The rich tones of his voice reminded her of how he had whispered to her in the intimate darkness of Hawksworth’s study. Her nerves danced nearly out of her control before she sharply reined them in. She could manage this.
The chances of Mr. Bentley associating her with the woman from that night had to be slim to none, considering all he had to go on was the sound of her voice in a low whisper. Certainly not enough to entertain the possibility that the same woman would reappear in his club, seeking a position as his bookkeeper.
So why did it feel as though her heart beat at twice its natural pace?
Emma tried to get past her anxiety and view the situation rationally. She was here now. She just needed to make it through the interview without doing or saying anything that might give her away.
And try again to forget the excitement of standing in the dark with him, and the stirring sensation of his lips on hers.
Emma Louise Chadwick!
She could manage this.
She had to.
But even if she made it through the interview and he actually offered her the job, could she fathom working for this man every day?
He was still waiting for her answer.
She cleared her throat. “I am.”
The expression on his far-too-handsome face did not change. “What is your name?”
“Mrs. Adams, sir.” The name fell oddly from her tongue. She hoped he would not notice.
Emma had thought about it on the drive over and decided not to provide her given name. It was vital no one discover just how bad the Chadwicks’ circumstances were. And a married woman garnered more respect, influence, and protection than an unmarried one.
“I am Roderick Bentley, owner and proprietor of this club. Have you any references, Mrs. Adams?”
“No, sir,” she answered.
“Any record of your past employment?”
“No.”
One slashing brow arced just a bit over his steady gaze. “Have you had any past employment?”
Emma resisted a frown. He certainly got to the point, didn’t he? The trepidation that danced down her spine spread across her shoulders, making them ache with discomfort. She had hoped to have an opportunity to prove her abilities before hashing over these unfortunate details. “No, sir, I have not.”
He paused for a moment before asking, “What exactly qualifies you for this position?”
Though his expression remained emotionless and quite businesslike, Emma detected a note of amusement in his voice. She felt herself getting defensive.
“I admit my experience to date has been limited”—she would need to stretch the truth a bit—“but I am adept at various applications of mathematics and accounting. I am confident I possess the skills necessary for managing the financial accounts of a successful business.”
Nerves made her answer sound stiff and arrogant, but she saw no reason to elaborate further. Either he would be able to look past her lack of experience or he wouldn’t.
He did not reply right away. Leaning back in his chair, he rested his splayed hands on the surface of his thighs and stared at her over his desk with a strange sort of quiet concentration. It was as if he was searching for something that could not be seen.
Though nothing in his expression changed, he tilted his head to the side.
Emma was reminded of how he had studied her in the same way behind the curtain. Then, he could not possibly have seen anything beyond the shadowed outline of her person. But now, she felt terribly exposed under his regard as she stood in the center of the room.
She fought to keep herself standing confident and strong. She would not be intimidated by his manner or distracted by his striking attractiveness.
After a long, distressing moment, he leaned forward again and rested his forearms on his desk. His features relaxed in a way that did not manage to ease Emma’s concern. In fact, the glitter in his gaze and the hint of a smile hovering around his lips triggered a rush of self-awareness.
“Do you understand the type of business I run here?” he asked.
Hearing the patronizing tone, Emma responded with a tight little smile. “It appears to be a social club.”
“Is that all you know?”
The tone of his voice lowered. It was as if he were trying to discomfit her, make her uneasy and self-conscious.
It was fortunate for her she was already as nervous as she could get.
She raised her brows in innocent query. “Should I know more? Is your club infamous, Mr. Bentley?”
His lips twitched. Emma got the impression he detected the sarcasm in her response and it amused him.
“Some would say so,” he replied. “Does that concern you?”
Of course it did.
“Of course not.” She kept her tone steady, refusing to show the slightest hint of apprehension. She first needed to succeed in obtaining an offer for the position, then she could decide if she would actually accept it.