“It could be in a desk or case.”
“If it had been, Roberts would have put it up here when they changed the furnishings.” He moved slowly down the case, surveying the rows of books. “You might help. It is your family Bible, you claim.”
She took position on the other end of the case and sought any religious books. After a few minutes, she found them. “Here they are.”
Brentworth came over, and side by side, they read every binding, even those of books far too thin to be Bibles. She pulled out any that had no title on the spine. She found a Bible and snatched it out triumphantly, but on opening it discovered it was not the one she sought. No names had been inscribed in its front. No births or deaths or little notes about important events in the family history.
“It appears it is not here,” Brentworth said while he reached high above her for the books on the final shelf. His position brought him so close to her that his side brushed against hers.
“Well, it is somewhere in this house, unless someone disposed of it.”
“Are you accusing me of destroying a Bible? I suppose I did that because I foresaw that someday a vexing woman would appear claiming she should have this land, and I wanted to destroy all the evidence she might find.”
It has been an insulting thing to say, as well as a fairly stupid one. “I suppose if anyone came upon it over the years they would have put it somewhere, not destroyed it as a relic of a prior owner. As you point out, it is a Bible, not a common book.”
“I think that is safe to say.”
“I suppose it might have been in the chapel and burned in that fire.”
“I would not expect it to be left there by my family, but since it is not here, that is the unfortunate conclusion.”
They strolled to one of the divans and sat down while she pondered the alternative. “Perhaps one of your ancestors packed it away with other family items and put it in the attic. I should go up and check there.” She began to rise to do just that.
He caught her arm and guided her back down to her seat. “It will be easier in the day, when there is light. Any search will be hard, even dangerous, in an attic with nothing but a candle.”
“I suppose it can wait.” But she did not want to wait. Having lit upon this idea, she was impatient to see it through. She needed to find that Bible, to see if it noted that the last baron’s young son had died. She did not think it would.
She would chat a few minutes, claim she was retiring, then get a candle and go up to see if the Bible, or anything useful, was in the attic.
He rose and went to build up the fire. The embers caught. Low flames emerged. He stood there a moment, looking at them, his back to her. Then he turned.
Her breath caught. She forgot about the attic. Only a female born yesterday would not know what he was thinking.
She should take her leave now. At once. Go up to her chamber and bar the door.
She didn’t. The way he looked mesmerized her. Hot and cool, hard and soft, all at once. Deliciously dangerous and completely focused on her. A primitive excitement spun through her.
Nothing will happen. Not really. It won’t even be like last time. You can enjoy the flirting for a while. Enjoy this wonderful prickling, and how your blood courses quickly. He has already sworn off you, but you can enjoy his wanting you at least.
He came to her and sat, closer. He turned toward her, his left arm along the back of the cushion, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. “You did not tell me what the minister said.”
“I told you. I reminded him of a stranger who came here one summer. My father, I think, although he said longer ago than that, so it could have been my grandfather. He is said to have left home a few times, for months. He might have come here.” She was speaking quickly, the words rushing out, hoping to sound normal but knowing she didn’t. That light touch on her hair made her want to purr like a cat and snuggle in for more. “Maybe he found what he needed here somewhere, something to send to the king.”
“Wouldn’t he have done something about that grave? Disavowed it somehow?”
She tried to puzzle that out, but she wasn’t thinking clearly right now. “Perhaps. One wonders what he could do, though,” she murmured, her gaze locked on his handsome, wonderful face. What woman could stand against that face and those eyes and not become a fool in this situation? A better woman than she, that was certain. She could barely sit still.
“I don’t know. It is probably a question for a clear mind,” he murmured back. He placed his warm palm against her face. She wanted to move her head so it became a caress. “I should ask permission before I do this, but I am not going to.” He leaned in and kissed her.
He did not ravish her mouth, but she almost swooned anyway. Soft, careful kisses lured her arousal to expand in sly rivulets of pleasure.
His mouth moved to her cheek, then nuzzled at her neck. She savored every nip and breath and how her skin tingled.
“I think Miss Ingram is a terrible chaperone,” she said as she experienced the first signs of control slipping from her.
“I think she is a perfect chaperone.” His voice, low and quiet and close to her ear, sounded unbearably sensual.
Perfect. Distracted. Absent. Happy to read above while her charge was seduced below. Not terrible at all. Wonderful.
