Page 17 of No One's Bride
“An opinion I happen to admire, despite the fact you’re wrong the majority of the time.” His gaze swept over her again, and he grinned. “Though it’s fair to say you’ve been keeping some things from me, madam.”
She folded her arms across her chest.
Wickedness and arrogance made a worrisome combination.
“What are we going to do about the book? I cannae leave it here? Happen I should take it to the bank in the morning. Make it known it’s nae in the house.”
“I could take it to Grosvenor Street,” he suggested.
Ailsa narrowed her gaze in suspicion. Had he planned this? Had he hired a thug to stage a robbery while he waited outside? And to think she had been foolish enough to believe him.
“Hide not thy poison with such sugar’d words.”
Recognising the quote, the lord jerked his head. “You mean to insult me by citing Shakespeare? Question my logic, by all means, but never question my honourable intentions.”
“Something is amiss. It’s clear ye’re nae yerself tonight.”
“Why? Because I find your hair attractive? Because I’ve paid you the odd compliment? Perhaps after spending an hour with a woman who has no interest in my opinion, I’m beginning to see your worth.”
Och, the man would try a nun’s patience.
“Remember, I’m a wild Scottish lass who browbeats Englishmen into submission.” He had said that numerous times. Ailsa stepped forward, jabbing her finger to support her claim. “Ye’ll stop this nonsense, else I shall put ye out of this house.”
Lord Denton arched an imperious brow. “You might have been bludgeoned in your bed had I not had the foresight to call.”
Enough was enough.
“And I thank ye from the bottom of my heart.” She strode to the study door, dragged the red ribbon from around her neck and gripped the iron key. “Take the book. I trust ye to keep it safe.”
Ailsa unlocked the door and entered the study, aware he followed closely behind, too close. She stopped at the desk and motioned to the wooden casket. “Keep it until I receive word from my father.”
Lord Denton threw his coat over the chair and examined the small box. “You’ve not opened it. Did you not think to check the contents?”
“’Twas late.”
“What if there’s nothing but straw inside?”
“Why would a man from Chadwick’s deliver an empty box?” Granted, there had been something shifty about the fellow. Through subtle means, he’d tried to deter her from checking the merchandise. “The document I signed bore the Chadwick seal.”
“If he stole the original, your signature means you cannot hold the auction house to account. Hand me the scissors. They’re in my coat pocket. No. Wait. I need something more substantial to prise off the lid.”
The lord rounded the desk and opened the top drawer. He removed a silver letter opener and set to work on the box. The wood creaked against the pressure, but he wrenched the lid off easily.
In the gloom, they both peered inside to find a bed of straw.
“The book is buried beneath. I can see the spine.” She moved to brush the straw aside and froze. That’s when her fingers began trembling, when her heartbeat drummed loudly in her ears, when blind panic tightened her throat.
Much like the night Mr Ashbury followed her from the supper room, attacked her and tore her gown, a coldness chilled the blood in her veins.
She had stared ruin in the face that night.
An ominous energy in the air threatened ruin again.
Lord Denton watched her intently. “What’s wrong?”
She managed a shrug. “Will ye uncover the book?”
The night had brought one strange encounter after another. A deep sense of trepidation said to expect a host of disturbing events.
