What a nearly impossible feat. She was already far too involved in him, far too affected by him. She, who had always been far more concerned with experimenting and building prototypes than withgentlemen. Old Elysande would have scoffed at New Elysande.
Heavens.New Wycombe had turned her into New Elysande. The realization was as sobering as it was maddening. This was not meant to have happened.
“I did try to find you,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back in a gesture that only served to draw her attention to the impressive breadth of his chest. “However, you were not in your chamber, and none of the maids knew where you had gone.”
Guilt pierced her, for shehadbeen hiding, it was true.
Still, how hard could he have looked for her?
She frowned. “I was only in the library.”
“I was going to check there next,” came his smooth reply.
Oh, he was wickedly handsome, was he not? Even knowing he was preparing to leave her without having consulted her first, she could not help but to admire the masculine slash of his jaw, already boasting a delightful shadow of whiskers though he was clean-shaven. Or the manner in which his tweed was fitted to his strong form. For a brief, wicked moment, the sight of him, naked and glistening with water returned, and she forgot to breathe.
But then she remembered and forced herself to concentrate.
“You were planning to check the library for me after you had spoken with Mr. Saunders and the footmen had loaded all your trunks?” she asked, unable to keep the tart note from her query.
“The word I received from London was sudden.”
Was that a note of apology in his voice? She could scarcely determine.
Elysande searched his blue-gray eyes. “Word from London?”
He inclined his head, his expression shuttering. “It would seem there is a matter which requires my attention concerning a previous case. My last case, to be specific.”
“Scotland Yard has contacted you?” The thought was enough to turn her to ice after the terrible evidence of the past danger he had faced.
“Not Scotland Yard,” he allowed. “But a friend. A gentleman who was involved in the case.”
“You are a duke now,” she pointed out.
“Reluctantly.”
She did not know whether to sputter, to cry out, or to grab him by his handsome lapels and shake him. “You cannot think to return yourself to danger.”
She had seen, had traced with her own fingers, the lingering proof of how close he had come to an untimely end at the hands of a murderer. Thoughts of him returning, willingly putting his life in jeopardy, had her mouth going dry.
His jaw clenched, and he released his careful stance of hands clasped behind his back to rake his fingers through his dark hair, setting it on end. “I am hardly returning myself to danger. I will be perfectly safe. London is a vast city.”
“Of course it is. However, you have just said you have received word from London concerning a previous case of yours. What else am I meant to think but that you will face further peril?” she demanded.
“You are meant to think that I am giving you the time you required. Three months, was it not?”
His pointed words served their purpose, digging pointed little barbs into her conscience. Yes, she had requested that time. But for good reason. She was very near to perfecting her design. With some more time—free of distraction and her father hovering over her shoulder—she was certain she would settle upon the solution. She had not worked this long or this hard only to abandon her goal solely because she had married.
Never.
She nodded, attempting to compose herself and rein in her feelings. “Do you think to turn my request against me? Is this some sort of punishment you have settled upon? To lure me in, make me fret over the threats you have faced, and then abruptly cast yourself into the maws of danger yet again?”
“I can assure you that my intentions are not nearly as diabolical as you would suppose.”
He spoke to her so formally. The lover from that morning, bare-chested and slick with lake water, did not resemble this grim man in the slightest. She wondered if this was what he had been like before, as a detective. His eyes burned with a singular intensity, his entire demeanor utterly changed.
“If not diabolical, then foolish,” she countered. “What is the matter you referred to?”
“A prisoner has escaped,” he said.
