Page 27 of My Kind of Scoundel
He paused, his fingers lingering at the base of her throat, his brow rising in silent challenge.
“Is something wrong, Mr Chance?”
“Not at all.”
“Does that conclude the end of the lesson?”
“Not quite. Shall I continue?”
The answer should have been no, but she nodded.
Those dangerous digits moved again, trailing slowly southward, leaving a scorching path in their wake. His wicked blue eyes remained fixed on her, waiting for her to say stop.
He paused again when he reached her left breast.
She arched a brow, daring him to continue.
The pads of his fingers grazed her nipple.
She inhaled sharply. Not because she felt his touch through the layers of material or because lust had her in its powerful grip. The fire in his eyes stole her breath. The slight tremble of his fingers said these feelings were not one-sided. This wasn’t part of the game.
“I think that concludes the lesson for today, Mr Chance.”
A sensual hum escaped him. “Thank the Lord. You’re killing me, Miss Darrow.”
Eleanor smiled to herself as she gathered more gloves off the floor and rose to her feet. “I concede. A man might work miracles with his hands if his partner is willing.”
“A fact we may explore if you lie to me again, madam.”
“I won’t make the same mistake, sir,” she said, placing the gloves on the counter. They couldn’t be sold as new, but that was the least of her concerns.
“Mistakes are regrettable.” He rose and adjusted his trousers. “Nothing that happened between us a moment ago could be deemed so.”
Being careful not to lie, she said, “No, you did a superb job of proving your point. There’s a reason they call you the King of Hearts. I’m told you collect hearts and break them. I mean to guard mine with my life.”
“You, of all people, should know not to listen to idle gossip. Particularly when it comes from the mouth of Lady Lucille Bowman.” He did not give her an opportunity torefute the claim. “Where did you leave the book the villain placed in the coal shed?”
“Under the boards in my bedchamber.” Glad of a distraction, she dusted off her hands and beckoned him to follow her upstairs. She realised the room might be in a dreadful state, too. “Did you happen in there last night?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yes.”
His tense shoulders told her all she needed to know.
“Prepare yourself,” he said, mounting the stairs beside her. “The room is a shambles. The intruder left no stone unturned in his search for your box.”
Part of her wished she had inspected the upper floors last night. Then she would know the face of her tormentor—assuming she had lived to tell the tale.
A whimper escaped her when she peered inside the storeroom and saw the empty shelves. The small tapestry boxes had been tossed aside. Gold and pearl buttons littered the boards like pretty shells on a beach. She stood rigid, gripping the doorframe before her knees buckled and she collapsed in a heap.
“I’m ruined.” The words were a whisper, but they hit her like a punch to the gut. “I pray Emily took the silk for safekeeping. I have no hope of raising the funds to replace what’s lost.”
Mr Chance stood behind her, his warm hand settling on her shoulder. Like a sturdy shelter in a storm, his presence brought a sense of calm.
“Write a list of what’s missing and I shall have it replaced.” His thumb moved in soothing circles on her nape. “You have troubles enough without worrying about bankruptcy.”
“I cannot take your money.”
“You can and you will. I’m to blame for this debacle.”
