Page 77 of A Little Bit Dangerous
Lord Oldman sat in the chair like a poorly bandaged mummy. He shook his head. “Florentine was scared of the curse and refused to work without reciting the Rosary. I broke her beads, and she spent an hour crying in her room. I wasn’t aware she’d left until the next day.”
There was no way to prove or disprove his account.
Isabella’s shoulders sagged, her spirit deflated.
“Florentine knew about the chest in the basement and must have assumed the figures sold to the museum were worthless,” the lord added. “Fetch Daventry. He’ll sort this damned mess out.”
Aware time was precious, and that she needed more information before Mr Daventry’s agents arrived, Isabella focused on the murder investigation. “Where did you hire Florentine? It wasn’t through Mr Winthrop’s agency.”
The lord blinked and seemed surprised they were being so thorough. “I recall Quigley recommended a place to my secretary Myers. He hires all the servants. When he returns from Bristol, I’ll have him visit Daventry’s office.”
Christian glanced at her.
They were so in tune, she could read his thoughts.
All hope of making an arrest was lost. The magistrate would not charge the lord with a crime. If anything, Captain Snell would take the blame. Perhaps that accounted for his urgency in setting sail for Norway.
Two of Mr Daventry’s agents arrived—a handsome Italian and one who looked like a dashing buccaneer. The men listened to the evidence and agreed to take the lord’s statement.
“Any staff wishing to leave will be given temporary work until they find permanent positions,” said the agent with long hair and a voice as smooth as honey. “I suggest you meet Daventry in Hart Street in the morning. We’ll deal with matters here.”
The dark-haired agent gripped Christian’s shoulder. “I’d say go home and get a good night’s rest but the Den must be teaming with gambling men at this hour.”
Again, Christian met her gaze, the corners of his mouth curling into a heart-stopping smile. They had no plans to rest. Such was the intense nature of their relationship, they would be together in bed within the hour.
On the journey home, Christian made love to her with his compelling blue eyes while Aramis stared at the rain pelting the windowpane.
Sigmund, their burly manservant, welcomed them into the gaming hell’s lavish red hall and tapped a finger to his lips. “Barker is about to lose his townhouse to Lord Patmore. You could hear a pin drop in the card room tonight.”
Aramis rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. I’m just in time.” He turned to Christian. “Are you ready to watch Patmore wreak vengeance on his cousin?”
“Not tonight.”
Aramis understood the implicit meaning in those two simple words. He drew a deep breath, the long exhale one of resignation. “Then I’m sure you’ll have no problem making your own amusement.”
The men disappeared into a smoke-filled room, leaving Isabella alone with Christian. He touched her hand, entwined fingers. His breath came a little quicker as he led her slowly upstairs.
They stopped outside his bedchamber.
Nerves assailed her. What if Mrs Maloney cautioned against such sinful behaviour? After hearing the conte’s vile threats, she should pack her valise and run, but she was weak against the power of Christian’s magnetic charm.
Making love to him again would be a mistake.
A beautiful mistake.
An earth-shattering mistake.
One she would remember until her dying day.
“Do you not enjoy watching men gamble their lives away?” she said, afraid to mount the stairs in case Mrs Maloney put paid to their plans.
He smiled. “Gambling is like dipping a foot in quicksand. Some men sense the imminent danger. Some still profess they can swim while sinking in the mire. Denial is often more bearable than the truth.”
The last comment hit a nerve.
She could not deny how she felt about this man. Once spoken, the truth was a permanent shackle. A lady couldn’t run with her legs bound.
Still, she wished to convey some of what was in her heart.
