hum—Violet had been playacting the whole time in an effort to get him to commit to something far more than a playful liaison.
Women, Marcus decided, were devious creatures. Though none so devious as the one who now sat across the table from him. Miss Baker-Sneed was not only a forward woman willing to brangle over a few guineas, but she had a rare talent for ascertaining value, and the wit to exploit that ability. He already regretted revealing the importance of the ring; that had been an error. But his case was not yet desperate and he was certainly unwilling to accept defeat.
Jaw set, he took the tea and affected an air of boredom. “I will give you a hundred pounds. That is more than fair.”
She poured herself a cup and took a little sip, then pursed her lips as if considering his offer. “No.” She picked up the tray with the fresh pasties and held them out. “Would you like a pastie?”
No, he did not want a blasted pastie. He wanted his damn ring. He swallowed a scowl, which would have no effect except give his enemy the felicity of seeing how much she’d manage to irk him. He forced himself to remember with painful clarity each and every time the heartless jade had outwitted him at various auction houses. Oh, she hadn’t doused him every time—he wasn’t a flat, after all-—but often enough that the mere sight of her bedraggled carriage and broken-down nag at an auction site was enough to set his teeth on edge.
The damnable truth was that Miss Honoria Baker-Sneed was not a woman to be cowed by mere scowling, arguing, or any other emotional outbursts. Her outward appearance of civility and feminine softness hid a granite heart and a wily determination to drive a hard bargain. And that was the one thing he’d allowed himself to forget. But no more.
Marcus set down his cup, the china bottom clinking into the delicate saucer. “Two hundred pounds, then. But that is my final offer.”
She clicked her tongue at him, as if distressed. “Such low numbers. We must rethink this.” She tilted her head to one side, the sunlight from the window lighting her rich sable hair with warm golden red lights that made the white streak at her temple appear to almost glow.
Marcus’s lips thinned. She was a beautiful woman, which was a fact he’d always known though never with such awareness as now. Of course, before this meeting, the occasional pleasure of beating her on the auction floor had been enough to distill any sort of temporary interest he might have had. She was his opponent, to be vanquished and thoroughly routed, not a sensually exciting woman to be trifled with until he’d tired of her. Although… his eyes were drawn to the gleam of the streak at her temple. It added an exotic tint to her features and made him wonder at her true nature. That she was a passionate woman could not be questioned—no one who’d ever seen her bidding on an object d’art could say otherwise. Which made him wonder what she would be like in bed?
Hmmm. That was an interesting idea. He wondered if she’d be as wild as that streak of hair that decried her rather pristine appearance. Would she throw herself into the act, just as she threw herself into acquiring antiquities? He had an instant vision of her, naked and writhing beneath him, head tossed back, her long sable hair streaming over his pillows—
By Zeus, what was he thinking? This was his enemy, the woman who held Mother’s precious ring. Stirring impatiently, he snapped, “I don’t have time for this sort of thing. Miss Baker-Sneed, just what do you think is a fair price?”
“Hm.” She took another sip of tea, and his eyes were drawn to her lips where they touched the edge of the cup. The tea damped her lips, a dewiness resting on the pink slopes of her mouth.
A pang of pure lust ripped through him, settling in his nether regions with annoying predictability. Good God, it was senseless. He was reacting to her as if he was a boy of fifteen and not a man
Women, Marcus decided, were devious creatures. Though none so devious as the one who now sat across the table from him. Miss Baker-Sneed was not only a forward woman willing to brangle over a few guineas, but she had a rare talent for ascertaining value, and the wit to exploit that ability. He already regretted revealing the importance of the ring; that had been an error. But his case was not yet desperate and he was certainly unwilling to accept defeat.
Jaw set, he took the tea and affected an air of boredom. “I will give you a hundred pounds. That is more than fair.”
She poured herself a cup and took a little sip, then pursed her lips as if considering his offer. “No.” She picked up the tray with the fresh pasties and held them out. “Would you like a pastie?”
No, he did not want a blasted pastie. He wanted his damn ring. He swallowed a scowl, which would have no effect except give his enemy the felicity of seeing how much she’d manage to irk him. He forced himself to remember with painful clarity each and every time the heartless jade had outwitted him at various auction houses. Oh, she hadn’t doused him every time—he wasn’t a flat, after all-—but often enough that the mere sight of her bedraggled carriage and broken-down nag at an auction site was enough to set his teeth on edge.
The damnable truth was that Miss Honoria Baker-Sneed was not a woman to be cowed by mere scowling, arguing, or any other emotional outbursts. Her outward appearance of civility and feminine softness hid a granite heart and a wily determination to drive a hard bargain. And that was the one thing he’d allowed himself to forget. But no more.
Marcus set down his cup, the china bottom clinking into the delicate saucer. “Two hundred pounds, then. But that is my final offer.”
She clicked her tongue at him, as if distressed. “Such low numbers. We must rethink this.” She tilted her head to one side, the sunlight from the window lighting her rich sable hair with warm golden red lights that made the white streak at her temple appear to almost glow.
Marcus’s lips thinned. She was a beautiful woman, which was a fact he’d always known though never with such awareness as now. Of course, before this meeting, the occasional pleasure of beating her on the auction floor had been enough to distill any sort of temporary interest he might have had. She was his opponent, to be vanquished and thoroughly routed, not a sensually exciting woman to be trifled with until he’d tired of her. Although… his eyes were drawn to the gleam of the streak at her temple. It added an exotic tint to her features and made him wonder at her true nature. That she was a passionate woman could not be questioned—no one who’d ever seen her bidding on an object d’art could say otherwise. Which made him wonder what she would be like in bed?
Hmmm. That was an interesting idea. He wondered if she’d be as wild as that streak of hair that decried her rather pristine appearance. Would she throw herself into the act, just as she threw herself into acquiring antiquities? He had an instant vision of her, naked and writhing beneath him, head tossed back, her long sable hair streaming over his pillows—
By Zeus, what was he thinking? This was his enemy, the woman who held Mother’s precious ring. Stirring impatiently, he snapped, “I don’t have time for this sort of thing. Miss Baker-Sneed, just what do you think is a fair price?”
“Hm.” She took another sip of tea, and his eyes were drawn to her lips where they touched the edge of the cup. The tea damped her lips, a dewiness resting on the pink slopes of her mouth.
A pang of pure lust ripped through him, settling in his nether regions with annoying predictability. Good God, it was senseless. He was reacting to her as if he was a boy of fifteen and not a man
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