A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  “What is it?” he asked, keeping his voice low, holding her against him as he wrapped one arm around her and across her shoulders.

  She immediately turned to face him, pressing the lamp into his hand before she dropped it.

  “Spiders,” she muttered through a shudder of revulsion.

  As if dumfounded by her response to such a trivial thing, it took him seconds to respond.

  “Spiders?” he repeated.

  “Yes, spiders,” she seethed in a whisper, clutching his shirt with both hands.

  “You hunt for ghosts in daring places,” he said rather than asked, “and you’re afraid of spiders.”

  “Yes. And so? I have no fear of snakes, Garrett, or dead animals, or ghosts,” she said with emphasis, “but I am deathly afraid of spiders.”

  He exhaled a breath. “Ivy, this entire tunnel is filled with cobwebs.”

  “Cobwebs are mostly dust in corners.” She relaxed her grip on him a little. “But the notch in that wood contains a strong web, which means it also contains at least one spider.”

  For a moment, she thought he might laugh. Instead, he sighed and grabbed one of her shoulders in an attempt to move around her.

  “Get behind me.”

  She scooted to her side, noting only briefly that her breasts rubbed hard against his arm.

  “What were you looking at?” he asked, lowering himself as much as he could to peer at the side wall.

  “I think there might be a latch in that…notch right there,” she answered. “But I only felt the web.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “It might bite, Garrett.”

  He did laugh softly at that. “I’m certain I’ll be fine.”

  She couldn’t imagine anyone purposely sticking a finger into a spiderweb, but her interest in unlocking a secret door quickly overtook her concern.

  Within seconds she heard a click. “Something happened.”

  “I know. There’s a latch inside,” he replied, attempting to stand again.

  “Did you feel it?”

  He turned to face her as he held the lamp at his side. “The latch or the spider?”

  She smacked him lightly on the chest. “You weren’t bitten were you.”

  He watched her closely, a trace of a smile on his partially illumined face. “No, but I am fairly thankful that you care.”

  She sucked in a breath of stale air. “I’m thankful that you’re not convulsing from the poison. I couldn’t possibly carry you down those stairs all by myself.”

  “Ah,” was his only reply.

  She huffed. “So I heard the latch click, let’s see if there’s a door here.”

  She scooted up in front of him again, her bottom grazing the front of his trousers as she passed him in the tight enclosure. It disconcerted her that she hadn’t considered they might constantly have to touch, though she would never mention it to him.

  She began pressing her fingers against the door, gently at first, then harder still. “It won’t budge.”

  “Let me try,” he said seconds later.

  She expected him to go around her, but instead, he handed her the lamp, then rested the front of his body over the back of hers, his hands pressing against the door on either side of her shoulders, his chest against her back. She could even feel his long, strong legs through her gown as he steadied them next to the outsides of hers.

  “Garrett,” she whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re too close.”

  He stopped pushing against the door but didn’t break contact with her. “Can’t you breathe?”

  Embarrassment flooded her as she turned her head to look up at his face. The small, golden flame of lamplight revealed very little of his expression, though she could tell he watched her closely. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “No, I—I can’t breathe,” she repeated.

  For a long moment he said nothing, though she could feel his heart beating a strong, steady rhythm at her back, his body still pressed to hers from shoulders to feet. Then very gradually his lids narrowed and he dropped his gaze to her lips.

  “Garrett—”

  “I don’t want to move,” he revealed, his voice low and gruff.

  She swallowed, her mouth going dry from the intimate contact, the implication in his words.

  “We’re this close, Ivy,” he continued seconds later, “and I want to find out what’s behind this door.”

  She felt as if he’d struck her. Could he possibly be so unaffected by her presence that even as they touched body to body he felt nothing? Not a stir of…something? She would never take him as a lover again, but she was adult enough to know her attraction to him remained as intense as ever. In fact, she wished desperately, just for this second in time, that he would kiss her, if only to know that two years ago she hadn’t imagined everything.

  “Hold on to me,” he breathed, his eyes never leaving hers.

  She pinched her brows in confusion. “What?”

  “Hold on.”

  She grabbed the arm of his shirt with her free hand, and as she did, he pushed with a grunt and the door slipped open a crack.

  A whoosh of warm, clean air rushed in, and immediately Ivy realized why he wanted her to hold on as the urge to fall forward made her trip.

  Garrett pushed a little harder twice more, and the door opened about two feet, just enough for them to squeeze through.

  “This room is adjacent to the master bedchamber; I think it’s the lady’s withdrawing room because we came through a wardrobe closet,” she said as she released him, keeping her voice lower still now that they were in the open. “I know where we are now, but we’ve been turned around.”

  “Probably when the staircase curved,” he replied.

  “This is utterly fascinating,” she declared in amazement, taking another step and looking around her.

  “Yes, it is.” He grasped her by the forearm. “But don’t go any farther. We need to go back down and out the way we came.”

  She glanced to his face, noting a streak of grime on one cheek, a trace of dust in his hair. “To close the bookcase, I suppose.”

  “And because we don’t want the staff thinking we’re walking out of a bedroom together on the second floor,” he added in a very practical tone.

  God, he’d flustered her so much she hadn’t given a thought to decorum. She was starting to feel claustrophobic, not from the hidden passageway, but from his nearness.

  “Then there’s nothing more to see here,” she said as she squeezed into the crawl space after him. She pulled on the door with her free hand, but heavy as it was, she couldn’t maintain her grip.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, hugging her body close as he reached down and yanked.

  The door jerked once, then closed with a creak, followed by a click from the wall to their left, where the latch fastened inside the notch, enveloping them once more in near darkness.

  He backed up a little and turned. “Let’s go.”

  “Which tunnel are we going to follow next?” she asked, fighting the urge to grab on to the back of his shirt. “Since you’re leading the way now, I’ll let you decide.”

  “We need to get back to the library,” he answered after a moment. “Better not to have anyone find out we were in here.”

  She supposed he was right, and yet she couldn’t help but feel a little subdued. “When are we going to investigate the others?”

  “Probably at night.”

  “At night?”

  “When we’re less likely to be discov—”

  He stopped so abruptly she ran into him.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the cat,” he murmured over his shoulder.

  “So, I’m afraid of spiders and you’re afraid of dead cats,” she said lightly.

  “Ivy…” he drawled in a way that sounded intimate. “There’s something else here.”

  She crouched down as he did. “Something else?”

  Since she couldn’t see
around him, he shifted his form to one side, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “Look at that.”

  He lowered the lamp as she grasped his shoulder and arm, peering around him to view the carcass. A tiny sliver of silver shone brightly in the dimness.

  “It’s a chain around its neck, I think,” Garrett said as if reading the question in her mind.

  He reached down and she squeezed a muscled shoulder. “Don’t touch it.”

  He looked at her. “I have to if we’re going to see it.”

  She couldn’t argue that logic. “Just—be careful.”

  Without reply, he stared at it for a few seconds, then slowly lowered his left hand, the lamp in his right. Reaching out with a nimble finger, he curved it around the thin band of silver and gently pulled. Though the body of the cat had to have been nearly decomposed, it still took him two tugs to loosen it from the neck. With a final yank, it came off with a snap, and he lifted it to the lamplight.

  “There’s a pendant attached,” Ivy whispered, her excitement building.

  “It’s old, too,” he added, dangling the necklace by one finger. In the shape of a heart, the small pendant twirled faintly beside the flickering light. “It has an inscription.” He squinted and read, “Mine Only, B.S.”

  She slumped a little. “Who’s B S? Benedict Sharon? And why on earth was it around a cat’s neck, in here of all places?”

  He shook his head and replied, “I’ve absolutely no idea. But it could be a generation or two old.”

  “Well, the cat certainly hasn’t been here for two generations.”

  “No,” he agreed with a smile. He started to stand, and Ivy held to him for balance until they’d righted themselves again. “The cat is probably insignificant, but this is most assuredly not. We’ll have to have a closer look in brighter light.”

  As she released his arm, he stepped over the remains, the chain in one hand, the lamp in the other.

  “I’m going to come back in here tonight,” she announced matter-of-factly.

  He stopped short and turned. She nearly ran into him again.

  “No,” he stated, his tone firm. “You don’t do this alone, Ivy.”

  His stubbornness irritated her because she knew deep within that his concern stemmed not from caring for her safety but from the fact that she might find something, or learn something, before he did.

  “I have free rein of the property—”

  “I’m sure the Marquess of Rye had no intention of allowing you to wander through hidden tunnels alone when he made that provision.”

  She put her hands on her hips and stared at him defiantly.

  “Besides,” he added, dropping the pendant into his left trouser pocket, “the air is bad, and there are no doubt spiders everywhere. You’ll need someone unafraid to crush them for you.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or continue arguing. Instead, she asserted, “I don’t need anything from you, Mr. Burke, least of all your permission.”

  He was silent for a moment, and then he took a step toward her, so close they were nearly touching.

  “I’d prefer it if you’d cease in calling me Mr. Burke,” he said with quiet insistence.

  She held her ground as he towered over her beneath the low ceiling, the lamp to his side keeping his face in shadow, his features distorted. She couldn’t read him, but she could feel a particular tension blanketing them. She had no idea what to say.

  “Nobody,” he continued, “who spends half an hour alone with a man in a darkened tunnel should remain so formal when addressing him.”

  She raised her chin a little. “We haven’t done anything improper.”

  He tipped his head slightly to the side, his dark eyes scanning her face. “But you thought about it, didn’t you?”

  She sucked in a breath through her teeth, uncertain if he meant that she feared others would find their being together like this improper, or that she had improper thoughts about him.

  “I—I’m concerned, yes,” she admitted in vague reply.

  The side of his mouth twitched up a hair. “I’m very glad.” Then abruptly he turned and began walking once again, the matter apparently closed. She had no choice but to follow or lose the light.

  “I want to wash this pendant and have a closer look,” he whispered, as they reached the stairs. “Tomorrow night we’ll try a different passageway.”

  “I’m certainly glad you’re making all my plans for me,” she grumbled from behind him. “Lord knows I don’t have a social calendar worth mentioning.”

  He chuckled as he ordered, “Hold on to my shoulders.”

  She hesitated.

  “I don’t want you losing your balance, Ivy,” he explained as he took the first step down. “This is steep and narrow, and if you tripped and fell into me, we’d tumble down and find ourselves with broken necks.”

  “No need for broken necks,” she said through a sigh, raising her arms to do as he asked, trying not to think about just how many times she’d touched him in the last half hour. He didn’t seem to notice anyway.

  Within a minute, they’d reached the bottom, the light from the library a lovely beacon that seared her with relief.

  Garrett slipped through the opening first, then reached out for her hand, which she offered without thought. Seconds later, he gave the bookcase a shove, then another, and it finally swung back into place with a click from the latch.

  “Let’s see the pendant,” she said at once, brushing her hands down her dust-covered skirts.

  He turned to face her, shaking his head. “I’m going to clean it first.”

  Her eyes widened as she gazed up at him. “You’re not taking it from this property. It was found here, and it belongs to the marquess.”

  Drawing a deep breath, he crossed his arms over his chest and began walking toward her.

  “Very well,” he submitted in a low, husky voice, “but you’ll have to reach into my pocket and retrieve it. I found it, and I’m not giving it to you willingly, Lady Ivy.”

  It took a long time, she decided, for her to completely understand what he was asking her to do. And then she felt a rising heat within, more from rage at such a suggestion than from the humiliation he certainly expected her to feel. At least that’s what she told herself. For him to call her a lady, then, in the same breath, ask her to reach into a trouser pocket, so close to his—

  No, the idea was simply outrageous. And yet suddenly she was filled with a confidence she’d never felt before. He’d teased her, acted as if he didn’t notice her as a woman, then asked her to search in such an indelicate place for something she desperately wanted. He knew exactly what he was doing. And he knew with certainty that she would refuse.

  Features hard and set with determination, she took a step toward him, then another, noting that he didn’t try to move and couldn’t retreat with the bookcase at his back. But his calculated gaze never strayed from hers.

  She stood rigidly before him, her pulse racing, chin raised, arms to her sides. She felt hot all over and knew her face had flushed, but at this moment she didn’t care.

  “Did you expect me to squeal and faint at such a suggestion, Garrett?” she asked, her tone low and wickedly sly.

  His jaw tightened. “I’m quite certain you never faint, madam.”

  Her mouth gradually curved to form a devilish grin. “You’re absolutely correct,” she whispered furiously. “I never faint.”

  With that, she lifted her right hand and placed it on the lip of his left pocket. His eyes widened a fraction in slight surprise, but he didn’t move a muscle.

  Drawing a deep breath, she began to insert her fingers, inch by inch, feeling his hardened hip beneath her knuckles, moving her nails along the fabric over his skin, remembering how she’d teased him there before and how his body had reacted.

  “You…are…”—she found the chain and began to pull—“a despicable…man.”

  He stood motionless, though his eyes had narrowed and his body tensed. She never
lowered her gaze from his as she very, very slowly pulled the pendant from his pocket.

  “And you, Lady Ivy,” he said in a gravelly whisper, “are an extraordinary woman.”

  It took all that was in her not to slap his face. Then with rage seeping through every pore, she turned her back to him and walked to the doorway, clutching the pendant at her waist with both hands.

  “Good day, Garrett.”

  Without another word between them, he strode from the library.

  A freezing wind slapped his face, fairly taking his breath from him as he stepped into the gloomy dusk and headed for the inn. It felt marvelous, too, since a good slap was what he deserved after asking her to reach inside his trouser pocket for a necklace. God, what had he been thinking? Probably that she’d never succumb to such a taunt, and it had certainly been a taunt on his part, provoked, no doubt, by her blatant sexuality, which mocked him every single second they spent together.

  In a manner he didn’t fully understand, she heated his blood beyond words—heated him with anger, frustration, and especially lust. She bewildered him, irritated him, teased him, goaded him, and yes, felt their mutual attraction as much as he did, igniting something deep within that he hadn’t felt in years, and not with anyone else in his life.

  He also sensed her confusion about the passion she couldn’t deny, and in that regard he supposed he’d teased her as well, although to her credit she tried very hard to deny it, to fight it. And perhaps she couldn’t tell, but it had taken every good quality he possessed as a gentleman not to seduce her in the stench of a tiny, dusty, hidden staircase, something he’d never dream of doing with any other woman.

  He knew bringing Ivy back into his life would be dangerous, on several levels, and he’d considered it for a long time before making his decision. In truth, he wasn’t sure what to expect from their meeting again, partially because he didn’t know her level of involvement in his failure to find his diamonds two years ago. But more importantly because he couldn’t remember what they’d felt for each other, how they had been together, and why he still couldn’t get her out of his mind after all this time. He simply had to know what happened, and learning she fairly despised him cut him to the core because he couldn’t recall what he did—or didn’t do—to cause her such resentment.