Laura Lee Guhrke by Not So Innocent

worm out of Violet if he had the chance. She followed her aunt down to the conservatory, where Dunbar was waiting for them.
    He was studying a table of Sophie’s prize orchids when they entered the conservatory. He heard their footsteps on the terrazzo floor and turned toward them, straightening to his full height as they approached. He was so tall that the ballerina-skirted fuchsias trailing down from the hanging baskets overhead touched his hair and caressed his broad shoulders, in sharp contrastto his dark hair and the gray morning suit, white shirt, and navy silk tie he wore.
    He was such a large man and so powerfully built that he seemed to utterly dominate the feminine environment around him. Against the backdrop of soft pastoral frescoes and delicate ferns, surrounded by statues and flowers, he was such a stalwart presence of masculine strength and implacability that Sophie caught her breath. Her steps faltered, and she stumbled to a halt, staring at him.
    Violet, however, seemed delighted to see the dreadful man, and she came forward to greet him with ease. “So, you are Sophie’s dream man.” She looked him over with approval and completely feminine appreciation for a moment, then ushered him to one of the cushioned wicker chairs that looked out over the rose garden. She seated herself on the wicker settee opposite and added, “She didn’t tell me how handsome you were.”
    A modest man, a man of breeding, would have been embarrassed by such a compliment. Dunbar laughed, leaning back in his chair, looking completely at ease. “Thank you, ma’am.”
    Sophie sat down right beside her aunt. She didn’t want to visit with him or watch him bask in Violet’s admiration like a well-fed lion in the sun, but she had no choice. She must protect Auntie and make sure he didn’t weasel any information out of her that was none of his business.
    “Dunbar is a Scottish name,” Violet commented in a conversational tone. “Is there by chance Irish in your ancestry?”
    “I have no idea,” he replied.
    Sophie received a sudden flash of insight. “Mr. Dunbar is an orphan, Auntie.”
    Dunbar turned his head, giving Sophie a look of surprise. “I was orphaned as a boy,” he admitted. “But how did you know that, Miss Haversham?”
    Violet laughed. “Oh, Inspector, Sophie knows so many things about people, it’s uncanny. You are already aware of how she warned you that your life was in danger, so you can see she has dreams about the future. She can even sense people’s thoughts.”
    “Is that so, ma’am?” he asked politely and returned to their former subject. “To answer your question, I never knew my parents, and I don’t know very much about my ancestry. But my Christian name is Michael, and my friends call me Mick, which is definitely Irish. Why do you ask if my ancestry is Irish?”
    “You have Irish eyes. Blue, with those thick black lashes. Put in by an angel with a smutty finger. You know the saying, I’m sure.”
    “I have heard it before, ma’am.” He turned his head and met Sophie’s steady gaze with a smile. “I may not be able to read people’s thoughts, but I can guess yours at this moment, Miss Haversham. I don’t think you want to discuss my eyes.”
    “You are correct, sir.”
    He smiled at the primness in her voice. “We could discuss yours,” he murmured. “Brown, like chocolate. I’m quite fond of chocolate.”
    There was something in the way he said the word
chocolate
—slowly, as if savoring the remembered taste of it—that was quite improper.
    Her face grew hot.
    “Tell me, Inspector,” Violet said, not seeming to notice her niece’s discomfiture, “have you any idea who is threatening your life?”
    “He thinks I’m the one who shot at him, Auntie, or that I know who did. He thinks that I or someone I know goes around shooting innocent people in parks in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. He thinks there is no way I could have known an attempt would be