A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,1

an aura of mystery, or maybe even something more sinister. Her criminal behavior, perhaps.

Near the center of the room sat a small round table, covered with a dark red cloth. A deck of cards sat to one side.

He returned his gaze to her veiled face. “You won’t tell me the future?”

She shook her head gently, causing the edge of the veil to sweep against her collarbone. “I cannot. And, as I also said, I do not provide services for gentlemen.”

Harry found he was curious—not just about her business, but about her. “Why not?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I find most men are untrustworthy. Given the opportunity to meet with a woman alone, they take advantage. Forgive me if I don’t invite you in.”

Reaching into his pocket, Harry withdrew a purse with a substantial weight of coins. He jingled the lot. “Not even for a goodly sum?”

Though he couldn’t see her features, he believed she was staring him straight in the eye. “Not for twice that.”

Surprise, an emotion he rarely experienced, coursed through him. Everyone had a price. Except for Madame Sybila when it came to men. His curiosity about her grew.

He put the purse back into his coat and exhaled. “This is disappointing, Madame Sybila. I had heard your talents were unmatched.”

She scoffed, and he had the sense that she was smiling. “You are an excellent liar, Mr. Sheffield, but not quite good enough.”

Unable to deny that he was intrigued, Harry leaned against the doorframe. “Why do you say that?”

“You seemed to believe that I could tell your future and that I would help you, a gentleman. I can’t believe you spoke to any of my clientele. They would have disabused you of both of those notions.”

She was clever, he’d give her that. A smile teased his mouth. “You have caught me. I merely heard that a woman of your…abilities had taken up here in the back of the perfumery. I need to understand what my future holds, and I thought you could help me.”

“Forgive me, sir, but I am not convinced you think that’s possible.”

“Why would I come here if I didn’t believe that?”

“That is the question I would like to have answered, but I am not sure you will give me an honest response.”

Far too bloody clever. “How about if I tell you why I’ve come? Of course, I would have done so eventually, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know before you performed your services.”

She crossed her arms over her chest in a pose of grave expectation. But she said nothing.

Harry said the first thing that came to mind. “My family wishes me to marry. I was hoping you could tell me when that might happen.”

“When, but not to whom?” She chuckled. “Most people would want to know to whom.”

“I suppose that too, but I’m more concerned with the timing.” Because the truth of the matter was that Harry’s father, the Earl of Aylesbury, had been pressing him to wed for some time now. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want to; it was that he hadn’t met anyone who remotely interested him as a wife. But then he was far too engrossed in his work, a fact his father—and mother and sisters—pointed out at every possible opportunity.

“I see. But I cannot help you.”

“So you’ve said.” He infused his tone with disappointment. “Is there nothing that will change your mind?”

“No, and anyway, I can’t tell you what you wish to know. All I can do is look at your palm and reveal what I see. The same with the cards.”

“I would accept that,” he said, fixing her with a stare. He wanted to see what she could do, how she’d twisted this occupation into something that had captured the attention of women who ought to know better than to trust someone like her. Women like his mother.

“A pity I am not offering that,” she said, putting her hand on the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my next appointment will be here shortly.”

“Do you lift your veil when you see a client?” he asked, wondering if he should disguise himself as a woman and return. He was suddenly desperate to see her face. Was she young, old, somewhere in between? Not too old. Her voice hadn’t yet weathered with age.

“I do not.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry accepted that he’d learned all he could today. He’d have to find a way for someone—a woman—to visit her and report back to him on precisely what Madame Sybila did. In addition