Vanessa fidgeted withher lace gloves as she waited in Adrian Strathmore’s study. She’d arrived over a quarter of an hour ago, but her host had yet to put in an appearance.
She gave a surreptitious glance around the large, teak-paneled room, taking in the thousands of leather-bound books that lined the walls and tumbled haphazardly over the surface of his desk.
She wished she had the nerve to get up and explore the sketches and notes, perhaps even riffle through a drawer or two to learn some of his secrets. Unfortunately, being caught in the act would ruin whatever element of surprise she’d managed to gain.
When the door opened quietly behind her, she froze. What if he were truly as disfigured as they said? She could not let him see a hint of shock or disgust, no matter how scarred he proved to be.
“Miss Bourke?” His deep voice was the same sexy, familiar rasp. A thrill went through her as she realized her assumptions about the man had just been proven true. A relief, because she’d have had a hard time explaining her visit if she’d been wrong. “Is there something I can do for you?”
She turned slowly and found him leaning against the door, the whole of him bathed in the soft glow of the electric lamps. Her breath caught in her throat as she came face-to-face with Adrian Strathmore for the first time.
They lied.
For a moment, that was the only thought her mind registered, because the sable-haired, blue-eyed gentleman who stared back at her was hardly the monster everyone had made him out to be. The left side of his face—from his forehead to his cheekbone—bore a tracery of rough scars. Other than that small defect, the man was perfect— every bit as handsome as his twin.
She stared, remembering the way that sensuous mouth had pressed against her own, those few moments of magic when he’d become the embodiment of her every midnight fantasy.
As the minutes stretched by, his bright blue gaze hardened. “This isn’t a circus sideshow,” he snapped. “Haven’t you seen enough?”
She flinched, stunned by his sudden anger. “How’s your leg, Mr. Strathmore?” she managed to fire back once she’d regained her equilibrium. “I hope you’ve recovered from the gunshot wound.”
The satisfaction of seeing his surprise was short-lived because he shook his head and crossed the room, taking a seat behind the desk with no visible sign of a limp. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“You can pretend all you like, but I’m certain that if I were to go to the authorities, they’d find a bullet hole in your right thigh, Prometheus.”
“Let me get this straight,” he murmured silkily. “Are you accusing me of being that notorious criminal who has Scotland Yard all aflutter?”
“I don’t think Prometheus is a criminal,” she replied, lifting her chin. “But we both know it was you who broke into my flat the night Hawley’s Gentlemen’s Club burned to the ground, wearing a mask and bleeding from a gunshot wound. We both know you came back several times, only to run away when I demanded to see your face.”
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers on the cluttered surface of his desk. She could practically see the wheels turning in his brilliant mind as he weighed her statement and plotted his next plan of action.
“Thank you,” he said, at last, seeming to realize he was caught. “For everything you did for me.”
“You’re welcome.” Heat rushed to her cheeks at his simple gratitude, which was the last thing she’d expected. “Your visits were perhaps the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.”
A slow smile curved his sensuous mouth, and for a moment, the shadows in his eyes lifted. Attraction flared between them, and her guilt over what she was about to do nearly overwhelmed her. She sensed he rarely let his guard down this way, and she hated to do anything to bring his shield back up again.
Doubts assailed her. Should she continue with her plan or just try to break down his walls by telling him how very much she’d missed him?
The silence between them lengthened uncomfortably.
“What can I do for you, Miss Bourke?” he asked warily. “Have you come here to ask me for something?”
She gave a sharp nod, knowing it was now or never. His wariness decided her. He’d never believe the truth, that she’d come here because she couldn’t bear to stay away. “I’d like to offer you a deal.”
“A deal?” His lips thinned. “What sort of a deal?”
“I know all about your family,” she blurted in a rush. “I know you and your brothers are very close, and that you have a younger sister who is just about to make her debut. I doubt you’d want to put them through the scandal of your arrest and trial for the various crimes of which Prometheus stands accused.”
“You don’t know a damned thing about what my family means to me.” His voice cracked like a whip, and a sharp edge of fear snaked through her as she wondered if she’d pushed him too far.
She bit her lip and continued, “I’ve decided the scandal of you marrying an actress would be minimal and far preferable in your eyes to having the world discover that you’re Prometheus.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me into marrying you?” He didn’t try to hide his stunned disbelief.
She gave a jerky nod, reminding herself that she was doing this for both him and Gabriel. They could be a family. He would forgive her in time. “We could give Gabriel a home,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be so terrible to be married to me, would it?”
He laughed bitterly and then shook his head. “And why should I agree to this? If I’m really a criminal, hasn’t it occurred to you that I could make sure you never tell anyone anything?”
