Tilting her head, she looked up at him with eyes that threatened to be his undoing. No woman should be permitted to look at a man with such innocent obliviousness. “What about it?”
Realizing this would likely be one of those exhaustingly awkward conversations, Edward sighed heavily and sank down beside her. He should probably have claimed the adjacent armchair, but his craving for closeness with her would not be denied. Not when the door stood respectably open, and there was no risk of a scandal. Just as long as he kept his hands to himself. He folded them in his lap.
A maid entered the room. “How may I be of service?” she asked.
Fiona placed their order, and Edward waited until the maid had departed before saying, “I crossed the line. It won’t happen again.”
She drew a sharp breath, paused for a second, and then expelled it. “We were only playing. I see no harm in it.”
Perhaps not for her. He gritted his teeth. “Fiona, I am a grown man, and you are no longer a child, but a debutante in her first Season. For me to fall on you like I did and tickle you silly was horribly wrong. I apologize for it, truly I do.”
Biting her lip, she worried the plump piece of flesh while Edward reached for the armrest, his fingers clutching the wood like a vice. “Is our fun at an end then?”
“No.” How could she possibly think that? “I shall always be your partner in mischief.”
The maid reappeared carrying a tray filled with cups, a large pot of hot chocolate, and a plate with some slices of cake. She set it down on the table before them, bobbed a curtsy, and took her leave. Fiona reached for the pot and started to pour. “I sense things are changing between us,” she whispered, “and I’m not so sure I like it.”
“Consider it the price of growing up, Fiona. You cannot continue to play the child, and I cannot continue to indulge you.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing for all of these years?” She handed him his cup, her eyes wide with interest.
“No,” he confessed. Trying to drink, he almost scalded himself in the process, so he set the cup aside and turned enough to face her. “I have always enjoyed your company tremendously. In fact…the difference in age never felt like an issue.”
Until now.
She smiled at him over the rim of her own cup. Her lips parted slightly so she could blow on her drink before taking a sip.
Edward held his breath while he followed the movement, his blood heating in his veins as he watched her swallow. Christ! He would never be able to drink hot chocolate again without finding it highly erotic.
“I have always considered you to be my dearest friend,” she said, lowering the cup. “When I told you I wished to find my great aunt’s jewelry box during my stay here this past summer, my entire family tried to dissuade me. But you didn’t.”
“I know how important finding it is to you.”
She nodded and placed her cup on the table. “Perhaps…” Shaking her head, she turned in her seat, enough for her knee to brush his.
An overwhelming dart of pleasure rushed up his thigh, tightening his limbs and rendering him speechless.
“What if I were to tell you that I intend to continue my hunt while I’m here?” she asked.
Blinking, Edward tried to focus his lust-infused brain on what she’d just told him. “I’d say you do not lack determination.”
She grinned, bright and lovely. “You’re right. When I set my mind to something, nothing can make me give up.”
If only she’d set her mind to him then, he mused, cad that he was. He banked the baser urges she stirred in him. “Perhaps I can help.”
“Oh, Edward!” Reaching for his hands, she grasped them between her own while pure appreciation gleamed in her eyes. “I would love for us to go on this adventure together.”
Edward’s throat went dry. In spite of their closeness, he’d always been Chadwick to all of the Heartlys. Not Edward. Never Edward. Until now. This was the first time Fiona had used his given name. He wondered if she was even aware of the fact. Probably not.
Nodding numbly, he murmured, “So would I.”
He forced his most rapscallion smile in order to distract himself from the warmth of her fingers still holding his. There were no gloves between them, nothing but skin against skin, so enticing he was sorely tempted to pull her onto his lap and give her a lesson or two in the art of kissing.
Instead, he withdrew his hands from hers – sweet torture that it was – and offered her a slice of cake. She took it happily, eating it with a certain degree of enthusiasm that instantly made him smile.
“Can we begin our hunt right away?” she asked a few minutes later. “Given our limited time here, I don’t want to lose a second.”
“Of course.” He rose to his feet, relieved to add some distance between them. “Where would you like to start?”
“Well, my greataunt’s earring was found in one of the tunnels leading toward the sea. And then there’s the underground Roman villa Richard and Mary found.”
“They said it served as headquarters for the Cardinals – some sort of resistance movement your greataunt, grandfather, and Lord Duncaster were all a part of?”
“That’s right. A letter found by Mary and notes kept by my grandfather suggest their codenames were the North Wind, the South Wind, and the East Wind. We still don’t know who the West Wind might have been, but perhaps we can find some information about that as we search.”
“If we’re lucky.” He didn’t want to get her hopes up in case they failed to find anything at all.
She gave him a look of distinct disappointment. “Please don’t give up before we’ve begun.”
“I will do my best to help you in your quest, Fiona, you needn’t worry about that.”
“Good, because there’s also the journal Chloe and Stonegate found in the attic – the one outlining the members and deeds of the evil Electors – the men against whom the Cardinals fought.”
“I doubt we need to concern ourselves with them since Stonegate ensured they were all arrested.”
“Agreed,” Fiona said, “but it does go to show that clues might be found in any part of the manor. There’s no indication of where the treasure is hidden, but if we piece together what we already know, an image does begin to emerge.”
Fascinated by her attempts at deduction, Edward considered her closely. “How so?”
She stood and started to pace. “We know from my grandmother’s journal that my grandfather came here one night in order to retrieve a box. I propose she was referring to her sister’s jewelry box, which was sent from France when the Duchess of Marveille feared for her life. She did not wish for it to fall into the wrong hands. But when Grandpapa arrived here, something happened – something that prompted him to set out to sea with Lord Duncaster instead of returning home to his wife. Their ship was lost, both men drowned, but I doubt they would have taken the box out to sea with them when it was meant to be delivered to Grandmamma. Which means it must still be here since she never received it.”
“I suppose that sounds reasonable.”
She smiled and met his gaze. “What if the earring in the corridor below fell from the box after arrival? Perhaps Lord Duncaster tripped while carrying it, and a piece was lost. After that, he would have taken the stairs to the interior courtyard. No doubt, his intention would have been to hide the box in the underground villa, but time was of the essence – he would have wanted to make my grandfather aware of its arrival. So he stopped by his study first in order to pen a letter, temporarily hiding it somewhere there.”
“Once the letter was dispatched, how long do you suppose it might have taken your grandfather to arrive here?”
“His estate wasn’t far, perhaps an hour at a fast gallop.”
“So that would have given Lord Duncaster at least two hours in which to move the box elsewhere, possibly to the villa as you suggest.”
“Except it did not end up there. I gave the place a thorough look after Richard showed it to me.”
Edward considered this bit of information with interest. “And we also know something must have happened immediately after your grandfather’s arrival here to prompt both him and Lord Duncaster to flee.”
Fiona nodded. “I believe the Electors discovered who the Cardinals were, and they came to kill them.”
“The fourth one though, the West Wind. Do you think there’s a chance he might still be alive?”
“I honestly can’t say. As for the box, I suspect it is somewhere here on the ground level, either between Lord Duncaster’s study and the interior courtyard, or closer to the front entrance.”
“The parts of the manor he would have crossed before setting back out to sea.”
“Precisely.” She paused, her gaze locked with his, and it was almost as if she was waiting for him to react in some way, to close the distance between them and…what? She couldn’t possibly want the same as he, a bold and passionate embrace wrought with hunger and desire.
So he strode toward the door instead and gestured with his hand. “It seems our adventure awaits, my lady.” Smiling cheekily, he dipped his head and quietly added, “After you.”
Chapter 5
Balancing on the third rung of a spindly library ladder, Rachel reached for the thick leather-bound volume she’d come to find: Elements of Chemistry, translated from French by Robert Kerr. Carefully, she pulled it off the shelf, aware that the weight of it would soon threaten to put her off balance. So she braced her feet against the side rails and leaned into the ladder. The book came free, almost slipping from between her fingers as she tried to secure a stronger hold on it.
“What do you have there?”
Startled by the presence of another person standing immediately behind her, Rachel gasped and dropped the book, helplessly watching its rapid descent until a hand suddenly swooped out and caught it. Rachel turned to find Belgrave studying its title.
“My lord.” Slowly, she stepped down off the ladder only to realize the viscount now had her at a disadvantage for his height was far superior to her own. She gestured toward the book. “If I may?”
Lifting his gaze, he allowed a couple of seconds to elapse while studying her closely – so closely she couldn’t help but shift her feet. Still, she refused to look away, unwilling to cower beneath his direct perusal.
“Do you ever indulge in fiction, my lady?” He allowed her to retrieve her prize while tilting his head as though trying to comprehend her.
Instinctively, she tightened her jaw and raised her chin so she could look at him more fully. “No.”
“Hmm…” His eyes remained locked with hers. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I cannot possibly imagine.”
A dimple appeared at the edge of his mouth, and then he suddenly smiled, the brightness of it infusing his eyes with a deep blue tone reminiscent of midnight. His hair was swept to one side with a few rebellious strands brushing his brow in a manner that tempted her to reach out and put them to rights. Controlling the urge, she became increasingly aware of her own drab appearance. She was like a boring little field mouse when compared to his dashing good looks. The idea gave her pause, and she took a step back, unnerved by the notion that she’d never wasted a second on such superficiality before.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
She meant to move past him, but he stuck out his arm, trapping her between it and the ladder. Slowly, he lowered it with the unspoken request that she stay where she was. “Please.” Turning slightly, he gestured toward a quiet corner filled with comfortable-looking chairs. “Won’t you join me for a bit?”
“I…” No man had ever invited her to sit with him before, and it put her quite out of her depth. Her nerves, which were generally made of steel, felt fragile, unpleasantly quivering and quaking. She clutched the book in front of her chest. “I’m not—”
“Perhaps you can tell me more about your interests?” He nodded toward the book. “Your scientific studies?”
“My lord, you cannot possibly mean to find my thoughts enticing enough to warrant such interest on your part.” There had to be an angle – an ulterior motive.
He studied her gravely and then leaned in, close enough for her to catch the scent of bergamot and leather. It did something to her senses, something heady she could not quite understand. One thing was certain: her heart beat faster against the inexplicable tightening of her stays, and she was suddenly quite incapable of speech.
“You do me a great injustice.” He spoke in a rich timbre that curled its way through her. “To presume I will not understand the ideas you might put forth is—”
“My lord?” She blinked in quick succession. “You think I believe myself intellectually superior to you? That this is the cause for my reluctance?” It seemed incredulous that a man of his superb character would doubt himself in her company.
“Is that not what you were implying?”
She gaped at him. “No! I merely meant to suggest you would regret engaging me in conversation, not because you lack the mental faculty to comprehend me, but because I am not…” She lost her momentum and sighed.
“You are not?” he prompted, raising both eyebrows in question.
“My lord, you must agree I am not a terribly fascinating person.”
A frown appeared on his brow. “Who told you that?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I am perfectly aware of my lacking elegance, refinement, and beauty. I am not as accomplished as my sisters, nor as lively or prone to good cheer. Life is like an equation to me, one I am constantly trying to puzzle through.”
“And this keeps you serious? It demands a degree of focus that will not allow for humor?”
“Exactly.” She was so glad he understood.
“And yet I have seen you smile and laugh at least once during the course of this conversation, so I daresay you might be less stern than you think yourself to be.” He allowed his eyes to drift over her so slowly, strange little fluttering sensations sprang to life in her belly. Returning his gaze to hers, he said, “As for the part about elegance, refinement, and beauty, I can assure you you’re quite mistaken.”
“My lord, I—”
“Please, let’s not quarrel any further over trivialities. As it is, we have already stood here for a good ten minutes according to the clock on that table. Why not rest our feet for a while?” He gestured once more toward the seating arrangement.
Rachel hesitated. If only she could manage to escape without being rude. Because the way he made her feel… Good lord, it was more unnerving than the idea of one day presenting an invention to the Royal Society in the hope of being admitted. Still, the thought of talking to someone who seemed willing to listen was tempting.
“Very well,” she agreed.
They crossed the floor, and he waited until she was comfortably seated before asking, “Would you care for some refreshment? I can call for a maid and ask for some tea or lemonade to be brought up.”
Pressing her lips together, Rachel wondered how much more of herself she might reveal before he went running in the opposite direction. She decided to test his resolve in keeping her company and quietly said, “A brandy would be my preference, if you’re willing to indulge me.”
His lips quirked with amusement, and he turned toward a nearby table with a rich selection of bottles. “So full of surprises,” he murmured, filling two glasses. “Tell me, do you also fence?”
Pleased with his response, she allowed a smile of her own, though it was directed at his back. “No,” she admitted, “I prefer archery and shooting. Indeed, I take great pride in calculating the trajectory of each shot I fire.”
“Good God.” He turned to her with a laugh, spilling a bit of the drink in the process. “To think you haven’t been snatched up yet by a gentleman seeking adventure.”
She snorted, accepting the glass he handed to her. “I am hardly the sort of lady to offer such a thing to any man.”
“Hmph.” Brushing his coattails out from behind h
im, he lowered himself to the chair closest to hers. “You sell yourself short, Lady Rachel, for indeed, I can think of no greater adventure than inventing the future while engaging in bloodthirsty sport.” He smiled broadly over the rim of his glass, held her gaze for a moment, and then took a hasty sip.
She drank as well, if for no other reason than to settle the butterflies in her stomach.
“Do you have other experiments in mind beside the electric arc?” Belgrave asked. He leaned back in his chair and nodded toward her book.
Crossing his legs, he held his glass between his hands while studying her with an intense degree of focus she’d never before been subjected to. It filled her with an unusual sense of importance – made her feel as though she mattered when she was more accustomed to fading away in the background.
“Of course.” Now that she’d been invited to speak, she hardly knew where to begin. “I’ve successfully followed Priestley’s guidelines on how to isolate oxygen, and I’ve conducted numerous experiments on the conservation of mass as proposed by Antoine Lavoisier, the author of that book.” She indicated the volume with a wave of her hand before taking another sip of her drink. The brandy immediately soothed her insides.
“What does it entail?”
“It’s quite simple, really.” She smoothed her skirts in an effort to ease her pulse with a menial task. “The law states that in a closed system, the reactants will weigh the same as the product.”
“In other words, if you were to heat a block of ice in a sealed container until it was fully melted, the weight of the container and its contents would remain unchanged?”
“That’s right. But if the system is open, mass is lost. What I mean to discover is why, since I refuse to believe it simply disappears. No. I suspect it transforms into some sort of gas.”
“Into oxygen perhaps?”
“I don’t think so, but the only way to find out is to somehow isolate it. The most fascinating part of my hypothesis is that its mass must equal the amount lost in the final product.”
Christmas At Thorncliff Manor (Secrets At Thorncliff Manor Book 4) Page 4