His logic is sound: falshoods spun in a web of truth. It is curious that the words he uses to misdirect confirms everything she already knows. Audrey looks down and turns the near-empty bottle in her hands, her wrists all but pinched together as she feigns deep thought.<br/><br/>The King of Spades is good indeed. And cute. And charming. His presence is powerful, as if he could fill the room with his spirit. It's more difficult to think clearly with him sitting so close to her. Audrey knows she needs to keep her wits, despite the traces of alcohol seeping into her bloodstream. Yes, it is the drink making her so nervous. It has nothing to do with the man across the table. Nope! Nothing at all.<br/><br/>Smirking, Audrey turns her gaze up. His face is closer now, as he leans in close, those dark eyes drawing her in. There's a kindness in those eyes, but also mirth. And something more... something dark and uncompromising. No. This isn't working. He's too close, and Audrey cannot hide her flushed cheeks as their knuckles brush against each other--the barest trace of a touch--but she can feel the heat raidating off his skin.<br/><br/>Audrey looks down again, and leans back. She finishes her drink, and sets the bottle on the table between them. "You're right," she finally concedes, not believing his innocence for a moment, "I shouldn't have assumed you did it. There's still an ongoing investigation. My apologies, sir."<br/><br/>Excitement, laced with guilt, courses through her. Part of her can't wait to see the look on is face when he realizes that she stole his painting away from him again. And yet, if his story is true--and she found herself believing it--then taking that painting means taking away of his family's heritage. It no longer matters where the painting comes from. Taking the painting could mean taking away a piece of him. It suddenly makes this task far less interesting than foiling some mastermind's plans.<br/><br/>Pity.