“To find evidence, of course.”
“You do not seriously think I will find something under his desk, do you?
“If we do not look, we will not know if there is anything to find, will we?”
Oliver frowned. How contradictory of you, Countess.Her jibe about the un-findable last night, still fresh in his mind.There was no way he would ever admit to her he had searched high and low for those damned non-existent speculation papers. What a desperate fool he was and yet, he’d had to try. Like she just said, if one does not look how will one find, or not find, what one is looking for? Pity his frantic search had produced nothing. He knew Henry had taken out the massive bank loan for something, the speculation presumably, but there was no proof he used it for that specific purpose, and that purpose only.
The countess put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” He was still searching for a hidden panel or a key or some small scrap of parchment which said,“Yes, it was I who killed Nathaniel Carslake, with a pistol, in the study, because he was a dirty rotten scoundrel—Sir John,”knowing all the time he would never find it. Another un-findable to add to the list.
“I think I hear voices,” she whispered in his ear.
Oliver closed his eyes. He liked her husky, sultry voice vibrating into his ear. “Why does this not surprise me?” he drawled as he straightened up.
She gave him a slightly confused expression then looked around her before saying, “Quick, in here.”
Before he could protest, he found himself stuffed into a large armoire.
They stood then, chest to chest, in the darkness surrounded by men’s jackets, breathing louder than a pair of postal horses who had just done the London to Dover run.
“Ah, nowthisis cozy, wouldn’t you say?” he said through the arm of a jacket, wanting more than anything for their heavy breathing to be the product of some rather more inspired recreation. Like kissing. He wanted to kiss her very much indeed.
He found himself obsessed by her lips. Her shapely top lip. Her full bottom lip. The dents at the corners of her mouth thathinted at the marvel of a smile. Yes, her lips were consuming a lot of his gray matter these days. It was not a habit which was good for one’s wellbeing, he was sure.
He knew what Ashton would tell him. “Stop looking at her damn lips and get the information.” He would be right, and that fact only made things worse. He had done his duty to Ashton by sending him a missive about the nonexistent legal papers and the countess’s willingness to pay the investors if they could produce evidence of their investment. He knew it would not appease Ashton, nor his client, for it had not satisfied him either.
Her unique fragrance filled the small space around them, and he groaned. Was it not bad enough he had to be in her presence every night and not be able to do more than have her hand on his sleeve or help her down from a carriage?
“Shh!” The countess turned away from him, elbowing some more room at the same time, and peered through the keyhole.
“I think it’s safe but I can’t be sure,” she said.
Safe? Not for him and certainly not for her if she didn’t get out soon.
“We had better stay here then, until you are sure, of course. There is nothing quite like an unsure woman to ruin a perfectly good hiding spot.”
“Bellamy, kindly shut up.” She peered through the keyhole again. “I can only see the edge of the writing desk,” she whispered.
Oliver smiled in the dimness of the armoire where he could just make out her outline. For all her squirming, her lovely little derriere was now conveniently placed in front of him, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her waist and pull her hips closer to him. He’d been aching to hold her, kiss her, and convince her he was not as repugnant as she seemed to think him. He wanted her to look at him like she had last night when she’d been upset, like she had when she had granted him theboon of a dance. He wanted her to smile at him. He didn’t really know why, he just… did.
He decided he needed to test whether or not she was truly immune to him. If it failed, he would be in the same position as he was now, only hopefully not in an armoire.
“You smell nice,” he said through the darkness.
“What?”
“Like a spring meadow, just before it rains,” he announced.
“Do not be ridiculous. I smell of no such thing,” she retorted, moving so he was pushed farther to the side of the wardrobe.
“Ah, but you do.”Torture me.
“Bellamy—” Her tone held more than a little annoyance.
“I know, but you see your hair is tickling my nose and the heat of your skin is making my skin heat, therefore, my body is reacting in the most… amusing manner.”
Lisbeth rolled her eyes and attempted to count to ten. His body was reacting? Oh, Lord! Thankfully, it was dark in the armoire for she did not want him to see how his words were affecting her.
