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Brent held his arm out, taking a long-distance measurement of the stubby-legged man, then drew his hand to mid-chest. "Will he run over here and kick me in the shins until I crumple into a heap and cry for help?''
    Jewel bit her lip and glowered up at him, but he became a blur as she strained to glare through the thick glasses she'd donned for the assignment. Her eyes began twitching and blinking with involuntary spasms.
    Brent jerked his chin back and stared at her. "What's the matter with your eyes? You're not going to pull that fainting act on me again, are you? I'm warning you, if you try it, I'll just let you fall."
    "My eyes are fine. They're a little tired, that's all." But they kept on blinking, in spite of her efforts to calm them.
    "If you're quite through harassing me, I believe I'll join my father."
    "Indulge me a moment longer, if you will. I don't believe I remember hearing your name—the real one. And I would also like to know the name of the man with you."
    He had no right to know the answer to either question. She had no obligation to give them. But as she studied him, remembering the first time they'd met, she knew he wouldn't give up easily. He was as determined as he was handsome, as perceptive as he was cocky. If answering the questions—with the fabrications she'd settled on for the assignment—would appease him, it might be worth giving in to him. If her instincts were right, he wouldn't rest until he thought he knew all about her. Silently cussing him, she settled on a plausible story for their earlier meeting.
    "All right, sir. I can't hide the truth any longer, but please... don't tell my father about—you know . ." With a dramatic sigh, Jewel whispered, "That horrid little affair in Chicago."
    Brent rolled his eyes to the heavens. "I wouldn't dream of such a dreadful thing, ma'am. Do go on."
    "Of course." She choked back an imaginary sob. "My name is Jewel MacMillan. And that man is my true father, Archie. Everyone calls him Mac."
    "And dear departed Scotty?"
    "He, ah... Well, it's a truly painful story, sir."
    "I'll try not to cry."
    Her nostrils flared and her green eyes widened, nearly filling the lenses of the spectacles perched on her nose.
    Brent squinted and leaned back. "I don't mean to be indelicate, ma'am, but do you suppose you could remove your spectacles until we've finished talking? I believe if I have to look into them much longer, I'll be gooch-eyed for life."
    If the man hadn't been so damned insufferable and nosy, Jewel would have thanked him for the suggestion. As it was, she merely pursed her lips and plucked the offensive glasses from their perch.
    "Thanks, ma'am. Now then, as you were saying? Scotty was your...?"
    "He was my nothing," she snapped. "He forced me to accompany him on a wild gambling binge—kidnapped me, if you will. I was happy when he was killed and I could return to my father and the genteel life I was used to."
    Brent arched an eyebrow and pushed the toothpick to the far corner of his mouth. "Genteel? I somehow doubt that. But back to your father—ah, this newest one, that is—does he know of the indignities you've so recently suffered?"
    "Ah, no, sir, he is blissfully unaware of my adventures in Chicago. I'd be eternally grateful if you'd just forget all about my sordid past and never mention it again."
    "That is the first thing you've told me that I believe may actually be the truth."
    Even though she had to do it with clenched teeth, Jewel gave him her best smile. "Then I hope I can trust your word as a"—she nearly choked on the word—"gentleman to keep my little secret."
    "I give you my word, my dear,'' he said with a grin that surpassed hers. "And please do rest assured that my word is every bit as good as yours."
    It was a struggle, but she managed to keep a pleasant, if somewhat frozen, expression. "Thank you again, Mr.—ah, I seem to have forgotten your name, sir."
    "Connors," he said, his dimples receding. "Brent Sebastian Connors of the