Perhaps he should call her bluff and suggest she bring her aunt into his office, but no matter how intently he searched her eyes, he couldn’t be sure she was lying about her aunt. It was possible her tale, fanciful though it was, was the unvarnished truth. That might result in him breaking the until-now-inviolate rule that no one but he and the register clerks were ever allowed to view the Breeding Register for some fussy old dear.

Who could not be counted on not to spread the word.

“I’m afraid, Miss Dalling, that all I can tell you is that the entries in the register comprise a listing of licenses granted to individual horses to race under Jockey Club rules.” He spread his hands in commiseration. “That’s really all I’m at liberty to divulge.”

Her green eyes had grown crystalline, hard. “How very mysterious.”

He smiled faintly. “You have to allow us our secrets.”

The distance between them was too great for him to be sure, but he thought her eyes snapped. For an instant, the outcome hung in the balance-whether she would retreat, or try some other, possibly more high-handed means of persuasion-but then she sighed again, lifted her reticule from her lap, and smoothly rose.

Dillon rose, too, surprised by a very real impulse to do something to prolong her visit. But then rounding the desk, he drew close enough to see the expression in her eyes. There was temper there-an Irish temper to match her accent. It was presently leashed, but she was definitely irritated and annoyed with him.

Because she hadn’t been able to bend him to her will.

He felt his lips curve, saw annoyance coalesce and intensify in her eyes. She really ought to have known just by looking that he wasn’t likely to fall victim to her charms.