His concentration was not on his task, however. Instead, it was on the memory of Marianne last night, standing in front of him in her night rail, her gorgeous silken hair falling in luscious locks past her shoulders like molten red lava. The thin outline of the material had revealed her nipples, and he’d wanted to taste them again. It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to keep from pulling her into his arms and taking her to bed.
She got a bit of her own back last night when she pushed him from the room, and he couldn’t blame her for it. Apparently, they were even again. Even if it felt like a losing battle because all he really wanted to do was make love to her. But neither one of them was trusting enough to tell each other the truth, so it appeared they were destined for a mutually secretive relationship that would involve no more touching. Damn it.
Beau shook his head and forced himself to refocus on his search of the desk. He had just pulled open one of the top drawers when the door behind him opened and Mrs. Wimbley, of all people, stepped in.
She drew up her shoulders. “Sir, what are you doing?” she asked in a high-pitched, condemning voice, while peering down her nose at him.
Beau spun around and stared at her. Then he realized that not only had Mrs. Wimbley apparently emerged from her sick bed to come all the way down to the second floor, but Lady Copperpot was on her heels.
“What’s this?” Lady Copperpot entered the room and stared at Beau with a questioning look on her face.
“I stepped inside to find this man going through his lordship’s desk,” Mrs. Wimbley reported, her shoulders still tight.
“That’s not his lordship’s desk,” Lady Copperpot replied. “It’s mine. Or at least, I have been using it while we’re here, but I am curious, Mr.…”
“Baxter,” Beau helpfully supplied.
“Mr. Baxter,” Lady Copperpot continued. “I, too, am curious as to why you were going through the desk.”
Beau took a deep breath, weighting the merits of each of the lies that were hovering behind his lips. He was about to take his chances with the best of the lot when Marianne stepped into the room behind Lady Copperpot.
“There ye be, Mr. Baxter. Did ye find the button I asked ye to fetch?”
Beau cleared his throat and straightened his back. “No, Miss Notley,” he replied. “It wasn’t in her ladyship’s desk drawer as you’d guessed.”
“That be odd,” Marianne continued. “I coulda sworn that be where I left it. Well, no doubt the button be in the wardrobe in Lady Wilhelmina’s room. I do hope we haven’t disturbed ye, milady,” she added for Lady Copperpot’s sake, as the woman gaped at both of them.
“Oh, so you asked Mr. Baxter here to look in the desk drawer, did you, Miss Notley?” Lady Copperpot asked as if completely satisfied with that answer.
“Yes, milady. I was certain I’d put the button there, but I must be mistaken.”
Beau nodded and bowed to all three of the ladies. “Well, if there won’t be anything else, my lady?”
Lady Copperpot dismissed him, and Beau was out in the corridor in a flash.Thathad been a near calamity. And he had Marianne to thank for saving him. None of the lies he’d thought of had been nearly as believable as her assistance.
He’d nearly made it all the way to the servants’ staircase by the time Marianne caught up with him. They stepped inside the staircase door and allowed it to close behind them.
“Well,” she said quietly, a smug smile on her face.
“Thank you,” he replied readily, though in a hushed tone. “For that.” He gestured back toward the hallway with his chin.
“And?” she prompted.
“And what? Are you expecting payment of some sort?”
“Some sort,” she replied, her hands on her hips. “I don’t want money, though. I want something else.”
Beau arched a brow. “What else?”
“Don’t you think my helping you just now should prove to you that I’m trustworthy?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Very well,” she replied, in a low voice. “You found me sneaking about in your room. I found you sneaking about back there. Now we’re even. But I want to know your real name.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Around midnight, a knock sounded on Marianne’s bedchamber door. It woke her from another one of her nightmares. The one where her brother, Frederick, was reaching for her, asking for her help. It always made her perspire. She bolted upright and caught her breath, remembering where she was.
