Oliver tilted back in the chair, his head flung back, eyes closed. What to do now?Help me, Henry, give me something. Anything.
One drawer remained. Probably empty or simply more bills, but he was nothing if not thorough. He opened the drawer and jerked upright. Instead of more papers, a wooden box sat inside. Would this hold what he had been looking for? His heartbeatsped up as he put the box in front of him. Using a skill learned many years ago he picked the lock and opened the lid. What lay inside felt like a slap.
Sketches of a woman shook in his hand. Not just any woman. It was Lisbeth, a little younger perhaps, but it was her. There was a half-dozen drawings on different sized pieces of paper. His brother, and he had to assume they were by his hand, had captured a vulnerability in her eyes. When had he sketched them? Aunt Petunia must have been correct when she said Henry had romantic ideas or even love towards Lisbeth. One was dated 1810 and had to have been before she had married Blackhurst. He spread them on the table in front of him trying to organize them into some type of timeline. Had she lied about their relationship? Or had Henry simply had an infatuation that had never manifested? He could not blame Henry for sketching her; she was an intriguing subject, and he found himself searching out every detail his brother had missed.
A loud knock at the door had his heart nearly leaping out of his chest. He dropped the sketches back into the box and slammed the lid shut.
His butler appeared. “Lord Ashton is here. He is in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Kinsdale.” Should he tell Ashton about the pictures? He looked around at the mess on the desk. “I will be right down.”
He swept the piles of bills and invoices back into a drawer, even though he was tempted to throw them all in the fire, adjusted his cuffs, and schooled his features before leaving the room.
He found Ashton lounging on the sofa, readinghispaper. Tony looked up, did an infantry-style inspection of Oliver’s person, and then went back to the paper.
Whatever had he been looking for? Bullet holes? Oliver walked farther into the room and took a seat.
Tony remained silent, which grated on Oliver’s nerves. “How kind of you to come here to read my paper. Does your brother, the duke, not share?”
The blaggard had the hide to laugh. “I am simply reading of your latest adventures with the Black Raven. You cannot blame me; it is riveting stuff.”
Oliver stood. Agitation had become his constant companion these days.
“I assure you,” he poured a drink for each of them and handed Tony a glass, “I take my life in my own hands every time I step out with that woman but… I must also confess that I find her as fascinating as I do irritating.”And she kisses like a goddess.
Tony raised a blond brow and bent the paper with deliberate folds. “You sound smitten. Should I be worried?”
“Ha. Hardly.” He sat and made a show of swirling his drink. Smitten. Was he? Shewasextremely attractive and part of him loved the challenge of her. Or was it the danger of her that was so alluring? Perhaps it was something else entirely and he was not going to delve any deeper into those thoughts.
“Has she disclosed anything interesting to you? You spend a great deal of time together so you must discuss something.”
“Oh, we converse on many things.” Like their debate that first night of the validity of her owning a handgun, and the delicacy of keeping time, not to forget missing earbobs and the art of telling the truth. None of that would interest Ashton, but it would amuse him, and Oliver wasn’t in the mood to be the brunt of the joke that was his current predicament. “She has not had it easy, you know, since her husband was murdered. She told me she took to her house because she could not cope with the whispers and stares.”
“I would think it not an easy thing to carry around the guilt of murdering one’s husband and would stay at my residence too. It surprises me that she did not beat a hasty retreat to the Continent.” Tony leaned forward. “But now she has no qualms about it. Indeed, she seems to flaunt herself about theton’sballrooms without a care in the world. Do the whispers suddenly no longer affect her?”
“At first, I too was curious as to why she would want to re-enter society if everyone had been so awful to her. I have watched her closely and I assure you the whispers still upset her, but she puts on a brave face. Like one would wear a mask at a masquerade ball. She hides behind the façade of the uncaring Black Raven. Then I discovered something.”
Tony sat up his face having suddenly lost the pretense of boredom. “And what was that? Is she blackmailing half theton?”
Oliver shook his head. Oh, how Tony would love that.It was so easy to think the worst of her, but last night he had seen a new side of her, and he was unsure she was worthy of her slanderous reputation. “I believe she is looking for evidence.”
“Evidence?” Ashton looked as if he were just offered porridge for dessert.
Oliver took care to try and phrase his reply so that Ashton would not laugh. “The countess swears she is innocent of her husband’s death and is trying to find out who did do it.”
“And you believe her?”
Well, yes, he did but he was not sure why. “I cannot say right now. I will keep my judgment until I know more.”
“Just remember, she is a possible killer. She cannot be trusted. Don’t let your head be turned by her pretty face.” Tony put down his drink and sat forward, clasping his hands together. “I don’t want you to forget how dangerous she is.”
“As if I could forget. There are whispers everywhere, but then there were murmurs about Henry too. Should I believe them as well?”
Tony frowned. “What do they say about Henry?”
Could Tony not have heard them? He must have. “That he was much altered before his death. I cannot believe it. I will not believe my brother would have even contemplated…”
“Contemplated what?” Tony glared at him intensely.
