Page 36 of No One's Bride
“As much as we’d like to trust your word,” Lord Denton snapped, “under the circumstances, you can see why that’s impossible. You’ll give us the name.”
Mr Murden tutted while having a brief tussle with his conscience. “I suppose you’ll find out eventually, but in the meantime, I must ask you to keep the information to yourself.” He did not need to scour his records. The name slipped off his tongue with ease. “Mrs Sybil Daventry wanted you to have the book, madam.”
* * *
Hart Street, Covent Garden
Office of the Order
“If you care to wait in the drawing room, I’ll have Mr Daventry attend you as soon as he returns.” The friendly housekeeper pointed to a room off the hall. “He’s at Great Marlborough Street and won’t be long.” She offered a beaming smile, then took Gladys to the kitchen to help with the tea tray.
Ailsa wondered if this was a conspiracy.
At every given opportunity, she found herself alone with Viscount Denton. Even strangers sought to nurture this unlikely relationship. Perhaps they were receiving otherworldly cues from the wings.
Lord Denton gestured for her to lead the way.
The second they were alone, the atmosphere changed along with his demeanour. His stern gaze softened, his mouth curling with satisfaction rather than remaining in a rigid line. Intimacy swirled between them, warm like a gentle summer breeze.
She did not need to look at him to know his gaze wandered over her figure. She sensed his mounting interest, his need to study her as if she were a complicated addition to his library. Something he was determined to decipher, keen to understand.
In a bid to settle her pulse, she scanned the room.
Mr Daventry’s business premises was more like an aristocrat’s mansion house than a place of work. The plush decor and expensive furniture confirmed it was on par with the wealthiest homes in Mayfair.
Ailsa was deciding where to sit when Lord Denton touched her lightly on the arm. “I’ve never known you be so quiet.” Concern marred the lord’s tone, along with this confounding familiarity. “Are your lips pursed because you fear I might slip my tongue into your mouth again?”
The devil!
Did he have to remind her of their amorous interlude?
“So, ye admit ye’re to blame for it being more than a peck?”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “I’m happy to accept responsibility if it eases your embarrassment.”
“I’m nae embarrassed.” She was shocked. Shocked, she had been so free with her affections. Shocked that kissing him had felt as natural as breathing air. Lord Denton was the last man she thought would fan the flames of desire. “I find it hard to understand how matters progressed so quickly.”
Her confession was met with an impressed grin. “You mean how the mere brush of our lips ended in a rampant tongue tangling? Why we were minutes away from stripping off our clothes and indulging in every wild pleasure?”
Och, this man loved making her squirm. “At nae time did I think about removing my garments.”
“No,” he drawled. “It’s clear we weren’t thinking at all. But if my mouth sends you into such a frenzy, one wonders what would happen if my hands found their way up your skirts.”
Mother Mary!
“Thankfully, we’re in nae danger of finding out.” She dared to glance at the box he’d placed on the chair. “Mr Daventry will take the grimoire for safekeeping, and our problems will be solved.”
“He seemed keen for us to keep it.”
“’Tis evidence in a murder investigation.” A thought entered her head, and she glanced at the door before whispering, “What if Mrs Daventry arranged for me to have the wrong book? What if she believes in spells and premonitions and wants me to fall in love? What if the intruder came to steal More’sUtopia?”
The viscount frowned. “Mrs Daventry is a staunch believer in women’s reform. I suspect she didn’t want you to lose the book just because you’re a woman with limited funds.”
“Aye, ye may be right.” Yet she couldn’t shake these suspicions. Perhaps because she was unused to Lord Denton being the voice of reason.
He arched a brow. “You agree? This is becoming a habit.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts. When this is over, I shall go back to calling ye a doaty bampot.”
