Page 10 of His Wife, the Spy
“Wise woman,” he quipped as he opened the door and ushered her into the entry hall.
Jasper intended to leave her at the stairs. However, when he looked down to bid her farewell, she wasn’t there.
He found her at the library doorway and returned to her side. She didn’t acknowledge his presence.
“I knew it would be lovely,” she whispered.
Jasper looked past her to the room that his new staff had spent days dusting so he could work in there without being plagued by sneezing fits. The late morning sun streamed in the windows, highlighting the blossoming shrubs outside and the polished wood within. It was a room full of books and leather, the quietest space in the house.
Miss Pearce stared like it was a sweet shop and she couldn’t afford a taste.
“When Fiona visits, Mrs. Linden spends a great deal of time in here,” Jasper began. “I believe she naps more than reads, but she is as much of a guest as Fiona.”
Joy lit Miss Pearce’s eyes for a moment before she shook her head. “It’s not proper, but I appreciate your kind offer.”
“Anyone can tell you I’m as unkind as I am improper.” They probably had already. “Books should be read by someone who can appreciate them.” He kept his eyes on hers. “Please make yourself comfortable while you are here, Miss Pearce.”
The battle between what sheshoulddo and what shewantedto do was plain. It was equally plain when she decided. Her brilliant smile stole his breath. Though only for a moment.
“Thank you, Lord Ramsbury. I will.”
She entered the library and left him standing at the door, watching her peruse the shelves. After a moment, he left to join his guests, lest another young lady search him out and risk Miss Pearce’s reputation and employment.
Perhaps croquet would distract him from why that was important.
Chapter Three
Without looking, Annabelwas aware of the moment Jasper left the doorway. It was irritating. But worse, the echo of the front door closing sent a cloud skittering across her day. She took a deep breath and exhaled.
He was an incorrigible flirt and a magnet for scandal. He was also, quite possibly, a traitor.
And she preferred cloudy climates anyway.
Annabel trailed her fingers across the spines at eye level, focusing on the embossed lettering teasing her fingertips. Worn spines stood next to new bindings, and she found her favorite authors easily. However, two shelves down, the alphabet began again—a section on history, if the titles were any indication.
Closer to the back of the room, and nearer to the desk, fewer new books were on the shelves. Some of the spines were so cracked and worn that it was impossible to learn the titles without squinting.
It was also impossible to ignore the desk. Father kept everything important in his desk.
Just look and be done with it.
Annabel stared warily into the empty hallway as she reached for the drawer closest to her. The house was so quiet she could hear the wood creak as she tugged the handle. It didn’t budge.
Every drawer along the top row was locked. If this desk was like her father’s, the lower row would be as well. Annabelsighed as she knelt behind the desk. Skullduggery required thoroughness.
“It requires a professional,” she muttered. “You were daft to do this in the first place. You should have packed your things and left. Poverty be hanged.” She punctuated her sentence with a yeoman’s pull on the last—locked—drawer. “Drat.”
Taking advantage of her position, Annabel swept her hands along the underside of the desk and down the sides, searching for a key. No matter how far she reached, she found nothing but dust. The thought of spiders lurking in corners sent her sliding back to safety.
One last place to look. She wriggled backward a few inches, lifted the edge of the rug, and folded it backward. There was nothing underneath and nothing tied to the bottom.
He would be daft to leave his secrets unguarded with a house full of guests.“He never struck me as particularly bright anyway,” Annabel said as she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Hello? Is anyone in here?” called the butler from the doorway.
She froze, thankful for the large desk and the simple shape of her day dress. Even the hideous gray color helped her become part of the shadows. She might as well be the mouse everyone considered her to be.
The butler lingered in the doorway a moment longer, but it was just enough for Annabel to recall her last words. Guilt singed her ears. As a first son, Jasper Warren would have been well educated at the best schools. Even if he didn’t pay close attention, some of it was bound to sink in. He was also well read, given the condition of the books closest to hand. Not to mention, he was the relation of a dear friend, and he’d been kind to her.
