All Men Are Rogues by Sari Robins Page A

blame him. Yet he held no words of criticism for her conduct thus far. Instead, he asked her once again to carry a knife on her person and cautioned her to be wary. Father had always liked Ismet for his focus on action above all else. She had ignored her trusty servant’s advice regarding the knife, however, believing that she ought to be safe in broad daylight with Justin. Whoever was plaguing her seemed devious but not intent on harming her person, just rattling her confidence. She pictured her nemesis as a shriveled-up rat dressing in a dark men’s suit with an intricately tied, constrictive neck cloth, sitting behind a large black desk rubbing his spiky claws together in glee as he plotted mischief. Cowardly, underhanded, and afraid of being seen in the light of day—that was her enemy.
    In the shade of the buildings they came upon an odd structure pocketed inside a narrow alleyway between two tall houses. The edifice was squat and square in the midst of rows of lofty, rectangular buildings. It had stubby windows and a covered entrance, shrouded in gloom.
    “What is this place?” she asked warily.
    Justin took out a key and approached the stubby wooden entry. He unlocked it and pushed it open. It squeaked noisily.
    Frowning at the hinges, he commented, “I will have someone oil that straightaway.”
    He turned to her and extended his hand. She watched him a long moment. He had been remote, aloof, and a bit cool this afternoon. Evelyn had assumed that her mood clouded her perceptions, but suddenly suspicion reared in her mind.
    “What place is this, Justin?”
    Still holding his hand out to her, he let out a long breath. “It is my brother’s private place. Was. Was his private place.”
    She blinked. She had been so caught up in her own worries that she had not realized that Justin was battling demons of his own. That he was reaching out to her and she was simply too preoccupied with herself to recognize his unseen struggle. She bit her lip. She was going to have to do better being a friend to this man who had opened himself to her. She recognized that his admission the prior afternoon had been some sort of breakthrough for him. That he had shared a painful family secret that tore at his gut and that he was treading on unfamiliar ground.
    She slipped her gloved hand into his and followed him through the threshold. She was amazed to find herself amidst rows and rows of colorful books of all shapes and sizes. They were jammed and piled in haphazard array on tall bookshelves that spanned every wall of the narrow room. A window wedged in the corner of the ceiling provided shadowed afternoon light.
    “I have not touched anything, except to have it cleaned,” he commented tightly.
    They stepped through a doorway and into a comfortable parlor, where a fire burned brightly in the hearth. The scent of cloves hung heavily in the air. Evelyn turned about the room, noting the mismatched plaid chairs, plush oriental carpets, and long green sofa with well-worn wooden legs. The furniture was obviously for comfort, not show. The focal point of the room, however, was the hand-carved secretary that sat in the corner near the fire. From across the tiny space, one could easily see the beauty of the piece. The intricate legs were carved in the shapes of jungle animals. Monkeys wrapped their arms around tree branches that became elephant trunks that wound around and turned into tigers’ tails.
    “It is magnificent,” she stated as she walked toward the desk. She pulled off her gloves and crouched. She traced her fingers down the elaborate wooden legs. “What wood is this?”
    “Mahogany.”
    “Beautiful,” she breathed. The delicate giraffe’s ears poked under her fingertips.
    She looked up. He stood there, transfixed as stone, staring at her. Why did she suddenly feel as if she was being examined for imperfections? Was he afraid of exposing too much? Did he fear her response?
    She stood. “This is a very special