Heiress for Hire, page 9
“Which is increasingly diminished income.”
“Or, heaven forbid, employment.”
She considered him intently, as if his amiable tone had revealed too much. “Do you resent that? Were your own expectations thwarted more than you admit?”
“Are you still trying to build an argument that I killed my uncle?” The evidence that she was disappointed him, although his reaction could not be justified. Still, he rather wished . . . he was not sure what he wished, although right now kissing her kept tempting his mind. The night begged for it. He was not the only one who experienced that special magnetism that men and women feel when arousal altered the senses and delirium waited one kiss away. The way she met him already on her guard as much as announced she felt it too.
“Of course, I am still considering you a likely culprit. Better you than me. My question was more generous than that, however. I am truly curious how a man like you, the nephew of a duke, reconciles taking such a step. Gentlemen do not seek employment.”
He normally avoided the reflection that an honest answer would require. Right now, however, flattered by this deeper interest she showed, and beset by a desire that made his blood spark, he found himself looking inward. A hard cock can make a man do many foolish things.
“I am of two minds,” he admitted. “The gentleman tells himself he is no more in trade than a physician or a barrister, both acceptable endeavors. Even more acceptable, since I can claim my inquiries are favors to friends, or an avocation.”
“And the other mind?”
“The soldier is grateful for something to do other than gamble and drink. I suppose I could occupy my time investigating some obscure ruin and writing its history, as some do to fill their days, but I prefer more interesting searches.”
“I think your second mind is the one that matters most. You do not really need this employment, after all. You could cease it anytime you chose.”
“You sound sure of that, when possibly only my next inquiry will keep me from being out on the street.”
“Nonsense. You spoke of portions from your grandmother. Your father received one like the other uncles. And you do not have to share what is left with a brother or sister, since you have no siblings.”
“How do you know that?”
She laughed lightly. “Little about your family tree is not known to the servants who worked in that house the last few days. A bit here, a bit there, and a total picture comes together. I daresay that if I were willing to visit the others who left today as I did, I could have learned most of what transpired at that meeting without your visiting to tell me.”
He watched how the low fire sent golden patterns across her form. “Yet you had me visit anyway.”
That caught her up short with a smile half formed. He took the pause as an opportunity to move over to the divan and sit beside her, turned in so he could watch those patterns more closely.
She scooted away a few inches. “I allowed you to visit because learning about the meeting from you was more efficient.”
“Is that what this is? Efficiency? It is not a word I would use to describe the mood in this chamber tonight. Or the last time.”
Flustered now. Charmingly so, mostly because she never showed anything but self-possession. “I cannot trust you,” she murmured, to herself more than him.
“You do not have to trust me yet. You only have to kiss me.”
“You came to my house looking for evidence I killed the duke. I could never want to kiss you.”
“And yet I think you do.”
“You don’t even deny your dangerous suspicions.”
“I will explain all that in a moment.” He leaned in, noticing how deeply dark her eyes looked in the low light. “Later.” He touched his lips to hers, ignoring the inner voice warning of impossible complications.
She did not veer back, but allowed it. It entered his mind that she was too stunned to resist, but the softness of her lips and the warmth of their closeness diverted his attention from that idea. He lingered in the kiss, and when she still did not object, he gathered her toward him and into an embrace.
* * *
She waited for the sad, dull emotions that ruled her whenever she seriously considered intimacy with a man. They did not come. Instead his kiss enlivened her. She dared not move lest she ruin it. She wanted to both laugh and weep at the irony that this man could evoke excitement with his embrace instead of loathing.
It would not last, of course. It couldn’t. For a moment, however, she allowed herself to pretend that she did trust him. She ignored all the warnings her mind tried to shout, and permitted her body to respond if it could.
A quiet bedazzlement that she had known long ago sparkled in her blood, far better than what she experienced in those recent dreams. The girlhood she had lost in every way possible raised one hand above the dank waters that submerged it. Her spirit took hold of that hand and held tight so it would not disappear again.
That meant letting the kiss continue. She noted every second of it. Every warmth, every touch. How it changed to something deeper and the way his hands rested on her back and side. She relinquished confusion and just floated in the sensations, amazed.
He took her face in his hands and looked in her eyes. Not frowning, but with an intensity that made the beauty pause.
“You have not kissed me,” he said. “Do you not want to? If you don’t, if I misunderstood—”
She placed her lips on his to silence him. She must have done it right because he took over again and there were no more words.
It could not go on. Soon, it would be ruined. A corner of her mind waited for the moment that would happen while the rest of her relished the brief rejuvenation while she could.
True desire worked its ways with her, transforming her, starting a strange hunger that only seemed to grow. She lost hold of her thoughts, her judgment . . . herself. His hands moved in a caress that spoke of his own desire and rising passion.
That possessive hold should alarm her, but didn’t. A part of her awoke to what was happening, however. To the time and place of it, and who he was. His dominating presence provoked her vulnerability. Her desire actually enjoyed that. A primitive inner voice urged him on. Rationality spoke louder. How they had met, what he might seek besides pleasure, pressed itself onto her consciousness.
Regretfully, she moved her head to break the kiss. Battling a preference to embrace and hold him close, she placed her hands on his chest, stopping him. “You should go.”
He did not cajole or reveal disappointment. Whatever he had thought to have tonight, he seemed to accept that this was all there would be.
One more kiss, a sweet one, and he released her. “Of course. You should sleep. You were too long a servant and should stay abed until noon tomorrow.”
“Yes, I should retire.” Alone. She did not have to say it. She released the hand she clutched above the water and let it sink again.
After Chase took his leave, Minerva sat on the divan, eyes blurring, finding herself amidst the chaotic reactions those kisses had caused. It had been stupid to allow herself to taste that which she dare not enjoy in full. She was well along on a good scolding when she realized that his “later” explanation had not come.
Glad to have something to do so she did not weep from disappointment, she marched down the stairs and hurried through the garden to the small carriage house in back. She knocked on its door. “Are you asleep?”
Jeremy opened the door. “Have you been crying?”
He was still dressed. She stood aside. “Hurry. Radnor just left and I want you to follow him. His horse was not outside, so it must be at the stable around the corner. You can go through the garden and mews and be there when he arrives if you are quick about it.”
Already he had pulled on his boots. “Follow him where?”
“I want to know where he lives. Take some coin and hire a horse from the stable if necessary.”
“Won’t need it. Unless he gallops I can keep up on foot. It will be more obvious if I follow on a horse. He’ll hear me for sure then, and there’s no shadows to hide in.” Still, he swept up the coins on the table from his pay before he ran into the night.
Chapter Nine
Chase finished his meal just as his manservant Brigsby brought in the mail and paper. Brigsby insisted on doing it this way. A leisurely breakfast was a gentleman’s ritual, to his mind, and he refused to provide the reading material while Chase ate.
Chase flipped through the mail, then distracted himself with the paper. His mind did not really notice the words he read. All night his thoughts dwelled on those embraces at Minerva’s house. He still tried to make sense of what had happened.
He was no lothario, but he was not green. He liked to believe he understood the mood between them, and its potential. He had never importuned a woman, but he had never been refused either, because his instincts had proven to be excellent.
Except last night. Perhaps. Or not. That was the devil of the problem. He had kissed a woman who wanted to be kissed, he was sure. She had also allowed the warmth of those embraces. He had felt her rising passion. He had good cause to expect more, even if he did not expect everything.
Then, nothing. She was done. Most done. Thoroughly finished. He might have been tested and failed, her retreat had been so abrupt and complete.
He thought she looked sad or perhaps embarrassed when he took his leave, but that might have been the low light playing tricks. Or his mind finding excuses.
He set aside the paper, remembering that he had some business with The Times today in order to insert another set of advertisements. He pulled over the portfolio he had carried downstairs and opened it. He reviewed the notes he had added last night when he could not sleep.
Brigsby entered the chamber and cleared his throat.
“Sir.”
Chase turned a page. “Yes?”
“A caller, sir.”
Chase looked up. There beside a fretful Brigsby stood Minerva Hepplewhite. She wore a vague artificial smile and a brown dress and orange pelisse. More brown and orange decorated a bonnet that framed her face nicely, showing her dark hair and darker eyes.
Chase stood and gestured for Brigsby to leave. Minerva’s gaze speared into him. She did not appear either sad or embarrassed this morning. She looked determined.
“Good morning,” he said. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I had you followed.”
“Did you now? By whom?”
She pretended she had not heard him. “May I sit?”
“Of course.” He walked around the table and held out a chair for her. “It is early. Would you like some breakfast?”
“Some coffee would be nice.”
He strode to the door and found Brigsby very close on the other side. He sent him for more coffee and another cup. He returned to the table, and closed the portfolio.
“You should not be here,” he said.
“If I let you in my house late at night, I am not going to worry about coming to yours in broad daylight. If gossip starts, we will tell them all that I came to employ you in a discreet inquiry.”
“Which you did not. Something else sent you through town at nine o’clock. I might have still been asleep. Mayfair does not awaken until noon.”
“I assumed you were not the sort to lie abed all morning. My concern was that I would arrive to find you already had left this house.” She gazed around the chamber that he used for dining, taking its measure, lingering on the Turkish carpet and the dark wooden Indian table against the window. As her gaze returned to him, it first paused a moment on the portfolio.
“It appears a comfortable house,” she said. “Of course on Bury Street it should be.”
“It suits me.” The whole house was not his, but he assumed she knew that since she had climbed the stairs to his front door. His apartment occupied the third level, which gave him good air and fine prospects of the street and nearby St. James’s Square.
The coffee arrived. He waited while Brigsby served her. His manservant said nothing, but a worried little frown expressed how irregular Brigsby found the situation. On a few occasions he had served women breakfast, but they had stayed the night. Apparently, Brigsby found that more acceptable than a woman arriving before calling hours.
Chase waited until the door closed again. “Why are you here?” To kiss you again. To apologize for throwing you out. To tear off this brown dress and beg you to take me. He could fantasize, but he knew better than to hope.
“You left before explaining.”
“You want an explanation? Fine. You are a lovely woman. I am a man. I wanted to kiss you. You seemed agreeable. So I did, and you allowed it. Until you didn’t. There is no other explanation than that.”
She just looked at him. He looked back. The silence stretched.
“Not an explanation about that,” she said with exasperation.
“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind talking about it. I have a few questions of my own.”
“Before you—that is, just as you were about to—I mentioned that you thought I killed the duke and you said you would explain all, later. Only you didn’t.”
“I pride myself on knowing when it is time to leave a party.”
“I understand. Truly. You could hardly—but I want to hear the explanation, so I came here.”
She must want to hear it badly if she tracked him down and arrived at nine o’clock. Fool that he was, that flattered him. Only now he did have to offer some explanation that appeased her, or at least satisfied her curiosity. Since she appeared so earnest and attentive, he found himself wanting to give her an explanation that put himself in a very good light.
“You are merely one person of a long list of people with excellent motives where he is concerned.”
“A list that includes you,” she reminded him.
“I know it was not me, so for my purposes that does not signify.”
“Have you concluded I did not do it, if it was even done?”
Tempted though he was to lie, he would not with her. “I did not conclude that at all. I merely considered it unlikely. I am counting on the evidence—”
“Oh, tosh. Evidence.” She pressed forward against the table. “Do you think I did it? Do you? What does your inner sense tell you?”
“I do not rely on any sense other than my mind in these matters.”
“You are so objective?”
“I must be. One’s inner sense, as you put it, is influenced by . . . emotions and . . . other things.” Intent, direct gazes. Light that reflected intelligence in a woman’s eyes. Desire to possess.
He had learned the hard way to judge important matters without passion or prejudice. Long before he met Minerva and found himself wanting her, intuition had betrayed him badly. Using his inner sense had made him horribly wrong once.
She stood. “I suppose I can’t blame you too much, what with your refusal to simply know the truth, instead of requiring hard proof. Unfortunately, it is difficult to prove one did not do something. I have no choice but to continue to see you as dangerous to me.”
In other words, no more kisses. “Do I get to ask my questions now? About last night?”
“No.” She began making motions of departure, but stopped. “What is that?” She pointed at the portfolio. “I could not help but see my name on the top page when I arrived.”
“It holds my notes on this inquiry.”
She cocked her head. “You make notes to yourself?”
“I do. Mostly lists of matters to address and things to inquire about and information acquired. I do it for all my inquiries.”
“Lists?” She laughed. “We have spoken of a list of suspects, and who is on it. Are you saying there really is a list?”
“There is.”
She seemed to find that peculiar. “So that is where you list all the hard proof and evidence that you need in order to know anything. Do you have a bad memory?”
“I have an excellent memory. This encourages me to progress through an inquiry efficiently.”
“Hmmm. I would think that one thing would lead to another in a natural way. That is how it has worked for me. I can’t imagine drawing up lists about it.”
“That is because it is not your profession.”
“Ah, yes.” She stood. “I will take my leave. Good day to you.” She turned on her heel.
“Since you can simply know the truth, in ways I am denied, what does your inner sense say about me?” he asked.
She looked back over her shoulder. “It says that you did not harm your uncle, but that you think learning who did will bring you pain.”
Brigsby arrived to escort her out. Chase heard her last words echo in his head. She was good. Very good.
* * *
“It was kind of you to offer to call on me, but it is better that I see you here.” Mrs. Oliver possessed a deep, quiet voice. She sat in Minerva’s little study, on a chair placed right where Chase Radnor had stood before the warming pan crashed down on his head. Deep into her middle years, Mrs. Oliver was a buxom, blond, proud woman with exacting posture. She imposed herself on the small chamber, her body tilted forward just enough to impose on Minerva as well.
Mrs. Oliver had been referred to Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries by Mrs. Drable. She was their first paying client.
“Tell me how we can assist you.”
Mrs. Oliver licked her lips. “It is complicated.”
Minerva had hoped it would be a simple matter that could be solved quickly, like proving a husband had a mistress. She needed to devote time to her own inquiry. This afternoon she had intended to do just that before Mrs. Oliver’s letter came in the morning mail. She hoped that staying busy on this matter would at least distract her from continually dwelling on what had happened in the library with Chase.
