The silence built between them was fraught with his anticipation and her…unease? He waited, not convinced she would actually do as he requested.Requested?Laughable.
If she were smart, she would run for the door.
But long, delicate fingers crept up to the ties behind her head. A second later, the mask dangled from an index finger through one of the cutout eyes.
The sight of her creamy skin, defined cheekbones, perfectly arched eyebrows, and pert nose punched him in the belly as if it were James Stokes’ own fist who delivered the blow. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Add those riotous curls and the stark memory of that quick kiss… Taken together, all garnered the effect lethal.
A blaze of red flamed her face. “Your disappointment is noted,” she said, lifting the mask back in place.
“No.” He was across the space in a shot. “I mean…yes, you should put your mask back on. Only should someone burst in again.” His finger brushed her cheek with a light touch. “I can honestly say I’ve never been less disappointed.” The husky growl emitting from him caught him by surprise. He took her mask,spun her about, set it in place, and tied the ends—fumbled, rather, until he had to strip off his gloves to do the deed. Appallingly, his hands trembled.
The subtle fragrance of orange blossoms wafted up and he couldn’t resist taking a fistful of her hair and bringing it to his nose. He closed his eyes to steady himself against another onslaught of sudden lust.
He dropped her hair, quickly tied her mask in place and stepped back. He hadn’t been ruled by lust since he was fourteen, and he refused so now.
“Look at this.” Her excitement rippled the air.
He opened his eyes.
She’d parted the painting from the wall, exposing the safe behind.
“Well, well, well,” he said softly. “Well played, Lady Stanford. Well played.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently moved her aside.
“Hey!”
Urgency gripped him. “Lock the door.”
She hurried over and twisted the latch.
Emerson pulled the painting fully away from the wall and studied the safe. It was a Chubbsafe. He glanced at Lady Stanford. Her lips were pressed in a stubborn line. There was no hope for hiding his intention, and he wouldn’t have another prime opportunity as this.
~~~
Rose couldn’t believe it. She had literally stumbled into a path to the Earl of Hallandale. Her scalp tingled at such deliciousness. Oh, my. She wondered if the earl kissed like his cousin. It certainly enlightened her regarding Huntley’s and Gabriella’s relationship—in a most illuminating light—not to mention that of her paltry marriage. What a fool she’d been. She cut a gaze to this most intriguing man.
Mr. Whitmore was difficult to overlook. Taller than even her brother, the duke, and far broader through the shoulders. She imagined it was the result of years spent overseeing ships and warehouses rather than lounging in drawing rooms and White’s. He seemed to carry the solid strength of a man who did what he proclaimed—worked for his living.
That dark hair looked perpetually in danger of unruliness and framed a face made more arresting by equally dark eyes, sharp and assessing. There was nothing of the idle gentleman about him; every line of his frame spoke of purpose, industry, and an independence Rose had no business finding so…distracting.
A sigh escaped her. It was a shame and a waste he was only a merchant.
Whitmore reached inside his pocket once more and this time pulled out a small packet of…tools.
All thought flew from her head with her gasp. “Good heavens. Do you just poke the pointed end in? Why do you have to fiddle with it so? Could you instruct me on how to do that?”
“Lady Stanford, please! It takes a delicate touch and a keen ear.” His tone raised her defense hackles and left her speechless.
She drew in a breath, ready to blast him to the devil—
Click.
“Ah, there you are, my sweet,” Whitmore breathed. His words sent a spiral of thrill that wrapped Rose’s spine and raised bumps of awareness over her skin. “Stand aside.” He pulled the small steel door back.
Unable to resist, however, Rose crowded him again and could make out loose sheaves of papers atop a tall stack.
He grasped the loose papers and brought them out.
“Vowels.” He paused at the top one then handed it to her.
