Free Burning Lamp by Amanda Quick Page B

her iciest smile over her shoulder. “Of course, you will likely decline to grant that one, too. For my own good, of course.”
    He followed her. “I will do anything you ask of me so long as it will not put you in harm’s way.”
    “If repaying the favor to me hinges on your approval of whatever it is I choose to ask of you, I suspect you will be in my debt for a very long time. Possibly until it snows in that rather warm destination you mentioned a moment ago.”
    “I will find a way to repay you, Mrs. Pyne,” he vowed.
    “Don’t bother. I shall take far more satisfaction in knowing that a notorious crime lord is in my debt.”
    “Damnation, Mrs. Pyne. Has anyone ever told you that you are stubborn, difficult, reckless and altogether lacking in sound judgment?”
    “Certainly, sir. Those are the very qualities that enabled me to make my fortune in America.”
    “I can believe that,” he said with great depth of feeling.
    She reached the front hall and opened the door for him with a flourish.
    “Before you hurl any more insults,” she said, “you would do well to bear in mind that those are also the same character traits that have convinced me to work your damned lamp. Certainly only a stubborn, reckless, difficult woman lacking in sound judgment would have allowed a prominent member of the criminal class over the threshold of her home.”
    He paused on the front step and looked back at her. The flash of sensual heat combined with the dangerous irritation in his eyes sent a thrill through her. She caught her breath.
    “You make an excellent point, Mrs. Pyne,” he said, sounding very thoughtful. “I will do my best to remember it in our future dealings.”
    “Good day, Mr. Winters.”
    She closed the door with considerably more force than was necessary.

6
     
     
     
    “DARE I ASK IF THE MEETING IN THE MUSEUM WENT WELL?” Mr. Pierce inquired in his whiskey-and-cigar voice.
    “It could best be described as interesting ,” Adelaide said. “Mr. Winters was not quite what I expected, to say the least.”
    She employed her black lace fan in a futile attempt to stir the still, stuffy air. It was intermission and the ornate, heavily gilded theater lobby was crowded with elegantly dressed people. She and Mr. Pierce and Adam Harrow had procured glasses of champagne and retreated to an alcove.
    She told herself that it was the crush of theatergoers combined with the overheated atmosphere that was making her so uncomfortable. She felt stifled and edgy. The heavy veil of her hat was exacerbating the sensation, she thought. What should have been a pleasant evening had become an ordeal. She could not wait for it to end. But she did her best to conceal her unease from her companions.
    “No one ever gets quite what they expect when they deal with Griffin Winters.” Pierce swallowed some champagne and lowered the glass. “That is likely one of the reasons for his extraordinary success.”
    “Did he let you get a close look at his face?” Adam Harrow asked in his languid manner.
    “Yes, as a matter of fact, he did,” Adelaide said.
    She drank some more champagne in an attempt to quell her inexplicable tension. When she lowered her glass she realized that her companions were gazing at her with astonished expressions. They looked oddly impressed.
    “Well, well, well,” Pierce muttered. “An interesting meeting, indeed. Very few people are allowed to see Mr. Winters’s face.”
    “And live to tell about it,” Adam concluded dryly.
    Pierce and Harrow were far more than very good friends. Adelaide could see from their dreamprints that the bond between them was deep and strong. It extended into every aspect of their lives, physical as well as emotional. They were women who lived as men and did it so successfully that they were accepted as gentlemen without question.
    Pierce was short, square and as solid as a stone monument. His black hair was shot with silver. Although he had long ago banished the accents of the