Charming the Devil by Lois Greiman

Author:Lois Greiman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-02-12T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

“Mr. Connelly,” Faye said, injecting her voice with surprise and straightening abruptly from her perusal of a mind-dizzying array of whips. It was, for her, an acting feat worthy of a Parisian stage; she felt immediately light-headed with the effects of the lie. She had traveled to Bond Street with the express purpose of finding the Irishman there. Indeed, she had spent near an hour trying to look intrigued by the day’s caricatures posted in the window of the Repository of the Arts, all the while hoping Connelly would eventually arrive at the shop, which purportedly fascinated him.

The questions that nagged her could no longer be ignored. No longer could she wait to learn the truth about Rogan McBain; neither could she trust herself to keep her head in his presence for he had some kind of power she could not explain. She distrusted men, feared them, had for the entirety of her life. But now she wondered if, perhaps, in the deepest recesses of her being, she had also felt a need to be aligned with them, to be protected by them. Perhaps that was why she found McBain appealing, for certainly if ever there was a man who could protect if he so chose, it was he. But was he protective or was he deadly? Or was one the price you paid for the other? Questions raced through her brain like red squirrels until she was exhausted with the chaotic turnings of her mind and found herself on Bond Street.

Connelly turned toward her now, delight showing on his elegant features. “Mrs. Nettles, I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that you have finally decided to stalk me,” he said, and reached for her hand.

For a moment she was tempted to turn and run. For longer still she teetered on the verge of disagreeing, of blathering denials and lies and long-winded explanations, for his accusation was, in fact, entirely correct. But something in her, a feminine instinct that could not be entirely extinguished, perhaps, told her that he was doing nothing more harmful than flirting.

“Well, certainly no mere woman could be expected to resist you a moment longer, could she?” she asked, and feeling her throat close up, pulled her hand cautiously from his.

“I certainly hope not,” he said, and smiled.

“Are you here alone?” she asked, and he lifted one eyebrow as she glanced about, and it was not until that moment that she herself realized that even though she had come to speak privately with Connelly, some small part of her hoped that McBain would be there too. Just so she could catch a momentary glimpse of his solemn, silver eyes, his rough-hewn features.

And all the while the entire episode made her long, rather desperately, to hide behind the display counter that housed yet another dozen whips.

“Are you looking for someone in particular?”

She jerked her attention back to the Irishman, even as she felt herself flush. Felt heat rush to her extremities.

“Please tell me, beautiful lady, that you are not searching for someone large and socially inept when I am at your disposal.

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