Page 12 of Rules for Ruin

“I think not,” she answered him coolly. She crossed in front of the desk to make her exit. The door to the library was but a few yards away.

Mr. Royce observed her progress from within his halo of smoke. “What about this fellow you were looking for? You’ve not given up on him already?”

Effie regretted having made the excuse. She’d have done better to say she was looking for something, not someone. Especially considering she’d been caught red-handed behind Compton’s desk.

But there was no turning back now.

“I didn’t say it was a him,” she retorted. “And no. I haven’t given up. I shall simply search for my friend elsewhere. If you will excuse me?”

“Running away?” he inquired blandly. “How disappointing.”

She stopped in front of the desk, nettled. She’d never run away from anything in her life. “If you must know, I dislike cigarette smoke.”

He took a deliberate puff of the offending object. “Is that so?”

“Smoking is a filthy habit.”

“It’s a democratic habit. Unlike pipes or cigars. Where I come from, women smoke cigarettes, too.”

Where he came from?

“Aren’t you English?” she asked, temporarily diverted.

“As much as you are,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. She might have known he’d be trouble. The interesting men always were. Indeed, that was precisely what made them so interesting. “Why were you sitting here in the dark?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“I find that hard to believe. We exchanged all of ten words together this evening, and that was hours ago, and not a very compelling conversation in any case. Why would you ever assume I’d come here?”

“Like recognizes like,” he said.

She glanced to the door again, wanting to leave. Curiosity kept her anchored where she stood. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

He took another slow puff of his cigarette, seeming to privately consider the situation. “Unless I’m mistaken,” he remarked to himself. “I suppose there’s always a first time.”

She exhaled an impatient breath. “I don’t have any idea what you’re muttering about, sir. I only came to look for someone. I have no reason to—”

“Is it one of those frivolous women’s wagers I’ve heard so much about?” he interrupted. “A lady friend has dared you to steal some bauble of Compton’s? His letter opener or his monogrammed seal?”

She glared at him, offended by the suggestion. “Do I look like a frivolous young lady?”

He examined her in the darkness. “It’s not Compton himself, is it?” He gave a short chuckle as he smoked. “Pity, that.”

Effie knew full well what he was insinuating, but most young ladies wouldn’t. She feigned ignorance. “I have no business with Lord Compton.” She paused, unable to resist adding, “And if I do, it’s no affair of yours.”

“Oh, but it is, Miss Flite.” Putting out his cigarette, he abruptly stood. In three strides he was in front of her, standing so close his legs pushed the enormous swell of her skirts back against her own.

She reflexively backed against the desk. He immediately closed the distance. Her crinoline bowed, sandwiched between them, its metal wires and fabric tape bent all out of shape.

He was a head taller than she was. Broad-shouldered and strong, smelling of tobacco and bergamot shaving soap. They stared into each other’s eyes in the moonlight. There was no hint of fear. No threat of violence. Only heat, and something very like recognition.

Effie’s fingers curled on the edge of the desktop behind her. It had nothing to do with physical anxiety. Even if he had meant her harm, she wasn’t without resource. A swift knee to the nether regions or a solid punch to the throat would have dispatched him in a moment. But she had no interest in causing a scene. Not if she could extricate herself by other means.

She demurely dropped her eyes, throwing in an anxious flutter of her lashes and a slight tremble of her lips for good measure. “You’re frightening me, Mr. Royce.”

“And yet you haven’t gone pale. Your breath is steady.” Lifting a hand, he brushed his knuckles very deliberately over the curve of her throat. “So is the beat of your heart.”