“He doesn’t mean any disrespect,” Patrick said quietly, his gaze on her face. “He’s just not accustomed to having to watch his language. I’m afraid you’re going to find we’re all guilty in that respect. We don’t get many ladies in Hell’s Bluff.”

“I’m not offended, just a bit surprised.” She looked searchingly at Patrick Delaney’s face. “I wonder if you know a man I’m going to Hell’s Bluff to see, Dominic Delaney.”

The boy’s indolent position didn’t change, but Elspeth had the impression that he had suddenly become alert. He crossed his legs at the ankles, his gaze on the dusty toe of his boot. “Everyone in Hell’s Bluff knows Dominic.”

“You have the same surname. Are you perhaps related?”

“Dominic Delaney.” Andre Marzonoff’s eyes were wide with surprise and excitement. “The gunslinger? He’s in Hell’s Bluff right now?”

“Dominic is no gunslinger.” Patrick enunciated each word carefully. “However, on occasion he’s been known to have permanently removed a few gentlemen, who have displeased him. I happen to know one of the things that displeases him most is to be called a gunslinger.”

The underlying menace in Patrick’s voice seemed to make little impression on the Russian. “I will be discreet. Will you be so kind as to give me an introduction?” he asked with enthusiasm.

Elspeth stared at him in amazement. How very curious. The count had just been told Dominic Delaney had actually killed a number of unfortunates and yet he was behaving as if the man were a god from Olympus. She shifted her gaze back to Patrick Delaney.

He was studying her with the same, cold analytical keenness she had seen on her father’s face a thousand times when he was studying a hieroglyphic-or lecturing her on one of her faults. Patrick Delaney no longer looked like a boy but seemed suddenly fully mature and vaguely threatening. “And do you need an introduction, too, Miss MacGregor?” he asked softly.