“Good evening, Miss … Palmer, isn’t it?” Daniel replied, knowing the silly pen name wasn’t really hers. She was obviously itching to pepper him with questions, not that he intended to give any satisfactory answers. “Would you like to tell me who you really are?”
“Not a trace of last night’s accent, I see,” the girl noted tartly. “And I told you who I was last night, which is more than I can say for you.”
So, she doesn’t want to make this easy, Daniel thought. Well, two can play at that game. “Young ladies who write for papers always use pen names. But if you don’t care to tell me, I can always ask our hostess for an introduction. Because really, Miss Palmer, a formal introduction would be more proper.” Daniel plucked a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray as her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“Proper?” she fairly hissed. “You were rolling around an alley in a perilous part of town, dressed and smelling like someone who hadn’t bathed in a year, and now you’re worried about being proper?”
“Of course,” he replied smoothly. “It’s all about context.”
“What’s about context?” Rupert had popped up next to Daniel’s right shoulder like a jack-in-the-box. “Oh, hello Genevieve. Surprised to see you here. Where’d you find that champagne, McCaffrey?”
“Why is it so shocking I’m at a party?” the girl bristled. Daniel suppressed a small smile; Rupert was often a useful distraction.
“You rarely come out. Ever since it went south with what’s-his-name. Always thought you were too good for him, you know. Sir!” Rupert attempted to flag down a footman several feet away, but the man’s tray was emptied long before he was able to fight his way toward them. “Hell’s bells,” Rupert muttered.
The reporter—Genevieve, Daniel corrected himself—stood with her mouth gaping, seeming too stunned to speak. Whatever breakup Rupert had been alluding to was clearly a sore spot. Daniel mentally filed the information.
“Language, Rupert,” came a mild reproach. Their hostess, Sarah Huffington, sleek as a seal in a steel-gray gown, sidled up on Daniel’s left. He passed a speculative eye back toward Genevieve, wondering how willing she might be to discuss publicly what had transpired between them in Five Points.
Her mouth was set tight with anger, though she seemed to be regaining her composure. As he watched, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin a notch, a stance he recognized from the night before, when she’d similarly squared off against Paddy and Billy. She fixed him with a meaningful look, accompanied by the slightest raise of a delicate left brow. Her combined stance all but shouted your move.
Daniel took a slow, deliberate sip of champagne and weighed his options. Would she allow her reporter’s instincts to outweigh social niceties and expose him?
No, he thought. If she had been invited to the Huffingtons’ ball, she was high society, and social decorum had been drilled into her since birth. She wouldn’t risk it.
He answered her raised brow with a gentle quirk of his own.
Go on, it said. I call your bluff.
Rupert’s gaze bounced between the two of them as if he were watching a tennis match. Never able to abide silence for too long, he broke the increasingly tense moment.
“My apologies. Are the two of you not acquainted? Daniel McCaffrey, may I introduce Miss Genevieve Stewart?”
Her challenging gaze didn’t alter as she leisurely extended a gloved hand for him to shake. He took it, unsurprised and satisfied by the firmness of her grip.
“Heavens, did I fail in my duties as hostess?” Sarah Huffington drawled, watching the exchange with avarice. “I rather thought we’d stumbled upon a lovers’ quarrel. Rupert and I do enjoy a good scene.”
“Well, if it’s a scene you want, you’re about to get one.” Rupert dropped his voice to a mock whisper. “Elmira Bradley is heading this way.”
“Oh, that odious woman,” Sarah sighed, twitching her red curls briefly as she made a moue of distaste. “You know I wouldn’t have them in the house, but Andrew insisted. He and Amos have made piles of money together, and are about to embark on some other new venture. I’m very fond of the money, but I find her most disagreeable.”
Daniel kept his features neutral, casually glancing toward Mrs. Bradley, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Genevieve almost imperceptibly stiffen another degree.
“Let’s take to the dance floor and avoid her, then.” Rupert smiled persuasively, holding out his arm. “I’ve most certainly had my fill of Elmira Bradley for the night.” Sarah treated him to a look of amused condescension but acquiesced, laying a delicate hand on his elbow.
“You lovebirds ought to follow suit,” she advised over her shoulder.
Sarah Huffington’s teasing didn’t bother Daniel; the well-known socialite, recently married to a shipping magnate thrice her age, was a malicious gossip who enjoyed stirring up trouble, then stepping back to observe the results. Miss Stewart seemed to be having a different reaction, though, as she let out a small, frustrated huff.
Again Daniel found himself weighing his options. Mrs. Bradley had been waylaid by some acquaintances, and he and Genevieve were alone. Her light-brown eyes were assessing, and she appeared to be deciding whether there was enough privacy to speak. He could take his leave, but if she was as dogged as he suspected, she’d be hanging about his office doorstep soon enough, no doubt waving a notebook in his face and asking more of the kinds of questions that could get her killed.
Best to satisfy at least some of her curiosity now.
Depositing his glass on a small table nearby, he held out his elbow.
“Dance with me.”
She blinked at his offered arm as if he were presenting her with a poisonous viper, and for the barest of moments
