for wearing a glove. He wanted to feel the smoothness of her cheek and the heat from her blush. Instead, he used his smallest finger to tilt her face up so she looked him in the eye. Would she crumble when they locked gazes?
“What would you give to keep your secrets hidden away?” he asked as he stared into the brilliant green of her eyes. “How many people know the full truth about your mother?”
She didn’t cower. Instead, she faced him down, her expression finally matching the fiery red of her hair. “You imagine things,” she said. “It’s nothing but a—”
“A witch’s talisman. A sorcerer’s amulet.A cursing stone.” He hadn’t heard that about this amulet at all, but such were the things that people said about witch’s talismans. It was a safe taunt.
“It is no such thing!” she exploded, her hand quick as she tried to grab it from his hand.
He was quicker as he lifted it out of her reach.
“Some call it that.” He let his voice lower in threat. “And some would call you a great deal worse for having it.”
“Keep it then,” she snapped.
Did she mean it? He didn’t think so.
“I might,” he returned. “Indeed, I have a mind to study the thing further. But in the meantime, what could you pay me, Miss Spalding, to stop me from telling everyone in London about your mother’s witchcraft?”
He wanted to believe he would never follow through on such a threat. He truly had no desire to hurt the lady. But life took unexpected turns, and he would sacrifice her if it meant someone he loved survived. Such was the business he was in, and she meant nothing to him right now except as someone he could exploit.
“It’s not true,” she whispered. “She was just a woman.”
“The truth doesn’t matter,” he returned. “It never has.” He was surprised she didn’t know that by now.
She softened toward him, using the only weapon she had—her beauty and just enough innocence to appeal to his jaded heart.
