She tried not to smile back. “And here I thought that you took the piece I wrote about the events of the other night for what it was—a threat to expose you publicly. I thought you’d absconded in response.”
“Of course not.” He leaned against her doorframe. “I did take your warning. It was clever of you, Miss Marshall, to make it clear that you have yet another hold over me. I can hardly begrudge you that.”
He appeared to be serious about that.
Free shook her head. “On the contrary. That seems precisely the sort of thing a person usually holds a grudge about.”
“Ah, but if I were that sort of man, you wouldn’t find me nearly so compelling.” Without being invited, he walked into her office. He didn’t seat himself at one of her chairs; he leaned against her desk, as if he had every right to come so close. “A man must make choices: He can become enraged for no reason on the one hand, or he might impress men and women on the other.” He shrugged. “I’ve chosen to be charming. Is it working?”
God, she’d forgotten how utterly outrageous he was. Time to wrestle this conversation back under her control. “Mr. Clark,” she said as sternly as she could manage, “never tell me that you’re doing that again.”
“Which of my myriad flaws is making you uneasy, Miss Marshall?” He gave her a long, slow smile. “Is it my arrogant conceit or my wicked sense of humor?”
“Neither,” Free answered. “I rather like both of those. It’s just that you’re trying to use my attraction to you to set me on edge.” She smiled at him. “It won’t work. I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and it hasn’t made me stupid once.”
He froze, his hand on the edge of her desk.
“Did you expect me to deny it?” Free shrugged as complacently as she could. “You should read more of my newspaper. I published an excellent essay by Josephine Butler on this very subject. Men use sexuality as a tool to shut up women. We are not allowed to speak on matters that touch on sexual intercourse—even if they concern our own bodies and our own freedom—for fear of being labeled indelicate. Any time a man wishes to scare a woman into submission, he need only add the question of sexual attraction, leaving the virtuous woman with no choice but to blush and fall silent. You should know, Mr. Clark, that I don’t intend to fall silent. I have already been labeled indelicate; there is nothing you can add to that chorus.”
His mouth had dropped open on sexuality; it opened wider on intercourse, and wider still on attraction.
“I’ve found,” Free said, “although Mrs. Butler would hardly agree, that the best way to deal with the tactic is to speak of sexual attraction in terms of clear, unquestionable facts. The same men who try to make me feel uneasy by hinting at an attraction can never live up to their own innuendos. Once I show that I will not be cowed, that facts are facts and I will not hide from them, they’re always the ones who blush and fall silent.”
“I’ve mentioned before that I’m not like the rest of them.” He shifted on her desk, turning to face her. “I have only fallen silent because listening to you admit an attraction to me is far more pleasant than speaking myself.” He gestured. “Please continue on. What else do you like about me?”
There was something about him that made her feel daring.
“Alas,” Free said briskly. “There’s nothing more. I’ve run through all the praise I can muster. You have an admittedly splendid physique, but it is unfortunately wasted on a man burdened with your abysmal personality.”
He laughed at that. “Brava, Miss Marshall. That is my besetting sin, is it not?”
He was the only man she’d ever met who was stymied by compliments and yet accepted her worst insults as his due.
“So you see,” Free said, “we’re all better off if we can just admit these things without putting too much significance on the matter. Let’s skip that rigmarole and get down to business. Why are you here, Mr. Clark?”
“Does anyone ever get the best of you?”
“Yes,” she returned, “but only when I choose to give it to them.”
“Ah.”
“Now, tell me, Mr. Clark. Did you come here to allow me the chance to once again demonstrate my intellectual superiority, or did you have some actual business?”
“You don’t need to demonstrate your superiority to me. I take it as a given on all fronts.” He reached into his coat, removed a notebook, and began to flip through it.
He was arrogant. And conceited. And yet… He had never denied her credit for any thought she’d had. It was hard to remind herself that she didn’t dare like him.
He creased the spine of his notebook. “I’ve not been idle these last weeks. I’ve been doing some work on your behalf. Here we are. I introduced myself to Mr. Calledon, owner of the Portsmouth Herald, and asked him how he came to write that extraordinary column mirroring yours.”
“And he simply told you?”