Page 10 of The Hunter

Dangerous urges. Dangerous to him.

Though surrounded by people, Millie found him at once. Her head snapped up as though she’d heard his thoughts articulated above the drone of the crowd.

But Argent was certain she knew nothing of his intentions, because her eyes became warm midnight pools of delight the moment she noted him.

Excusing herself from her adoring public, she pressed through the throng as the orchestra began to play once more. She didn’t stop until she stood in front of him, unaware, or uncaring, that all eyes were on them both.

“I have found you,” she announced with a coy smile.

Argent had no idea what she meant. Maybe she knew why he was here. Maybe someone had warned her of the contract drawn against her life. Perhaps she was as unafraid and unfeeling as himself. A human free from the chains of pathos.

It still didn’t change anything.

“It is I, Miss LeCour, who have found you.”

And it is I who will end you.

***

Millie couldn’t believe her luck. Herehewas, the night’s audience of one. She’d never had the pleasure of actuallymeetingone of them before. And to be in the presence of this particular man was an unexpected pleasure. Could it be that somehow he’d felt that strange, electric connection that she had experienced from the stage?

That would be terribly romantic, wouldn’t it?

“I thought this was a private gathering, Mr.…” She looked at him expectantly, offering her hand for an introduction.

“Mr. Drummle,” he answered, leaning over her hand, but not kissing it. “Bentley Drummle.”

Millie was unable to hold in a sound of mirth.

“My name amuses you?”

Everything about him amused her.

“Not at all.” She rushed to cover any offense. “It’s only that you don’t look like a Bentley.”

“Oh? And what name would you deem appropriate for me?”

Millie regarded him with gathering interest, somehow unable to answer his question. He didn’t look like he’d have a proper English name at all. He was nothing like the slim, elegant, fashionable men-about-town she was usually introduced to at these parties. Indeed, with his thick locks of hair the most uncommon shade of auburn, startling blue eyes, and raw, broad bones, he seemed as though he belonged on a Celtic battlefield wielding a claymore against Saxon intruders. Though his handsome features were relaxed into a mild expression, something dangerous shimmered in the air about him. Something… she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It wasn’t violence or anger. Nor was it anything unbalanced or wrong. Could it be that when he smiled, it didn’t reach those fiercely blue eyes?

She searched those eyes now, her smile fading just a little. They were like ice, and not only because of the color. A glacial chill emanated from behind them. Charm and geniality warmed the slight curve of his hard mouth, but looking into those eyes was like staring across an endless arctic tundra. Bleak and empty.

Suddenly she was anxious, and, truth be told, more than a little intrigued. “I fear I’m drawing a blank at the moment,” she admitted, surprised how breathless she sounded as she pulled her hand away from his.

He seemed to loom over her, a menace affecting a purposefully nonthreatening air. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, perhaps? Though he was fair-skinned and light-eyed, he evoked a current of darkness. As though he carried the shadows with him in case he needed their protection.

However, Millie was fair certain that there was precious little that didn’t need protectionfromhim. A chill raised her skin, even though warmth suffused other parts of her. Parts she studiously tried to ignore.

“How did you say you came to be here?” she asked.

His expression changed from mild to sheepish, which sat uncomfortably on a face as brutal as his. “I was invited by a friend of a friend, actually. I forget her name. Quite tall, fair hair. Younger than she looks, but then older than she claims.” He winked at her, his eyes crinkling with endearing groves. Not yet a smile, but the promise of one.

“Oh, do you mean Gertrude?” she asked.

“That’s the one.” He nodded, then scanned the crowd as though halfheartedly looking for the lady in question. “We have a mutual acquaintance by the name of Richard Swiveller, do you know him?”

Millie shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

He shrugged a gigantic shoulder and the movement rippled over his expensive evening jacket. “No matter. These private parties are hardly intimate, are they?”