Dicing with the Dangerous Lord - By Margaret McPhee Page 0,2

then on to the walking cane in his right. The tip of it touched to the leather of his glossy black riding boot and beneath his hand she could see the glint of the stick’s silver wolf’s-head handle and the glow of two tiny green gems within. And in that small moment before he moved, all of Robert’s warnings about this man and what he had done seemed to whisper in her ear, making her blood run cold. But even then she did not consider changing her mind. She stepped forwards, relishing the challenge.

He glanced round, half turned to her.

‘Do you mind if I...?’ She gestured towards the coping that topped the balustrade just along from where he stood.

‘Not at all.’ It was a smooth, low, well-spoken voice, not harsh and cold as one might have imagined for such a man. ‘I was just leaving.’ His expression was serious, unsmiling, nothing of the hopeful flirtation that was upon every other male face within the green room.

‘Not on my account, I hope.’ She kept her voice low and lazy and seductive as she strolled over to the balustrade, stopping, not too close to him but close enough, and looking not at him but out over the same view he had been watching. ‘Who would have thought such a spot could offer such refuge?’ She knew the way to draw a man into conversation, to entice his interest by offering a little of herself. It was a necessary skill of any successful actress and Venetia had spent years perfecting the method.

‘Refuge?’ he asked.

She kept her gaze fixed on the lamp-lit streets below. The breeze breathed its chill against her cheeks, against her exposed décolletage.

‘A few precious moments of calm in a night full of frenzy and demand.’ She watched the carriages and the groups of gentlemen with their mistresses on their arms. ‘I often come out here before the performance...and after. To think. I find it helpful.’

‘You do not enjoy acting?’

‘I enjoy acting very much. But not that which goes with it.’

‘You mean the green room?’

‘And more. But—’ she inhaled deeply and slowly released the breath, and the chill of the night air lent it a misty quality ‘—it is all part of my job. Written into my contract, would you believe?’

‘To entice and delight.’

‘Some may call it that.’ She leaned slightly closer to him, presenting him with a better view of her cleavage. ‘But in reality to generate interest in, and donations to, the theatre. You paid more to visit the green room than you did for your theatre ticket, did you not, sir?’

‘I did.’

‘To be seduced.’

‘By you, Miss Fox?’

‘Perhaps...’ She let the word hang in the air as a suggestion before lowering her voice as if they were two conspirators speaking secrets. ‘Or then again, perhaps not. We actresses are not supposed to tell. Such truths quite spoil the illusion.’ She smiled, but only because the role called for it, then glanced across at him, and looked at the murderer properly for the first time. At his olive-skinned face with its chiselled angles and planes that lent him a handsomeness she had not expected. At his dark hair that hung in ebony-sheened waves, and his eyes that were black as midnight and held such dark brooding intensity within that had nothing to do with their colour. His gaze met hers and it was as if he had stroked a finger down the naked length of her spine.

She stared into those dark compelling eyes and her heart gave a stutter and her stomach turned a somersault. She stared, shocked and unable look away. The moment stretched between them and all the while he held her imprisoned in that steady, scrutinising gaze as surely as she did any other man’s. Her heart was pounding as she finally managed to tear her eyes away and lower her gaze. With a determination of iron she masked the fluster, reined herself in, but all the willpower in the world could not suppress the shiver that rippled right through her. It took every ounce of her experience upon the stage to regain her poise before she could look at him once again.

‘The nights grow colder and an actress can hardly wear her woollens and flannels to work,’ she said by way of excuse, knowing that he had seen the shiver.

‘Indeed.’ His eyes moved over her dress, over the bare skin it revealed and the pale swell of her breasts before coming back up to her face.