“Perhaps a little,” she agreed, a quiver in her voice betraying her. “This has all been very silly. A terrible idea of yours.”
“I believe it was yours,” Peyton said.
“I intended to spend the night behind the sofa, you will remember.”
“As if I’d allow you to do a foolish thing like that.”
“You would have no say in it, sir.”
“No? You’re in here with me, though, aren’t you? Perhaps you prefer my company to the sofa’s?”
She huffed. “You are not making sense. It must be the lack of fresh air.” She began to wriggle forward. Once freed, she was sure she would think more clearly.
Peyton’s hands slid farther around to enclose her diaphragm, halting her progress. “You know, Lady Helen, you and I would make a good team.”
“Of detectives?” She paused, immediately caught by the suggestion.
“No, a woman could never be involved in dangerous work. A partnership certainly.”
She stiffened. “I believe a woman would bring much to detective work. They have assets men lack.”
“That’s true, quite appealing endowments, and often a very shrewd mind, but I had a different partnership in mind.”
“Really? I can’t imagine…”
“Marriage,” Peyton said firmly. “But I refuse to propose to you in this deuced coffin.”
A fluttery, empty feeling settled in her stomach. She fought to sound brisk. “Don’t be absurd. You really do need some fresh—”
A loud click made them freeze.
The library door opened, throwing faint light from the corridor wall sconces into the room. A vague shape appeared in her vision, creeping across the carpet to the desk. Peyton’s hands tightened on her arms, his warning a mere breath on her hair. Caught up in the suspense, her pulse racing, she peered out through the crack.
After several fumbles, a candle burst into flame as another person shut the library door. Peyton’s grip tightened. A dark-haired man she’d never seen before opened the portfolio, a candle raised to read Volta’s letter. The other person came to join him. The first man cursed.
“He’s ceased the experiments.”
“What?” came a feminine voice. “Perhaps Kinsey will continue them with someone else. We should remain patient.”
“It’s grown too hot for us here,” he snarled. “You should not have poisoned the maid. It is sure to arouse suspicion.”
“She deserved it,” Mrs. Chance said implacably.
Her words chilled Helen’s blood. She sucked in a breath while Peyton squeezed her arm, although whether to silence her or reassure her, she wasn’t sure.
“You enjoy killing too much, Charlotte,” the man observed. “It makes you reckless.”
“What are you saying, Pierre? It was you who poisoned Bart’s tonic. You can’t blame me for that.”
“It became urgent after you gave him that letter to deliver to me.”
“How was I to know a footman could read French?”
Without warning, Peyton’s hand on Helen’s shoulder pressed her down. “Wait here until I call you.” His quiet voice was like steel. From above her head came the sound of a pistol cocked. He pushed open the door of the sarcophagus and stepped out into the room.
“Move away from the desk and put your hands in the air,” Peyton growled.
Both heads turned toward them. “Mon Dieu! Who the devil is this?” The man’s menacing face looked almost ghoulish in the shadowy room.
