“You may leave us.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Latimer let himself out of the library and closed the door.
Madeline looked at Artemas. “Please be seated, Mr. Hunt.”
“Thank you.” He took the japanned and gilded beech wood armchair she indicated. A glance at the rich carpet, heavy drapes, and elegantly carved desk confirmed Leggett’s assessment of Mrs. Deveridge’s finances. The house was small, but the furnishings were of excellent quality.
She sat down behind her desk. “I trust you have recovered your hearing, sir? ”
“My ears rang for a time, but I am happy to tell you that my senses all appear to be completely restored.”
“Thank heavens.” She looked genuinely relieved. “I would not have wanted to be responsible for an injury to your person.”
“As it happens, there was no permanent damage done, either to me or”—he raised his brows slightly—
“to the villain you attempted to shoot.”
Her mouth tightened. “I am actually a rather decent shot, sir. But the carriage was moving and it was dark and you
had
seized my arm, if you will recall. I fear the combination of so many impediments took its toll on my aim.”
“I pray you will forgive me, madam. Violent solutions have their place from time to time, but as a general rule, I prefer to avoid that sort of thing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I find that somewhat surprising, given your training.”
“If you know anything at all about the ancient arts of Vanza, you must know that subtlety is always stressed over the obvious in the philosophy. Violence is hardly subtle. When the occasion does call for it, the strategy should be crafted with precision and carried out in such a way that the results do not leave a trail that leads directly back to the one who initiated the action.”
She grimaced. “You are indeed a true student of Vanza, Mr. Hunt. Your thinking on such subjects is clever, crafty, and labyrinthine.”
“I realize the fact that I am Vanza does not elevate me in your opinion, madam. But allow me to remind you that shooting a man dead in the street last night could have produced a variety of complications that both of us might have found most inconvenient this morning.”
“What do you mean? ” Her eyes widened in surprise. “You assisted me in rescuing a young woman.
How could anyone object to that?”
“I prefer not to attract attention, Mrs. Deveridge.”
She flushed. “Yes, of course. You no doubt fear that word might get out about your connection to the Dream Pavilions. Rest assured I will say nothing to anyone.”
“I appreciate the reassurance. As it happens, I have a great deal at stake at the moment.”
“I have no wish to meddle in your, ah, financial affairs.”
He went cold. Just how much did the woman know? Was it possible that she had also learned of his carefully wrought plans for vengeance?
“You do not intend to meddle, you say?” he repeated neutrally.
She waved a hand in casual dismissal. “Heavens, no, sir. Your plans to select a wife from the higher circles of the ton are of absolutely no interest to me. Marry where you wish, Mr. Hunt. And the best of luck to you.”
He relaxed slightly. “You relieve my mind, Mrs. Deveridge.”
“I quite understand that your search for a well-connected bride would be severely hampered if it were to get out that you are in trade, sir.” She paused, her brows drawing together in a vaguely troubled frown.
“But are you sure that it is a wise notion to contract a marriage under what might be construed as false pretenses?”
“As a matter of fact, I hadn’t thought about the matter from that perspective,” he said blandly.
“What will you do when the truth comes out? ” There was more than a hint of frosty disapproval in the question. “Do you expect your wife to simply ignore the fact that you are in trade? ”
“Mmm.”
She leaned forward and glared. “Allow me-to give you a word of advice, sir. If you have any intention of