She elbowed him in the ribs. “Bellamy!”
He opened one eye and chuckled softly. “Yes, it is the real list.”
She was perplexed, which made him look very smug, she saw. “Then why can’t I read it? What language is it in? It isn’t ancient Greek, is it?”
His lips lifted at the sides again. “All in good time, Countess, all in good time.” He took a deep breath, and relaxed. “Remember,” he muttered. “It is bad form to shoot someone while they are sleeping.”
Lisbeth looked at him in disgust. “You are a wretched man,” she said as she studied his face. He was so handsome, even in profile, and in this pose more boyish. She was tempted to brush a lock of hair away from his eyes. No! Had she learned nothing? This was all a game to him. He was not a child in need of care. Let him be. Ignore him. Pretend he is not there as he is so aptly pretending not to be here.
Now he knew why she was here, did she really need to keep him so tightly shackled? When he had arrived this evening looking so elegant and handsome she had not known what trials he would put her through. Her plan, although well thought out, was woefully inadequate when it came to the complications and consternations one Lord Bellamy would put upon her. He was too much of everything, and she never knew what she would be feeling from one minute to the next. It was like being blindfolded, spun around, and then left to stumble about unsure of one’s footing or direction.
“What are you doing?” she asked him a minute later when he continued to keep his position, but all she got in response was a soft snore.
He was asleep? How typical!
Brow furrowed, she looked at the list again. It looked like chicken scratchings with a few pretty drawings thrown in for good measure. Lisbeth glanced at her sleeping escort and shook her head. She thought she had been so clever in gaining the list but now it looked as though the joke was on her. He had let herhave it because he knew she wouldn’t be able to read it anyway. “Impossible man!”
Lisbeth looked his way again in her peripheral vision. She just wanted to make sure he wasn’t in danger of sliding off his chair. He seemed so at peace with himself. She envied him for his ability to sleep in a room full of people and appear not to have a single qualm about it.
He sighed and shifted a little and she focused on his eyelashes, so ludicrously long for a man. It seemed so unfair, both his eyelashes and his slumber. She wanted so badly to be able to sleep with pleasant dreams and happy recollections, but sleep eluded her. All she had were dark corners and shadows, and a life which seemed more like a burden than a gift.
Tucking the useless list into her reticule, she turned her attention to the small platform where the soloist was singing her aria. It had been so long since she’d had the opportunity to enjoy music. She wanted to let it wash over her in pleasant waves of bliss, but she could not. She looked at the heads of the women who had been so cruel to her earlier. She did not deserve to be treated like this. A court had proclaimed her innocent and yet it seemed that gossip was far more convincing than law. It was clear that until she had proven her innocence by finding the real killer she would not be able to enjoy even the simplest of joys.
Bellamy murmured something beside her. She had valiantly tried to concentrate on the performance, but she kept searching out his sleeping form. It would have served him right if he had fallen off his chair. On more than one occasion he had sighed and shifted in his seat, causing her to look at other parts of him. Parts she definitely should not have been looking at. She should not care one whit he had powerful-looking thighs or his legs seemed to stretch a considerable length ending in incredibly large shoes or that about the fall of his trousers it seemed there was hardly enough room for what lay beneath. She’d feltheat rise from her throat to her cheeks and had fanned herself furiously, vowing never to look at him again. After another guilty look she realized how ridiculous her first vow had been and amended it to,not look at him again until the performance was over.She failed miserably at that vow too. By the end of the performance her sinful mind had memorized every inch of him.
What was she doing to herself? As much as he was here beside her, she knew she was very much on her own. She was used to loneliness. It was a cloak she wore daily. Now, being among people again, she felt it wrap around her like swaddling. Constricting, choking and contracting around her.
Oliver felt Lisbeth nudge him awake with her fan and reluctantly opened one eye. He quickly assessed his position and remembering where he was, grinned sheepishly, straightened in his chair, and joined in the clapping when the soloist had finished.
Ironically, he wished the performance had gone on a little longer for he was having the best kind of dream. The fact Lady Blackhurst had been the subject was perhaps not as surprising as it should be. Hadn’t she been just about to shoot him only an hour or so ago? His lips twisted and he looked briefly towards the countess. She was fussing with her small reticule, no doubt taking inventory of all her various time pieces, notebooks, and firearms. He really wouldn’t be surprised if she were to pull out a vial of arsenic. It had been that kind of evening, and it was far from over. What she didn’t know was he quite fancied a challenge. Part of him wanted her to pull her pistol on him one more time and give him an excuse to set her straight about a few things.
As if sensing his eyes upon her, she turned her head slightly and raised one fine dark brow. He smiled and resumed, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, his clapping.
“She was brilliant,” he said, nodding at the others around them who were all commenting to each other on the singer’s performance.
“The last singer was a man, and I hardly thinkyouare qualified to comment,” she said, her tone wry, as they stood up and followed the others to the late supper which was being served in another room.
“Not true. That was one of the best musical nights I have slept through this season.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She shook her head.
He laughed as he continued to steer her towards the refreshments. “You’ll soon get used to me, Countess. You might even get to like me.”
“But I don’t want to like you, Bellamy,” she replied, to put him in his place. Drat the man, he didn’t even blink at her insult.
“Ah, but you will, my dear. You will.”
His dark eyes sparkled, and his teeth gleamed in the candlelight. She wanted to kick him for being so… him. Her reactions to him were strange and varied. One moment she felt safe with him and the next she was all too aware of him and the danger he presented to her. The rest of the time she just wanted to push him off a cliff.
She watched as he moved about the room. He was a marvel to her really, such a nicely put together man. It surprised her more than she was willing to confess. Why wasn’t she repulsed by his masculinity? Physical exertions were not new to him by the muscular look of his arms and the strong and sturdy breadth of his shoulders. If only he were not so lackadaisical in his habits and have such a fondness for wastrel gambling.
Oliver casually discussed the topics of the day with the other guests, usually Napoleon’s exile or the latest exploit of the Prince Regent. It paid to be prepared with a standard comment or two. The unusual weather this year was a topic which was wearingthin. Yes, it was cold, terrible winds, chill one to the bone, bad for the crops, Mother Nature gone mad… He knew the weather should concern him more considering he was a landowner now. He just wanted to get through the next few weeks before having to deal with crops and cattle and the fickleness of the weather. With a heavy sigh he stuffed two lobster patties into his mouth and scanned the room.
He knew she was watching him. What was she planning with those furtive looks? He had displeased her, he knew, with his nap, not to mention his list. It was in code and although he could imagine her and her pinch-faced butler trying to decipher it until dawn, if all of Napoleon’s army had not been able to crack it, he doubted she would. It was better she did not know the contents of the list at any rate.
Oliver made for his host, Lord Costello. He wanted to see if he could get anything interesting out of the man. Oliver had met him a couple of times at White’s, but they never had really spent much time in discussion.
“Bellamy, have to say I am mildly surprised to see you here. Thought these kinds of entertainments not quite your thing,” Costello said when Oliver presented himself.
