“I think he wanted to make sure I did not misunderstand why he was doing it.” He did not have to explain, and cursed himself as soon as he did. Damnation, the mood in this chamber was puttinghimat the disadvantage, not her.
“Perhaps some of the others found out anyway. Someone may have hoped he passed away before a new testament was signed and encouraged that eventuality to take place.”
That was his thinking, when he allowed himself to consider a relative at all. How much better if it turned out to be one of those women getting a fat inheritance. Like this woman here.
The notion did not appeal to him nearly as much as it had when he stole into Minerva Hepplewhite’s house, looking for evidence of just that. The night and the mood probably had much to do with that. Come morning he would see clearly again, and realize she was still his best suspect.
“Did you tell any of them?” she asked. “Because if you did, then that person may have told another, and so forth.”
“No, I did not.” Yes, damn it. He had warned Nicholas.
“Commendable discretion. Unfortunately, that puts you quite high on the list.”
“Almost as high as you?”
“Oh, not nearly that high. High enough to be a person of interest to any inquiry, however.”
Meaning hers, he assumed. If it were afternoon and he were speaking to her in an office and the light were not so low and flattering to her face, and the night did not emphasize that they were alone, he might have turned the tables on her, and posed his own questions. He might have reminded her that few had as much reason to want the duke dead as she did because few had benefitted as much.
Only the mood right now did not require that, or even want it. Suspicion was not what simmered in him, causing a pleasant heightening of awareness of her sultry relaxation. She had done nothing forward or untoward, but he was well on the way to being seduced anyway. He could not tell if that was her intention, or if she even knew what was happening.
What would happen if he went to that divan and reached for her? Their connected gazes, the quiet conversation, the silence of the night all begged for something besides this talk of possible murderers.
Her lips parted slightly. Her gaze warmed as if another lamp had been lit behind her eyes. Her examination of him turned both cautious and curious at the same time.
She sat upright and returned her feet to the floor. “I think you have what you came for.”
“Hardly.”
His allusion was subtle, but she heard its implications. Her expression firmed just enough to discourage that line of thought. He had not held out much hope. It would be a bizarre liaison under the circumstances.
She stood, and he did too. “I must get some rest before I take up my servant duties again. You must leave now.”
He did not want to leave. He wanted to talk all night, or better yet not talk at all but investigate her in all kinds of ways. Of course that was impossible, for many reasons, not the least being she would never have it.
He followed her to the chamber’s door and out into the little reception hall. The small space caused a closer proximity to each other. She opened the door to usher him out.
“Do not walk to and from Whiteford House alone in the future,” he said while he took his leave.
“Do you have any other unwelcomed instructions, Mr. Radnor?”
He stepped over the threshold. “Just one. Do not have male visitors in the middle of the night. They will get ideas. It is inevitable.”
The smallest smile formed in the moonlight while the door closed.
* * *
Minerva felt the smile on her lips. She stood with her back against the door while she reconsidered the last five minutes.
It had not taken her long to recognize the male interest coming her way from this man. She no longer looked for such things, but the power stretching between them was undeniable. The mood had taken on a familiarity that could only be called intimate, and Chase Radnor had clearly been contemplating whether to explore what that could mean.
What had her piecing together her memories was the way she had reacted, not him.
Lively sensations had perked through her. His attention had flattered her. She had wanted more of that, and more of the intimacy. She relived it all while she stood by the door, fascinated. In hindsight it did seem that she had been at least mildly . . . fine, she would call it what it probably was . . . mildlyaroused.
She had assumed that Algernon had ruined all of that for her. Destroyed her ability to trust a man enough to have such feelings for him. And Radnor? If ever she should not trust a man, it was he.
And yet . . . She looked down at her hands. Herlovelyhands. His touch had not repulsed her or frightened her. Her reaction to Phillip’s hold said her aversion had not disappeared either. For some reason, however, Chase Radnor was not provoking her usual responses.
