The room was flooded with sunlight from the long windows on the other side, and for a moment Tina was quite dazzled. She blinked and took another step, and the glare was reduced somewhat. Enough for her to see that she was in a large and untidy sitting room, and a gentleman was just now rising from his leather chair.
“Mr. Eversham?” she said, before he could speak, although she was already certain that that was who was facing her now. Who else could this be but the most disreputable gentleman in London, Mr. Richard Eversham?
“I am indeed,” he said in an amiable sort of voice. “And who are you, madam, if I may be so bold?”
Before she answered Tina took a moment to consider him. His broad shoulders were framed by a brown jacket, which he wore over a rather rumpled white shirt. His necktie was undone, and the V of skin disclosed was tanned and dappled with dark hairs. Tina wondered if the rest of him was just as fascinating, as her gaze slid down over his trim waist and long legs encased in riding breeches, finishing on boots that needed a polish.
Perhaps he had been out riding? That would explain the untidy, windblown air to him. He appeared to be the sort of man who enjoyed a good gallop on the heath, thighs clamped to his horse’s sides—in fact that was possibly how he obtained those muscles she could see beneath the tight cloth.
Mr. Eversham cleared his throat.
Tina’s gaze returned to his amused one. She smiled up at him; she couldn’t help it. He had the sort of eyes that were so warm they made her want to smile. It was as if at any moment he might burst into laughter, just from the sheer joy of being alive.
“Do you have a name, madam? Perhaps you are a spy, sent by the government, to beg me to hunt down a dangerous criminal?” Something about that odd comment made him chuckle to himself.
Tina cocked her head to one side to consider him. His gray eyes were still smiling at her. She drew herself up and held out her hand toward him. “I am Miss Clementina Smythe, Mr. Eversham.”
He took her hand carefully in his. Indeed, his was so much bigger it swallowed her white-gloved fingers entirely although his grip was very gentle. “How do you do, Miss Smythe?” he said automatically. “What can I do for you?”
“I am come to engage your services,” she told him. No point in beating around the bush.
A line appeared between his slashing dark brows. “You have a gentleman who needs my assistance in matters of the, uhm, heart, Miss Smythe? A brother or cousin perhaps?”
“I have heard you are very accomplished in your chosen work, Mr. Eversham.”
He released her hand, and she felt the loss of the warmth. With a gesture toward the sofa opposite his chair, he waited until she had seated herself before he made himself comfortable.
“I have never been known to fail,” he said mildly.
“Then I have come to the right place,” Tina murmured. She looked down at her purse, twisting the plaited loop handles in her gloved fingers. It was proving to be extraordinarily difficult to explain to him what she wanted. Normally she was perfectly lucid when it came to outlining her requirements, but for some reason Mr. Eversham had her tongue-tied.
Tina looked up. Perhaps it was his warm gray gaze that was making her dumb? Or his large, engaging presence. He was very manly, very good-looking, very . . . very . . .
“Miss Smythe, you need not be afraid our conversation will go any farther than this room. I am a master of discretion.”
“As well as of seduction,” she said, and then wished she hadn’t as surprised laughter lit his eyes. Hurriedly, she moved on.
“Mr. Eversham, I have a confession to make.”
He leaned forward. “I am all ears, Miss Smythe.”
“I am here for myself, not for any gentleman who might require your services. I wish to marry, and the man I wish to marry does not value propriety and innocence in a woman. He finds it ted
ious. Boring. Therefore I must become the sort of woman he finds interesting.”
She had surprised him. For a moment he said nothing, considering her as if he were turning over a particularly delicious fruit, deciding whether or not to take a bite, and then, reluctantly, it seemed, he put it aside and shook his head.
“I fear I must decline, Miss Smythe. My business is only with gentlemen. Ladies are rather more complicated.”
“But surely, Mr. Eversham, to understand how a gentleman must behave to win the lady of his dreams, you must also understand the lady? Or am I misinformed, Mr. Eversham? I was told you were a master of the art of seduction. Is that not so?”
A painful expression crossed his face. “That is so, Miss Smythe.”
“Then you must help me. I can pay, if that is what troubles you. I-I am a wealthy young woman.” She lifted her chin at the lie. “I am able to have anything I desire.”
“And you desire me?” he broke into her words, his eyes quizzical and his smile teasing.
Tina felt a little breathless. How odd, she thought. Her practical soul did not normally respond to flirtatious word games.