Unable to resist their siren song for another moment, Genevieve quickly flipped through the nearest stack. Legalese jumped off the pages: the document seemed like a motion to halt an eviction. The next pile was similarly fruitless, and the next.
Blowing a breath in frustration, Genevieve regarded the door warily and assessed her options. Deciding she was in for a penny, in for a pound, she lightly tugged on one of the massive desk’s drawers. It slid open easily, though a slight poking of its contents revealed nothing more interesting than pencils and—wait, was that a revolver?
Genevieve knew a bit about guns. She couldn’t have grown up around her brothers and not known. Not wanting to touch it, she peered into the depths of the drawer to get a better look. It gleamed evilly from its snug confines, almost daring her to test its weight in her hand. Ignoring the impulse, she noted it was a six-shooter, possibly Swiss in origin.
While this was interesting, none of the crimes thus far had involved a revolver. Genevieve made a mental note of the piece’s existence, then shut the drawer carefully and opened another.
Ah, this was more like it—telegrams. Glancing furtively at the door, Genevieve grabbed one and began to unfold the paper.
She had ascertained that the note was in reference to the transferring of some funds when the office door opened. Starting guiltily, Genevieve dropped the telegram like it was on fire, but it was no use. There she was, behind Daniel’s desk, drawer open.
And there was the owner of the desk in question, his cautious expression of welcome quickly changing to one of disbelief, followed by fury.
Outrage slammed into Daniel’s gut, hot and explosive, at the sight of Genevieve pawing through his desk. He expressed it with a slam of the door, striding forward and grabbing her arm. He shoved closed the open drawer and resisted the urge to shake her silly.
Goddammit, he was such a fool. He’d felt an unexpected surge of gladness when Asher had told him Genevieve was waiting in his office, recalling their silent exchanges from the Bradleys’ ball. And then he had rushed toward the room, pleasant curiosity about her visit welling up inside him, only to be confronted with—this.
How had he had forgotten? The damned press was all the same. They would all do anything for a story.
She stared up at him with big eyes, slightly shamefaced but unafraid. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink from embarrassment, and he could smell her clean, grassy scent.
“Are you only here to pry?” he ground out.
“Of course not,” she retorted. “I’m here to … get answers.” Her chin lifted in a now-familiar gesture of defiance. “So yes, in this instance, perhaps that meant prying.”
Exasperated, Daniel let go of her arm and ran both hands through his hair. He had told his secretary to leave her, unattended, in his private office. When he knew she was a reporter who was deeply interested in his background.
He was suddenly struck by the ridiculousness of the situation. Unable to help himself, he started to chuckle.
Oh, but the fun Maggie would have poked at him. After all these years of avoiding attachment, after he’d built up a hell of a good wall, someone was finally prying away at the chinks in his armor. It had to be a girl who was determined to be a journalist, didn’t it?
The girl who was now looking at him like he was crazy, even as his chuckles subsided. He held up his hands to show he was harmless.
“Pry all you want, Miss Palmer. You won’t find much of interest.” If she was looking for information on Robin Hood, it wasn’t there. Just legal documents relating to tenement disputes and police corruption.
Her brow furrowed and for a moment she glanced back at the desk, like she was going to take him up on his offer and start rooting through his things again. This set him chuckling all over again, and he stepped back to let her pass by.
Genevieve still regarded him warily but moved past him toward one of the big red leather chairs, where he gestured for her to sit. She did, and glanced longingly at the decanters on the sideboard. Daniel followed her glance and gave a soft, amused snort. He poured a measure into a cut-crystal glass and offered it to her.
“Whiskey?”
She grasped the glass out of his hand and took a deep sip, making him smile again. He did enjoy a woman who could hold her liquor.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “And I apologize for violating your privacy.”
Daniel settled into a chair opposite her and swirled his whiskey a few times, leaving her apology be for now. “Perhaps you should tell me why you’re here.”
She nodded. “There have been new developments with Robin Hood.”
He raised a brow at her. “I’m not sure why that is any concern of mine.”
She set her glass down with a bit more force than necessary. “Because you’re involved. You’re … helping me.”
“Am I?”
“Aren’t you? Why else keep lobbing these cryptic tidbits at me, or, or, take me to dinner and tell me about your past?” She suddenly sat up straighter and eyed him with suspicion. “Or is it the opposite? Are you trying to obfuscate matters and keep me from the truth?”
“I have never maintained that I know anything, Miss Palmer, so I have no truth from which to keep you.” It was only a partial lie. “You pursued me. I was simply going about the general business of living when you began appearing at my every turn, including showing up on my doorstep and pawing through my personal effects, seeming to think I am up to my eyeballs in nefariousness. Yes, I told you about my past, hoping it would appease you enough to leave me The.
