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Silence.

Then Pembroke said, “Obviously they’re carpet tacks.”

Sending him a covert glance of amusement, Reina exclaimed, “So they are.”

Unable to resist, Belinda said irritably, “They ain’t carpet tacks, they’re horseshoe nails.”

“Ahh,” Reina said. “Now I see.” Her gaze went from the glove to her own drumming fingers. “Belinda . . . may I try on your glove?”

Both Pembroke and Belinda looked at her in surprise.

“You’re trying to trick me,” Belinda said.

“Not at all. I’m only curious. If you’d rather I didn’t, I understand—”

“Go on, then,” Belinda said gruffly. “Take it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Put it on.”

Pembroke eased Belinda into a fully upright position. “When I let go, Belinda, don’t even think about attacking her. Or me.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Five minutes ago,” he pointed out, “you were trying to rip off my face.”

“Well, I wouldn’t do it to her, now would I?” A pause, before the girl added pointedly, “She’s nice.”

Reina smiled slightly and reached out to loosen the glove’s fingers. “Self-restraint is difficult when people make us angry. Everyone regrets something they’ve done in a temper.”

“I ain’t sorry for nothing I ever done.”

“Well, I am. You should see me when I’m angry.” With great care, Reina eased the glove from Belinda’s hand. “I curse like a pirate and stamp about. Sometimes I even throw things.”

“I doubt that,” Pembroke said.

Reina lifted her brows. “You doubt I throw things?”

“I doubt you can curse like a pirate.”

“I can when the occasion calls for it.”

He looked sardonic. “If a train derailed right in front of you and burst into flames, the worst you’d come up with is, ‘Oh, mudpies.’ ”

An unfamiliar delight was rising inside her, threatening to brim over.

“Wait until you know me longer, Pembroke. You’ll find out.”

A corner of his mouth turned upward. “I’ll try not to set you off, ma’am.”

Once Reina gained possession of the glove, Pembroke eased his grip on Belinda. The girl jerked away from him and scooted closer to Reina. Meanwhile, Reina slid her hand into the glove and flexed her fingers until the claws were positioned at her fingertips. Conscious of Belinda’s attentive gaze, she repeatedly curved her fingers into hooks and straightened them again. There was a cruel elegance about the glove, the way it lengthened her fingers into thin spikes. She noticed the horseshoe nails, carefully sharpened into blades, had been anchored at the bases with some resinous substance.

“What is this glue?” Reina asked, turning her hand this way and that.

“Pine pitch,” Belinda said warily.

“It’s perfect. Strong but flexible. You found a tin of it in the house?”