“Not until you hand over Judge Greene’s money.”
“Money?” She struggled with every ounce of her strength, and managed to lengthen the space between them by an entire four inches. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“So we’re back to that. You might want to reconsider your denial in light of your present situation.” He spun her around to face him, clamped his hands on her shoulders and dropped an assessing glance over her. “As you must agree, you are in no position to argue.”
Far too aware of his hands on her shoulders, she swallowed back a sarcastic retort. She should be furious with indignation. Yet, as he held her trapped inside his gaze a strange, almost pleasant situation rippled through her.
What was wrong with her? This man was the enemy. The enemy! “You seem to be under the impression that you are in control right now.”
His fingers flexed, then gripped her again. Not any harder, just more securely. “Wonder where I’d come by such an idea?”
His smug attitude quickened the fight in her. Calling upon the lessons she’d learned from the friendly Chinese man at the mining camp outside Cheyenne, Laney dropped low, then bobbed to her right. She managed to surprise Dupree long enough to free herself for a full half second.
But he reached out, grasped her again then lifted her back to an upright position.
“Release me, you oaf.”
Placing her directly in front of him, he flattened his lips into a grim line. For a brief moment, their feet shuffled in a bizarre dance of wills while she tried to get free and he made sure she didn’t.
Fully in control of the situation, Dupree concluded their perplexing waltz once he had her in a spot where her only route of escape was through him.
Apparently satisfied with this new arrangement, he released her shoulders at last. “Now.” His low, gravelly drawl drifted through the air between them. “Where were we?”
A shudder of unease racked through her. “Your manly display of physical intimidation is rather pedestrian, don’t you think? Especially in light of the fact that I have done nothing wrong here tonight.”
“You claim innocence, yet you tried to make a quick escape before my return. And now that we’re on the subject.” His eyes narrowed over her. “I don’t remember giving you permission to borrow my clothes.”
She jerked her chin at him. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
Keeping her eyes locked with his, she faked to the right, then shifted quickly to her left. He shot out a restraining arm, and once again, moved her back to center.
“I’m warning you, Dupree—”
“Dispensing of the ‘mister,’ are we?”
Laney sniffed. “Mister implies a gentleman.” She trailed her gaze across his far too handsome face, down to his fancy vest then back again. “Regardless of the manner in which you dress, we both know you are no gentleman.”
“And since you are no lady, am I to assume we can dispense of any further pretense of good manners?”
Without waiting for her to respond, he reached out and captured a loose tendril of her hair, twined it around his finger.
For a long, stifling moment the strange sensation she’d experienced only moments before slipped through her again, freezing her into immobility. Why wasn’t she slapping his hand away? Had she no pride left?
Yes, of course she did.
Calling upon every bit of her outrage, she said, “Release me this instant.”
“In due time. But first.” He let go of her hair. “I want that money.”
“Well, you can’t have it.”
Even in the dim light she could see the exact moment his patience ran out. He grabbed for her reticule.
“Oh, no.” She whipped her arm behind her back. “This money is rightfully mine, given to me for a very good reason.”
“So you say.” He stopped his approach and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you are innocent, as you keep claiming, then you should have no problem sharing with me why Judge Greene gave you the money.”
“I...can’t tell you.”
“Of course you can’t.”
For reasons unknown to her, Laney again wished she could tell this man the truth. Marc Dupree would be a powerful ally against the likes of Thurston P. Prescott III.
“All right, Miss O’Connor. Since you refuse to do so yourself, let me explain the situation for you.”
She swallowed back a sarcastic retort and thought through her options. Except for crashing through him, she was stuck. For now.
“From your speech alone, I can only assume you’re an educated woman. And since we both know an educated woman can earn money in a variety of ways, your presence here tonight can mean only one of two things.”
Oh, how she hated that self-righteous tone in his voice, the one that sounded far too much like a banker she knew. “You have it all figured out, don’t you, Dupree?”
“Sadly, I do.” He dropped his hands to his sides and let out a regretful sigh. “The way I see it, you are either blackmailing Judge Greene or—”
“Blackmail?” Laney’s breath clogged in her throat. The nerve of the man. The gall. Next, he’d be calling her out for prostitution.
“Or...” he leaned over her “...the judge was soliciting your services for the evening.”
And there it was. The nasty accusation she’d feared. She barely resisted the urge to slap him, knowing the gesture would serve no purpose. Which only added to her frustration. “You scoundrel.”
He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Either way, neither activity is allowed in my hotel. So, again, I suggest you hand over the money with no more fuss so I may return it to Judge Greene.”
“You seem to take great pleasure in thinking the worst in people.”
“Not all people.”
Out of patience herself, she placed her palms on his chest and shoved. Hard.
He didn’t budge an inch. Provoking beyond measure, yet invaluable information for the future.
“I know firsthand what women like you are about, Miss O’Connor.”
“Making assumptions again?”
“Absolutely. But I will admit, as reprehensible as I find your choice of lifestyle, I’m certain there are others who find you alluring and appreciate your, shall we call them...talents.”
Laney sidled to her left.
Dupree scooted her back to the right.
“Talents?” she asked in an overly polite tone. “What sort of talents are we talking about?” As if she didn’t know what he meant.
“For one, you dress like a well-bred lady with an accomplished eye for style.” He dropped his gaze a moment. “Your present attire not included.”
This time, she strayed to the right.
He hauled her back to center. “You speak with perfect diction, somewhat uncommon in these parts. And, most recently, you climbed out of my window with the finesse of a—”
“Skilled acrobat?”
“Precisely.”