“Looking for something, obviously.” Lady Blackhurst smoothed her skirts and then clasped her hands lightly on her reticule and returned his assessing look.
Oliver smiled. “Obviously,” he drawled. “What was it you were looking for, exactly?” He sat slightly forward so he had a better view of her face in the dim light of the carriage.
This would be a lot easier if she were not so beguiling. The seriousness of her features, which he found charming but at the same time irritating, made him want to laugh at the perverse nature of his very thoughts as they were surprisingly gentleman-like. He most certainly did not want to get involved with this fallen angel even as his lips were desperate to find hers again.
He couldn’t trust her, that much was clear, but for some insane reason he wanted her to trust him. There was definitely something going on in her pretty little head and he was determined to get some answers.
Sighing dramatically, she said, “Oh, Bellamy, can a lady have no secrets?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Lady Blackhurst, you cannot expect me to play the doting beau while you disappear to rifle through our host’s—”
“Things?”
“Exactly! Now, if you please, what are your purposes for wanting to return to thetonin such a fashion?”
Lisbeth pondered her answer. There was little to excuse her rifling, as he had put it, but she could hardly tell him she was on the hunt for her husband’s killer. He was, after all, a man who would probably do just about anything for money. A man like Bellamy could not be trusted with a cup of tea let alone her wholeplan for finding out what had truly happened to Nathaniel that fateful morning.
“The truth, Bellamy, is it has been two years since my husband’s death and, well, it was time I rejoined life. I have been a virtual prisoner in my home for nearly the whole time. I do not really have any friends or… or… family who are willing to receive me and…”
She had not meant to choke up and she swallowed hard to contain the lump in her throat before it formed into tears. She had not realized that to place her cards, even if only a few strategic ones, on the table would be quite so hard.
Lisbeth could feel him looking at her, his eyes upon her. What did he think he would see? There was so little left of her that if he looked too hard he may see right through her altogether. Like a ghost shimmering but of no substance. If only shecouldturn to smoke and disappear.
His body was suddenly next to hers. She shuffled back in her seat in shock and gasped as he took her hand. She snatched it back and stared hard at him, warning him to keep his distance.
She couldn’t bear it. “No! Don’t you dare pity me,” she said with a resolve which took more out of her than he would ever know. “I may be a friendless wretch but I am determined, you see, to hold my head up high no matter what they say, or how often they whisper behind their fans. I will no longer have them decide on my guilt or innocence based purely on gossip.”
“But have they not already condemned you… despite a trial which found you not guilty?” He was searching her face, and she wished he would see the bleak emptiness within and leave her be.
A silence fell over them, whereupon Lisbeth tried to keep her tears at bay and Bellamy seemed determined to see them. It made her feel sick. She wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up in a ball of misery, and forget everything and everyone.She’d done it once before. It hadn’t helped her then and she doubted it would help now, but it was tempting. So tempting.
Keep it together, Lisbeth, she said to herself.
“Thetoncan be cruel,” he said, looking at her hands as they lay on her lap. “However, it doesn’t explain Wainwright’s study,” he went on.
She took her chance. “Oh, I quite agree.”
He looked up and frowned. Suspicious. “You agree?”
“Oh yes, Wainwright’s study is terribly stuffy. What can he have been thinking? There are simply not enough windows and his desk is awkwardly situated.”
“Countess.” Oliver raked his fingers through his hair.
“Yes, I know. Some people just have no understanding on the proper placement of furniture and the importance of light in proportion to… what are you doing? Give me that!”
She was trying to snatch the flask away from his lips but he’d be buggered if he was going to give it up. He needed fortification and lots of it if he was going to get throughthisnight. Could the woman be any more infuriating?
She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. “I won’t have it, Bellamy.”
He chuckled. “Of course you won’t, becauseI’mhaving it.”
“Give it to me,” she said, holding her hand out like he was some errant child caught with a sweet stolen from the kitchen.
“I’d be happy to, Countess.” He put his hand out in a similar gesture. “In exchange for the pistol.”
She snatched her hand back. “No!”
“What will make you hand it over?”
