“Forgive the tedious repetition of the word—but no,” he replied. “Purloining jewelry is not among my admittedly many faults.”
“But in Lord Dunbar’s library I saw you hide a book in your pocket,” she challenged. “If you weren’t stealing it, why conceal the fact?”
“Caught that, did you?” Devlin blew out his cheeks. “The answer isn’t nearly as intriguing as you think. It was a book on the history of mechanical devices—”
“Automata,” interrupted Anna.
“Precisely.” No harm in admitting it. The minx had seen the evidence. “I have a special interest in the subject. But would prefer to keep it private.”
“I saw it on your worktable,” she said. “Does that mean the golden pistol is some sort of automata, and not a real weapon?”
He nodded. “You are far too clever in puzzling out things.”
“I wondered about the little bird on the table.” Her fists finally unclenching, Anna lowered her hands and set them on her hips. “What’s it for?”
“Never mind.” Seeing her eyes narrow, he quickly added. “I am not in the habit of talking about my projects. Making these devices is a very painstaking process. I have an idea in mind, but until I am sure that I can make it work, I don’t like to discuss the details.”
“Fair enough,” she conceded, an odd little expression flitting across her features. “I can understand that.”
“Then may I take it that you will agree to stay silent about my work?”
This time it was she who made a move to close the gap between them. “About your automata, yes. But I still think you are hiding something, sir.” Her tone was defiant. “There was a sheet of paper tucked into the book. It listed all the guests here, and there was a penciled ‘X’ next to several names.”
Damnation.
“Miss Sloane, don’t play with fire,” he replied in a measured voice. “Clever as you are with your mind and your nimble little fingers, you may very well end up getting burned.”
“That’s not an answer,” she retorted. “That’s a provocation.”
Up close, her face was even more alluring. The luminous intelligence in her eyes blazed with a bright fury, while her mouth challenged him to…
Feeling a little off-balance, Devlin fought to regain his edge.
“It’s you who are provocative,” he growled. “I vow, you could drive St. Peter to drown himself in Blue Ruin.”
“Are we going to stand here all day and trade quips,” she demanded.
“That depends on you,” said Devlin. “Honor requires—”
“You claim to have no sense of honor.”
“I must have left a few crumbs in the corners when I swept out my conscience,” he drawled.
“You,” she said, “are utterly impossible.”
“Agreed,” answered Devlin.
She took a step closer. “Utterly outrageous.”
“True.”
“Utterly infuriating.”
“Absolutely.
Her hands came up…
Devlin braced himself for a punch.