Page 19 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
“I can’t simply stand by, clueless, while you run about investigating! This is my tragedy, too, Lord Lysander, and I insist I have a hand in fixing it. You cannot deny me—”
“Ihave interviewed everyone.Ihave searched every inch of this house.Ihave hired a damn runner. And you think—”
“Everyinch?”
“Of course!” He exploded upward.
She stood, too, more slowly, though. She smiled, a true smile, one she felt to her toes. Because perhaps there was something she could do. Perhaps there was something he did not know. She’d assumed he’d known when he’d made his announcement—the art is missing!—at her home the other night. But perhaps not. Excitement buzzed in her veins, and the strides that took her from the parlor held more hope than the steps that had brought her, breathless, here.
His steps echoed fast behind her. “Where are you going?”
“To view the art collection.”
“I’ve already looked at it. Dozens of times. There’s nothing to see, the gallery is empty. The paintings are gone.”
Of course he had been in that room before. He had a key. But she had something, too, hopefully. She continued walking, continued grinning.
He continued following. “You’ve passed the gallery door.”
Ah. She did have something after all. “I’m not going to that gallery.”
“But it’sthegallery.”
She turned then, squaring her shoulders and meeting his gaze. “Oh. My. It seems the baroness didn’t share everything with you. It seems as if thereisa way I can help you.”
“What do you know, you minx?”
Oh, she could not wait to see the recognition light in his eyes that she wasn’t useless. “There’s a secret gallery. One Lady Balantine gave very few people entrance to.”
“There is not.” The click of his boots on the wood floor punctuated his words and his irritation.
She turned back around, continued her walk down the corridor. “Oh, yes, there is.”
He hurried after her, following her straight into the dowager’s bedroom.
She threw open the large wardrobe in the back corner of the room, and he came to stand beside her.
He waved a hand at it. “See? Empty. You are an imaginative one, aren’t you.”
“And you’re an arse. Just wait, Lord Lysander, and watch.” She stepped into the wardrobe, ran her finger down the right-hand seam at the back, and found the button. She depressed it, and the hidden door at the back of the wardrobe swung open.
“Hell.” He stood so close his curse whispered over the top of her ear, sent a shiver down her spine.
She pushed open the door and sailed into the neighboring townhome. “Not Hell, Lord Lysander. Lady Balantine’s secret second home. Or, to be more precise, her secret art gallery.”
He stepped beside her, turning in circles, though why she couldn’t imagine. It was darker here than it had been on the other side of the wardrobe. “She owns the neighboring townhouse?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I didn’t know. How’dyouknow?”
She stepped farther into the room, pushed back the curtains. “I suppose being the baroness’s personal art forger has its benefits.” Didn’t find her so amusing now, did he? Eminently helpful, rather. Indispensable.
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “How can you joke about such a thing?”
She clenched her fingers around the edges of the curtains. “What else is there to do?” She could not give up hope yet, so she dropped her arms to her side and faced him with a smile. “Shall I give you a tour?” She strode off without an answer.
“What if the paintings are here? You do realize, Miss Frampton, that they could be here. I had no idea this existed, so I have not looked.”
