A Simple Case of Seduction

Daphne sighed. The next hour would be long and painful. At least he’d not made a derog

atory comment about a woman working. Had that been the case, she’d have thrown him out, which would have been a foolish thing to do under the circumstances.

“Whatever the reason, I am grateful to have someone to talk to.” Daphne turned and climbed the stairs. Fear was the last emotion he would see swimming in her eyes.

The trudge of heavy footsteps confirmed he was following. Daphne led him into the small parlour, a place clean and comfortable yet sparse. One sweeping glance around the room and she knew Thorpe’s mind was engaged in making an assessment.

“Pray, take a seat.” Daphne waved to the chair next to the hearth. “I can light a fire if you’re cold.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have a strong constitution. Nights spent trawling the streets thickens the blood.”

His narrow gaze travelled down the front of her pelisse and lingered on the sturdy brown boots. A man with an eye for detail would note the lack of stockings. With the hour being late, one did not need Aristotle’s grasp of logic to know she wore nothing but a nightgown beneath the coat.

The absence of his greatcoat proved intriguing. Thorpe wore it as a priest did a ceremonial robe. It was a symbol of his work, acted as a means to hide his weapons. The heavy garment conveyed a sense of strength and mystery necessary when dealing with scoundrels.

“Yet you have not been walking the streets tonight, Mr Thorpe.” She inhaled the exotic scent of incense, cheap perfume, and some strange tobacco that lingered in the surrounding air. Despite her skill in deduction, any woman would know where he had been. “Is it true what they say?”

“About what?”

“That one must have a cold heart to bed a whore.”

Despite his blank expression, the muscle in his cheek twitched. “One must have a cold heart and an empty mind. The latter is the reason I left before seeking satisfaction.”

His honesty was refreshing. The comment held a wealth of information that would keep her awake for hours. “Thankfully, there are many ways to achieve fulfilment,” she said, though couldn’t imagine his dark eyes ever glowing with desire. “Your work has always brought contentment.”

“At the risk of sounding patronising, they are entirely different needs.”

Daphne moved to the side table and pulled the stopper from the decanter. As soon as he heard the clink of crystal, he would know her fingers trembled. “I understand passion, Mr Thorpe.” It was a lie. She knew kindness and consideration, but not the burning force that was said to be all-consuming.

Thorpe snorted. “To use the word passion suggests you don’t understand at all. A man feels nothing when he pays for services rendered. Satisfaction is but a fleeting moment.”

“Forgive the error. Lust would have been a more appropriate term.” The blood rushed to her cheeks. Heavens, this would not do. “Even so, as your colleague it is not for me to pry into your personal affairs.”

Glass in hand, Daphne crossed the room and offered him the drink. He gripped the vessel awkwardly around the rim to avoid touching her fingers. Never in all their previous meetings had she noticed the marks on his hand. One raised white line ran from thumb to wrist. A patch of pink almost silvery skin covered one knuckle. They were the hands of a man who’d fought for his position. Was his body littered with similar scars? Was his hollow heart battered and bruised, too?

Thorpe cleared his throat. “As your colleague, I have nothing to hide. If I’m to help give perspective on your case, it is important we understand one another.”

It took all the willpower she possessed not to laugh. The man was a mystery. Opaque. Completely unreadable. Scholars skilled in cracking codes would struggle to decipher his intention.

Daphne gestured to the chair once again. “Then let us sit and get to the matter at hand.”

Only once they’d taken their seats did the size of the room feel inadequate. With barely a few inches between their knees, Daphne focused on his face and the silly beard that hid the sculptured jaw she found far more appealing.

Thorpe swallowed a mouthful of brandy. “Are you moving house?”

Daphne followed his gaze around the room. “Why do you say that?”

“You love to read I recall, yet the shelves are bare. You adore the countryside and yet dusty paintings of fruit hang on the walls. Nothing in this room fits with what I know of your character. Everything is dated, dull and uninspiring.”

Like a naive debutante responding to her first compliment, Daphne’s heart fluttered. Did he think her intelligent and interesting then? “How astute of you. I’m sure if you delve deeper you will find the answer you seek.”

Thorpe inclined his head at the challenge. “When considered in context to what I know of our profession, I’d say you never remain in the same place for long.”

“This is my current abode, not my home. As I’m sure you’re aware, I must be ready to leave at short notice. Personal possessions can be a hindrance. Everything I hold dear fits into a reticule.” Daphne assessed his stern expression. Only a satisfied sigh revealed the true nature of his thoughts. “Am I to assume you approve of my logical approach to work?”

“Regardless of your approach, I have never approved of your work,” Thorpe replied bluntly, his eyes as cold and lifeless as the ash in the grate. “But when one understands the dangers, as you obviously do, one can avoid any mishaps.”

It was Daphne’s turn to sigh. Despite taking numerous precautions over the years, her quarry always found her. The stranger never approached her directly, never sent threatening letters or hid in dark doorways waiting to pounce. Even so, she knew the moment he’d entered her house. The faceless creature touched nothing, took nothing. Like a ghost, he breezed in and out without a trace though his ominous energy lingered.