The question hovered between them, and somehow Pippa knew that her answer would impact more than her activities that evening. She knew that a yes would remove her from Mr. Cross’s company forever. And a no might keep her there for far too long.

For longer than she had been planning.

She looked to him, his grey gaze locking with hers, unreadable and still so powerful—able to quicken her breath and tumble her insides. She shook her head, unable to look away. “No. I wish to stay.”

He did not move.

Lady Dunblade spoke. “I do not know why you are here, Lady Philippa, but I can tell you this—whatever this man has promised you, whatever you think to gain from your acquaintance, do not count on receiving it.” Pippa did not know how to respond. She did not have to. “Your reputation is on the line.”

“I am taking care,” Pippa said.

One of the baroness’s ginger brows rose in disbelief, and something flashed, familiar, there then gone before Pippa could place it. “See that you do.”

The baroness disappeared into the blackness of the secret passageway, the hulking man following behind. Pippa watched them go, the light from the body-man’s lantern fading around a corner before she closed the painting once more and turned back to Cross.

He was pressed to the far side of the room, back to a large bookshelf, arms folded over his chest, eyes on the floor.

He looked exhausted. His shoulders hunched, almost in defeat, and even Pippa—who never seemed to be able to properly read the emotions of those around her—understood that he had been wounded in the battle that had taken place in this room.

Unable to stop herself, she moved toward him, her skirts brushing against the massive abacus that stood to one side of the room, and the sound pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up, his grey gaze meeting hers, staying her movement.

“You should have gone with her.”

She shook her head, her words catching in her throat as she replied, “You promised to help me.”

“And if I said I wish to dissolve our agreement?”

She forced a smile she did not feel. “The desire is not mutual.”

His eyes darkened, the only part of him that moved. “It will be.”

She couldn’t resist. “Who is she?”

The question broke the spell, and he looked away, rounding the edge of his desk, placing the wide ebony surface between them and fussing with the papers on the desk. “You know who she is.”

She shook her head. “I know she is the Baroness Dunblade. Who is she to you?”

“It does not matter.”

“On the contrary, it seems to matter quite a bit.”

“It should not to you.”

It was rather unsettling how much it mattered. “And yet it does.” She paused, wishing he would tell her, knowing that her request was futile, and still unable to stop herself from asking, “Do you care for her very much?”

Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

Except she did. Quite desperately.

When he did not reply, she added, “I only ask because I am curious as to why her visit would move you to lock me in a hazard room for an indefinite amount of time.”

He looked up. “It was not indefinite.”

She came to stand on the opposite side of the desk. “No thanks to you.”

“How did you find the passageway?”

“You would be surprised by what irritation does to aid one’s commitment to a cause.”

One side of his mouth twitched. “I assume you refer to your imprisonment?”

“And to your cheating,” she added.

His gaze flickered to the dice she had placed on the edge of the desk. “Those are the winning dice.”

“You think I care if the dishonesty was for win or loss? It’s still cheating.”

He laughed, the sound humorless. “Of course you don’t care. It was for your own good.”

“And the sevens?”

“Also weighted.”

She nodded. “The nine I rolled on that first afternoon? The wager that sent me home, vowing not to approach any more men?”

He poured himself a glass of scotch. “Those, too.”

She nodded once. “I told you I do not care for liars, Mr. Cross.”

“And I told you, scoundrels lie. It was time you learned.”

The man was frustrating. “If all lies are as easily recognized as your silly weighted dice, I think I shall be just fine in the world.”

“I am surprised you noticed.”

“Perhaps your other ladies would not have noticed an epidemic of sixes and threes,” Pippa said, unable to keep the ire from the words, “but I am a scientist. I understand the laws of probability.”

“My other ladies?” he pressed.

“Miss Sasser . . . Lady Dunblade . . . any others you have lying about,” she said, pausing at the visual her words brought about and not particularly enjoying it. “At any rate, I am unlike them.”

“You are unlike any woman I have ever known.”

The words stung. “What does that mean?”

“Only that most women do not frustrate me quite so much.”

“How interesting, as I have never met a man who exasperates me quite so much.” She pointed to the painting. “You should not have locked me inside that room.”

He drank deep and returned the tumbler to its place on the sideboard. “I assure you, you were quite safe there.”

She hadn’t felt unsafe, but that wasn’t the point. “What if I were phobic?”

His head snapped up, his gaze instantly meeting hers. “Are you?”