Read Online Luck Be a Lady by Meredith Duran - Free Book Online Page A

the walls papered in dark print, the carpet a fine Smyrna facsimile. How odd, that the devil’s den should smell faintly of lavender!
    As she settled into a wing chair, the leather receivedher like a soft embrace. O’Shea took a seat behind the desk, which was magnificent in its own right—carved ornately in walnut, with legs fashioned to look like serpentine sea dragons.
    She touched one finely etched claw. “This is not a reproduction,” she said with surprise. This desk was three hundred years old, at least.
    â€œIs that so?” O’Shea sounded pleased. “I wasn’t certain.” He ran the flat of his palm across the smooth surface of the desktop. “I liked it, though.”
    A fluke. She imagined his taste ran more often toward cheap gilt. Nevertheless . . . “Should you ever wish to sell this, I think it could go for eighty pounds.”
    He grinned. “A good bargain, then. He only owed fifty.”
    She pulled her hand back into her lap. Evidently this desk had been looted from some wretch who could not pay his debts. That rather spoiled her appreciation of it. “And if you hadn’t liked his desk?”
    He met her eyes squarely. “Then we would have had a problem.”
    She hesitated. If she meant to propose an arrangement between them, she must also know that she could trust him not to . . . abuse her. “Would you have harmed him?”
    He tipped his head slightly as he considered her. The thoughtful angle caused a lock of thick black hair to slip over one of his gray eyes. Oddly, her hand itched to wipe that curl away.
    â€œI don’t run a charity,” he said evenly. “But I’ve never killed a man over a debt.”
    A chill ran over her, drawing her skin tight. He had killed men for other things? “I see.”
    A flicker of dark humor curved his full lips. “If you’re feeling faint, I’ll remind you that you came here of your own free will—and you’re welcome to leave that way, too.”
    â€œI never faint.” She loosed a long breath. “May I ask, then, what you deem a proper cause for murder?”
    He quirked one brow. “Feeling bloodthirsty?”
    â€œMerely curious.”
    O’Shea studied her, his dark face impassive. She sensed herself being assessed, gauged for anxiety or weakness. But he would find none.
    As for his weaknesses . . . She had been trained from a young age to evaluate items for flaws. One might fault his cheekbones for their stark, sharp prominence—but his square jaw balanced them very well. His lips were vulgar, full and shockingly carnal. But the rough line of his nose drew one’s attention away before judgment could crystallize.
    She had seen no women on the gaming floor. That must be by policy. Otherwise, she’d no doubt that women of low taste would be lining up to play, simply for the chance at glimpsing him.
    â€œViolence is a clumsy way of solving things,” he said. “But on rare occasions, it’s necessary.”
    â€œAnd you consider yourself a good judge of when it’s needed?”
    He paused. “You had a proposal for me last month. If it was a killing you wanted, you’re looking in the wrong direction.”
    She felt the blood drain from her face. “It had nothing to do with hurting anybody.”
    â€œNo?” He laced his hands together atop the desk, flexing them so his rings glittered. “What did it concern, then? Pilcher, I take it.”
    She hesitated. Did she really mean to do this? Propose an alliance with a . . . ruffian, a gambler, and a crime lord?
    â€œCome now, darling. If it ain’t murder, it can’t be so bad.”
    She flushed. Perhaps it was not his face that drew her. Her memory for faces was poor, but she never forgot a voice. His was rich and smooth. Night-dark, resonant.
    Suddenly she felt reckless. What did she have to lose? Association