Page 47 of No One's Bride
The need to ravish him, to grab his lapels and thrust her tongue deep into his mouth, left her dizzy. They could not make a sound. No pants. No moans. Just the gentle glide of lips, their restraint painful yet beautifully seductive.
While the intruder opened the desk drawers and rifled inside, she dared to let her tongue slide over Lord Denton’s.
Heavens! She could hardly breathe.
He tasted divine.
Of earthy male and forbidden pleasures.
He pushed his erection against her abdomen, letting her know how much he loved tasting her, too, even if he couldn’t say so aloud.
“Where the devil are they?” came an angry cry from the next room. “They must be here somewhere.”
They froze, their mouths still joined, as the clip of footsteps came closer. The intruder had entered the bedchamber. Any second, he might whip back the curtain and find them in a clinch.
The villain opened the armoire and spent minutes muttering to himself, calling Mr Hibbet a traitor, the worst kind of Judas. He moved to the drawers on the nightstand. Then the creak of the bed preceded the rustling of the sheets.
Was he looking for the book of sigils?
No, he was looking for more than one item.
Ailsa said a silent prayer of thanks when the devil marched back into the drawing room, but events took another shocking turn. One that had nothing to do with her desire to devour Lord Denton’s mouth.
Someone else entered the apartment.
Was it the accomplice?
“You’re working late, Mr Murden,” came a woman’s sultry voice. “Though I’m assured your duties do not entail rummaging through your employee’s belongings.”
Mr Murden!
Lord Denton’s eyes widened at the revelation.
“M-Miss Chadwick.” Mr Murden started stuttering before offering an excuse for his presence. “The m-magistrate said I might remove any paperwork relating to the running of the auction house. Mr Hibbet often left the delivery dockets in his desk drawer.”
The lady’s light titter rang with mockery. “Come now. I think we both know what you’re really looking for. Else why would you scurry around like a rat in the darkness?”
“I’m looking for the delivery dockets,” Mr Murden affirmed.
“No, you’re looking for evidence Mr Hibbet enjoyed relations with your wife.” Amusement coated her tone. “It pays to keep abreast of auction room gossip, sir, though the husband is often the last to know he’s a cuckold.”
Mr Murden cursed. “One might ask what you’re doing here. Returning to the scene of your crime? Admit you had more reason than most to drive a blade through Hibbet’s heart.”
“You think I’m responsible for his murder? Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t the stomach or strength to commit such a heinous act.” The lady must have moved closer to the desk. “Good Lord! It’s hard to believe a man could lose so much blood. Poor Mr Hibbet.”
“Don’t act like you give a damn.”
“Mr Hibbet was the devil incarnate,” Miss Chadwick snapped. “He tricked an old man into letting him have this apartment. He persuaded a confused man he was kin.”
Mr Murden gasped. “Kin?”
“Did you not question why a mere assistant was suddenly given the role of custodian and allowed to live in such luxury?”
“Hibbet said it was a temporary arrangement. After the robbery last year, Chadwick wanted someone to guard the premises.”
Miss Chadwick’s disdainful snigger echoed through the room. One could imagine a pretty face twisted with bitterness. “Was there a robbery? We only had Mr Hibbet’s word. What exactly was stolen? An old spell book that barely raised fifty pounds.”
Ailsa suppressed a gasp.
