The chest of drawers was bolted both to the floor and the wall—no doubt to keep the occupant safe in inclement weather—so there was no way in which someone might hide something there.
A thump from overhead made her pulse skip, and she stilled to listen for any sign of the earl’s return. There was no pugnacious shouting forthcoming, so she lowered to her knees and bent to inspect beneath the bed.
It was darker there, but she could discern the outlines of a chamber pot and two pairs of shoes. No lockbox or hidden paperwork. Careful to not disturb the turned-down bedclothes, Heather reached her arms beneath the curved mattress,stretching and feeling for any indication of something hidden.Nothing. Again.
Frustration and desperation flooded her. Where would the Earl of Shite keep damning documents? She’dthoughthe might keep them close… She stood to examine the coats, waistcoats, and shirts hanging on the right side of the small space. There were a few pound notes, but naught else.
A steady tread entered the wardroom, and Heather froze.Is it the earl’s valet?Her pulse drummed against her ribs, and she silently cursed the rush in her ears.
Tap-tap. “Heather?” Percy whispered.
Her breath left her in awhoosh, and she reached for the door. She pushed it open to reveal Percy, his hair tousled and cheeks flushed from the wind.Blimey. Her stomach gave an entirely different sort of wobble, and warmth flooded her abdomen decidedly against her wishes.
“Percy,” she returned breathlessly. “How did you fare?”
His gaze scanned her features as he shook his head. “Nothing. You?”
She scrunched her nose and stepped into the wardroom, closing the door behind herself. “Not a single thing, blast it.”
They strode together through the room and back toward the mess. Despite the impropriety, the urge to touch him—even in passing—was too much to be borne.Focus.
“Surely the man didn’t leave such documentation behind,” she whispered incredulously.
Percy shook his head once more. “If he did, then he’s no intention of returning to England. I daresay we’re just looking in the wrong place.”
“More reconnaissance?” she asked.
“More reconnaissance.”
CHAPTER 6
“I’ll not warn you again, Calluna,” the Earl of Shite said, hot in Heather’s ear. “No toast. You may have one piece of citrus and one egg.”
Hell, but if she didn’t find those documents quickly, she would undoubtedly perish of starvation.
With a satisfied smile, the earl returned to the discussion between the officers at the table. It was obvious to none but Heather that histrueattention was fixed onher. She took a sip of the weak tea in her cup, the lukewarm liquid churning in her stomach.
The need to retort, to snap at the man who so clearly enjoyed exerting his dominance—or what heperceivedto be his dominance—was high. But for the purpose of this assignment, she would play this part, and play it well.
The blackguard shifted at her side, his gaze still on the officer across from them, while his hand slid beneath the table to once more rest on her thigh. The bruises he’d caused the night before throbbed, and she pasted on a smile and cut into a piece of egg.
“I hear tell there are clouds in the distance,” an officer said. “Mayhap this evening we shall see rain.”
Heather traced a finger along the table’s upper ridge, the wooden perimeter no doubt meant to keep the items on the table from sliding off. And she listened. The discussion turned from the weather to their stores of food, then to the theatre and riding—nothing that would give Heather any insight into the earl’s activities, or proof thereof.
She finished her slice of orange and single boiled egg, then drank the last of her cold tea. Her stomach rumbled.
The earl’s hand tightened on her thigh, squeezing hard, as though the pain he caused would somehow eliminate her hunger.Bastard.
While it had never bothered her before, Heather acknowledged that she was a larger woman. She doubted her weight was the only reason the earl exerted this control, however. It was likely that he would have done the same to his previous affianced had Heather and her team not intervened and freed the smaller woman from the earl’s clutches. No matter what the blackguard did in an effort to dominate her, though, she was grateful that it washer, and not another woman, to suffer.
“Just bloodyfindit!” The earl’s growl broke her from her momentary reverie.
“I’ve tried, your lordship, but there are numerous trunks,” the earl’s valet said plaintively. “I took the liberty of preparing the blue waistcoat for the morrow, in the event that you might?—”
“Not the blue, blast it,” Hanley hissed. “Just find the grey one.”
A bead of sweat rolled down the valet’s temple. “Of course, your lordship. I shall look again.”
