AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There were three photographs, all of the same horse. Tiffany scanned the color prints of a running horse closely, studying the bone structure and carriage of the animal. The similarities between the horse in the photograph and Devil’s Gambit were uncanny. “Where did you get these?” she asked, her breath constricting in her throat.
“I took them. Outside of Dublin.”
It made sense. The horse, if he really was Devil’s Gambit, would have to be hidden out of the country to ensure that no one would recognize or identify him. Even so, Zane’s story was ludicrous. “This isn’t Devil’s Gambit,” she said, her slate-blue eyes questioning his. “This horse has no white marks . . . anywhere.” She pointed to the portrait above the fireplace. “Devil’s Gambit had a stocking, on his right foreleg.”
“I think the stocking has been dyed.”
“To hide his identity?”
“And to palm him off as another horse, one of considerably less caliber.”
“This is ridiculous.” Tiffany rolled her eyes and raised her hands theatrically in the air. “You know, you almost convinced me by coming in here and making outlandish statements that I nearly believed. Heaven knows why. Maybe it’s because you seemed so sure of yourself. But I can tell you without a doubt that this is not Devil’s Gambit.” She shook the prints in the air before tossing them recklessly on the desk. “Nothing you’ve said tonight makes any sense, nor is it backed up with the tiniest shred of evidence. Therefore I have to assume that you’re here for another reason, such as the sale of the farm. My position hasn’t altered on that subject, either. So you see, Mr. Sheridan, any further discussion would be pointless.”
Louise knocked softly on the door of the den before poking her head inside. “Dinner’s ready.” She eyed Tiffany expectantly.
“I don’t think—”
“Good. I’m starved,” Zane stated as he turned his head in the housekeeper’s direction. A slow-spreading, damnably charming grin took possession of his handsome face. Gray eyes twinkled devilishly, and his brilliant smile exposed a dimple on one tanned cheek.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Louise replied, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room and returning Zane’s smile. “I have to be getting home,” she said apologetically to Tiffany, who nodded in response. Louise slowly backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.
“I didn’t think you’d want to stay,” Tiffany remarked, once Louise had left them alone.
“And miss a home-cooked meal? Not on your life.”
Tiffany eyed him dubiously. “Something tells me this has nothing to do with the meal.”
“Maybe I’m just enjoying the company—”
“Or maybe you think you can wear me down and I’ll start believing all this nonsense.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s no point, you know.”
Zane laughed aloud, and the bitterness in his gaze disappeared for a second. “Try me.”
“But we have nothing more to discuss. Really. I’m not buying your story. Not any of it.”
“You’re not even trying.”
“I have the distinct feeling that you’re attempting to con me, Mr. Sheridan—”
“Zane.”
“Whatever. And I’m not up to playing games. Whether you believe it or not, I’m a busy woman who has more important things to do than worry about what could have happened. I like to think I deal in reality rather than fantasy.”
Zane finished his drink with a flourish and set the empty glass down on the corner of the desk. “Then you’d better start listening to me, damn it. Because I’m not here on some cock-and-bull story.” His thick brows lifted. “I have better things to do than spend my time trying to help someone who obviously doesn’t want it.”
“Help?” Tiffany repeated with a laugh. “All you’ve done so far is offer me vague insinuations and a few photographs of a horse that definitely isnotDevil’s Gambit. You call that help?”
Zane pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “If you weren’t so blind, woman,” he said, his black-Irish temper starting to explode.
“Look—”
Zane held up one palm and shrugged. “Maybe you just need time to think about all of this.”
“What I don’t need is someone to march into my life and start spewing irrational statements.”
