Elizabeth had a will to find, and a deed to deliver. Such an important task required…
Forty percent of her focus. She smiled.
Rolling up carpets and tapping for hollow stones did not require genius-level concentration. The rest of her brain was free to concoct fully operatic fantasies in which she reprised her attack onMr. Lenox’s clothing—all of it, this time—then abducted him at sword-point, and spirited him away on a black stallion, upon which he would then make love to her with uncontrolled passion.
Unprofessional, of course. And more than a little improbable. Logistics aside, she wasn’t certain her body could withstand a vigorousanythingatop a galloping horse.
Then again, she and Mr. Lenox were arm’s reach from a bed. Elizabeth was very good at lying on beds. Cushioned surfaces of any kind, really. Parlor sofas, chaises longues, a carpet in the middle of the floor…
He brushed her elbow briefly. “Where are you off to now?”
To the bed. With him. Where he could touch her arm again, if he promised not to stop there. Perhaps there were still a few things left to explore in this room after all.
“Er,” she managed. Where was a bucket of cold water when you needed one?
“We should eat something.” His gaze had not left hers. “I was going to ask you to join me for supper tonight, if that’s something you—”
“Yes. I want.” Her stomach growled in anticipation. Possibly unrelated to the menu.
He lifted his hand again but paused before touching her this time. “Do you mind if I—”
Do it. Push me against the wall and have your wicked way with me. Do it now.
But before she could voice her enthusiastic consent to whatever sinful pleasures Mr. Lenox wished to acquire permission for, the corridor filled with what sounded like… church bells?
“Subtle,” she told him. “And a little preemptive. I prefer to dabble in sin before making permanent vows.”
“It’s the early warning system.” Mr. Lenox dropped his hand, and his gaze flicked over her shoulder. “The perimeter has been breached.”
“By whom?” Her battle-axes were back in her room. She patted her bosom for concealed knives and found two. Twice as many as she needed. “Is it Reddington?”
Mr. Lenox watched her hands with interest, then visibly collected himself. “Shall we go and find out?”
11
Stephen hurried down the spiral steps, his boots sliding over the worn stone. He was halfway to the ground floor before he remembered he usually wentupinstead of down. His best telescopes were in the corner turrets. But he had been thinking about kissing, not logic.
Ever since Elizabeth Wynchester had arrived, he’d been at sixes and sevens, his normally orderly mind a jumble. As though his brain were one of his careful, complex machines, and she’d come and taken an axe to it.
There was no sense turning around. McCarthy was striding up the primary corridor toward the staircase, a peevish expression on his wizened face. Most likely because the older man preferred greeting visitors with a warm welcome, and Stephen was spoiling his fun.
“Technically, everything you’re vexed about is Densmore’s fault,” Stephen reminded the butler for the dozenth time. “The door is barred to callers because his lordship ordered it so. I am here in his stead for the same reason.”
McCarthy let out a long-suffering sigh, as though everything that had ever been wrong in the world had always been his lordship’s fault.
“Miss Oak has come to call,” he announced. “Again. Shall I have her thrown in the dungeon?”
“Please don’t,” said Stephen. “I’m expecting another shipmenttomorrow, and caring for a hostage would disrupt the smoothness of the delivery. Just ignore her, as you’ve been doing.”
“No,” said Miss Wynchester. “Let her in.”
At this impertinent interruption, regal McCarthy looked torn between delight and disdain. Though the butler was appalled to hear a visitor countermand the orders of her host, Miss Wynchester had voted for the exact outcome McCarthy himself wished.
“Granting an audience is pointless,” Stephen told Miss Wynchester. “There’s no information to impart. We don’t have the deed. We didn’t find the will. There’s no sign of any clues to any puzzle. I could sum up our progress on a single sheet of paper by leaving both sides blank.”
“She makes biscuits,” said Miss Wynchester. “And she’s my client. As soon as she gets what she needs,youget to go home, too. Miss Oak doesn’t even know you’re here! She thinks her nephew has been ignoring her calls. Can we not spare a quarter hour?”
Stephen never wished to entertain other humans for a single moment, much less fifteen minutes. But Miss Wynchester had proven surprisingly tolerable. She somehow tempted him to act against his better judgment.
