Noah had witnessed the grand entrance of many women out to command attention. Most knew the importance of first impressions. Most knew how to alter the energy in the room with a charming smile and a coy tilt of the chin.
Not this one.
The lady ambled behind Mrs Gunning, dragging her feet and mumbling like a bedlamite as she wrote in a small brown notebook. The men all stood, and still, she considered the words she’d just scrawled with her neat little pencil.
“That’s it!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Prussic acid.”
Noah cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
“Prussic acid. A poison that might kill a man in seconds.” The young woman removed her spectacles and pushed them into the reticule dangling at her elbow. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” She looked up. “Good morning.”
A moment of stunned silence ensued before Noah said, “Good morning” and then made the necessary introductions.
Experience led him to expect an older woman—one looking for her runaway husband or light-fingered maid—not a young woman with porcelain skin and eyes of cornflower blue, eyes that sparkled with excitement at the mention of a deadly p
oison. Interesting. He waited for a faint blush to touch her cheeks, waited to witness a certain bashfulness upon meeting four unconventional men.
But this lady was out to defy all expectations.
“My name is Miss Dunn,” she said, slipping her book and pencil into her reticule before studying them through keen, intelligent eyes. “Forgive me for staring. One rarely sees gentlemen with facial hair these days. I thought it was considered unfashionable.”
Occasionally they all sported a short, neatly trimmed beard. Today, only Sloane and D’Angelo were clean-shaven.
Noah drew his hand along his bristly jaw. “Fops and dandies care about fashion, Miss Dunn.”
“And you’re keen to ensure everyone knows you’re a virile male.” She seemed comfortable making the personal comment. “I mean, masculinity is important to you.”
“Indeed.” The need to rattle her steely composure forced Noah to add, “A virile male is what you requested, is it not? A man willing to confront thugs in a dark alley?”
Intriguing blue eyes scanned him from head to toe. “I hoped to hire an agent who is not intimidated by a lady of independent means, sir.” She raised her dainty chin. “Men are quick to dismiss a woman with ambition.”
Yes, men tended to avoid the forthright types. And yet this woman had Noah’s undivided attention. His analytical mind scrambled to find the reason why.
Miss Dunn had many feminine attributes to recommend her. Her slender figure and shapely breasts were encased in a plain blue pelisse. He imagined cupping her delicate face, her pink lips parting, those long lashes fluttering with pleasure. The contrast of sensible and sensual seemed to encapsulate her character.
“We could spend all day discussing the failings of a patriarchal society,” he said, eager to put this puzzling woman from his mind, “yet I presume you’re here on more pressing matters.”
That said, she did not seem overly distressed.
“Pressing matters that leave me confounded, sir.”
Noah inclined his head and gestured to his friends. “Then you’re in luck, Miss Dunn. Any one of us can hear your case.”
She frowned in curious enquiry. “Forgive me, Mr Ashwood, are you inviting me to choose an agent?”
“Indeed. We all possess a wealth of experience. We are all fearless men.” And for some unfathomable reason, he was beyond desperate to learn of her preference.
“I see.” Her gaze drifted to Evan Sloane, the man they called Valiant for his courage and flowing mane of light brown hair.
“Mr Sloane recently solved the case of a child abducted from the street and held captive for ten days,” Noah said. “A crime that left Bow Street baffled.”
Miss Dunn’s hand shot to her breast. “Goodness. I trust you found the child alive.”
“Starving and frightened,” Sloane said soberly, “but relatively unharmed. I carried his limp body from a filthy fleapit in Southwark.”
Sloane was every woman’s hero.
The lady’s sigh carried the depth of her compassion. “What a tremendous relief.”