Page 44 of No One's Bride
Ailsa laughed. This profound desire was absurd. “Two weeks ago, ye couldnae bear my company for more than a few minutes.”
“That’s not true. Our spats have been my only source of amusement for some time. Arguing with you was the highlight of my week.”
Her breath caught in her throat. While his passionate kisses stole her sanity, confessing his feelings posed a greater danger. Having inherited her mother’s gentle heart, the need to soothe Lord Denton’s woes would leave her vulnerable, too exposed.
“Time’s a ticking!” came Mr Gibbs’ warning.
Lord Denton shoved open the carriage door and vaulted to the pavement. “I’m well aware of my duties this evening,” he snapped.
“Then happen you should get a move on. We need to be in Covent Garden before the stroke of midnight. You’ve an hour at most to see to your business.”
The lord handed Ailsa down. “Park at the end of the street, Mr Gibbs. That way, ye’ll be able to ring yer bell to warn us if ye see anyone enter the auction house.”
Mr Gibbs doffed his weather-beaten hat. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I’m equipped with a handbell, not the might of St Paul’s.”
“I’m from the Highlands, Mr Gibbs. I’m trained to hear the ring of the supper bell from a mile away.”
The man gave a hapless shrug. “Have it your way, but if you’re caught with your fingers in the pie, don’t expect me to clean up the mess.”
ChapterNine
They slipped into the auction house. The air grew thick with nervous energy when Lord Denton locked the heavy oak door behind them. Alisa squinted amid the never-ending blackness, though the white marble floor gave a modicum of light.
They paused in the hall and listened.
Quietness crept through the place like an invisible spectre, raising the hairs on Ailsa’s nape, twisting the knot in her stomach.
A murderer had stalked these walkways, his intention clear as he mounted the stone staircase. Had Mr Hibbet pleaded with his attacker, or had the first plunge of the knife caught him unawares?
“We have little time to waste.” Ailsa would not breathe easily until they were in the carriage, charging through the fog-filled streets back to Aldgate.
Being strangely attuned to her thoughts and fears, Lord Denton placed a comforting hand on the small of her back as they climbed the stairs to the upper floor. Taking tentative steps, they stopped outside a door at the end of the stark landing.
Lord Denton faced her. “Are you sure about this?”
Sure about what? Witnessing the blood splatters or the promise of sharing a passionate kiss? “Aye. Let us get the matter over with and return the keys posthaste.”
Lord Denton unlocked the door and prised it slowly from the jamb. He guided her into the unlit hall, though their eyes were already accustomed to the gloom.
He locked the door behind them and slipped the keys into his coat pocket. For long, drawn-out seconds, they paused in the narrow space before he said, “We’ll stay together. Work methodically. Search one room at a time.”
“What are we looking for?”
He sighed. “I don’t have a clue.”
For the first time since entering, Ailsa dared to inhale deeply. She didn’t wretch, for her nostrils failed to detect the pungent smell of death. There was no whiff of noxious gases, no metallic tinge of blood. Just a trace of lye soap.
“Mr Daventry said nae one has touched the scene since the coroner removed the body. Unless my nose fails me, someone has scrubbed this hallway clean.”
He drew in a breath. “I can’t smell anything.”
“Because ye’re choking on Tiffin cologne.”
“It’s Truefitt, and you made no complaints in the auctioneer’s office while ravishing me senseless.”
A delightful shiver raced through her at the memory. “Because I was intoxicated by the fumes.”
“Oh, you were intoxicated, but it had nothing to do with the notes of musk and vanilla.” His voice dropped to a husky drawl. “Admit, you couldn’t get enough of me. And before you offer another explanation, we both know a spell cannot make a woman moan into a man’s mouth.”
