How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (12 page)

She eyed him skeptically. That was the flimsiest excuse she’d ever heard for a talent that was decidedly suspicious.

It took him mere moments to pick the lock. Then he led her inside and closed the door. He headed straight for the open trunk in one corner.

Minerva scanned the room. It was actually quite fine by coaching inn standards, with a chest of drawers, large bed,
fancy dressing screen, and a lovely washbasin and pitcher of blue speckled china. “What are we looking for?”

“Anything that will tell us why he and his son are here.”

“Well, it’s not for their health,” she said, taking note of the empty wine bottles piled up on the oak table and the pair of muddy boots sitting near the bed. “Someone’s been tramping in the damp outdoors. Hunting, perhaps?”

“It’s not hunting season,” Giles said as he searched the trunk with great care.

“Nineteen years ago, he told the groom at this inn that the blood on his stirrup came from hunting.”

“I know. It wasn’t hunting season then, either.”

“Depends on what you’re hunting,” Minerva said coldly. “Or
whom.
”

Giles straightened and held something out to her with a grim expression. “Indeed it does.”

She looked close to find that he held a crude, hand-drawn map. After one glance, she felt goose bumps rise on her flesh. “I think that’s our estate.”

“I agree it resembles it, but it’s hard to tell with nothing but fields, forests, and hills delineated on it. And some of the landmarks look wrong.” He examined it carefully. “If it
is
a map of the estate, what does Plumtree want with it?”

“I don’t know. Giles, you don’t think he really could have killed them, do you?”

“We don’t have enough information yet to be sure. But if he did, what was his reason? And why is he returning so many years later . . . if that really is where he’s going?” Heading back to the trunk, he said, “Look in those drawers over there. See if you can find a journal or letters or anything more than this.”

A sudden sound in the hall made them both start.

“I can’t believe you left it here, you blithering fool,” said Desmond’s voice. “We can’t get anywhere without the map.”

Casting her a warning glance, Giles tossed the map into the trunk and nodded her toward the dressing screen. She and Giles slid behind it just seconds before the door opened.

Thankfully, there was a chair there. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap so their heads couldn’t be seen above the screen. Her pulse was racing, but he seemed surprisingly calm. He didn’t even jump when Desmond’s voice sounded again very near them.
She
nearly leaped out of her skin.

“I swear to God, Ned,” Desmond grumbled, “how can you be such an imbecile? You left the door unlocked, too.”

“I didn’t! Why are you always blaming
me
?”

Giles wrapped his arms about her waist, and she leaned into him, half afraid that Desmond might hear the thundering of her heart. If he found them here, what would he do? Considering what he might have done to Mama and Papa—

No, that was absurd. Even if he
had
been involved in her parents’ deaths, he wouldn’t be fool enough to harm her and Giles in a public inn, with his son present. Besides, if Giles could talk his way in here, he could certainly talk his way out.

“I blame you because whenever things go wrong, it’s usually your fault,” Desmond complained to Ned. “You’re the one who left the map here.”

“At least now you can change your boots,” Ned said. “You don’t want to ruin your best pair.”

“I suppose. Ah, and here’s the map, at the very top of the trunk. You’d think you’d have seen it there.”

“I swear it wasn’t there when we left.”

“Of course it was,” Desmond snapped. The bed creaked, as if he’d sat down on it. “You never look for anything. I don’t know why I even brought you along this time.”

“Because I’m handy with a blade, that’s why.”

A chill ran through Minerva. Good Lord. When had her second cousin picked up
that
little talent?

“For all the good
that
does us,” Desmond said. “Now come here and help me with these boots.”

Minerva wanted to scream. How long did the two mean to stay, anyway? She tilted her head to look at Giles, who was calmly watching the edge of the screen. Wasn’t he the slightest bit worried that they might be caught? That Ned might
use
the blade he was handy with? Giles acted as if he got into such dangerous situations every day.

Her blood ran cold. Perhaps he did. What if there was a reason he knew all these strange things? What if he were involved in some secret plot? He might even be a spy for the French, like Rockton!

Right. Giles as a spy. Her imagination was getting the better of her. Giles would never be a traitor. And England would never hire a rascal like him to do that sort of work. Besides, the war with France had ended ten years ago, so who would he spy on? Denizens of a gaming hell? The publican at his favorite tavern?

Ridiculous thought.

He caught her staring at him and his gaze darkened, then swept slowly down her in a heated glance that seared her wherever it touched. Suddenly she became very aware that she was sitting on his lap. It felt very . . . personal. Especially when his hand began to slide over her belly, back and forth, with a familiarity that made her blood race.

His very eyes invited her to sin as they fixed on her mouth and deepened to a cobalt blue. She jerked her gaze from his, but it was too late. Now she was all too conscious of him. The scent of his Guard’s Bouquet enveloped her, mingling with
the smell of sweat and dirt and pure
man.
His strong thighs flexed under her bottom, and she could feel his breath fanning the ribbons of her bonnet. Worst of all, his hand continued to move in slow, seductive circles on her corseted belly, rousing an acute ache for more.

What was he doing? He must be out of his mind. They were inches away from being discovered, and he was . . .

Oh, Lord. He was stealthily removing her bonnet. He handed it to her, then had the audacity to kiss her hair. This was madness!

This was intoxicating. To be held by a man like this. To be this close, this intimate. To feel the heat of his body against her own. She ought to be chiding him with a look, at the very least. She knew very well how to quell a man’s advances that way.

Yet she sat here doing nothing, reveling in the excitement that coursed through her, the thrill of doing something dangerous.

The thrill of doing it with Giles. The fact that they were a hairsbreadth away from being discovered enhanced the thrill even more.

She could hear Desmond cursing at Ned to hurry, could feel when the first boot hit the floor, but all her concentration was on Giles, who was now kissing her temple, her cheek, her ear. His faintly whiskered chin scraped the delicate skin of her jaw, and she wanted so badly to turn her mouth to meet his.

Why did he have to be so good at this? And why must she melt into a quivering pudding whenever he began to caress her?

“Come on, let’s go,” Desmond said.

She jumped, afraid for half a second that he’d found them out. Giles stopped his caresses, cocking his head and setting his gaze once more on the end of the screen.

“We’re losing daylight,” Desmond went on. “I shouldn’t have lingered to watch my cousin race.”

Footsteps sounded, heading for the door. “Would’ve been worth it if you’d won some blunt off the bloody arse,” Ned retorted.

“Don’t remind me. I should have known better than to bet against Gabriel. Damned bastard probably fixed the race somehow.”

Minerva tensed. Drat her cousins and their resentment of her family. Why must they always say such nasty things?

The door opened. The sounds of footsteps passing into the hall made her catch her breath. She only released it when the door closed, though the snick of the key turning in the lock had her groaning.

Leaping from Giles’s lap, she said, “We have to follow them.”

Giles rose with oddly stiff movements. “There’s no way we’ll even get back to my curricle before they’ve disappeared on the road. But if they’re going to the estate, we can look for them there.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

She tied her bonnet on as he headed for the door, his picklock in hand. “Either way, we need to get out of here before they decide they’ve forgotten something else.”

Nodding her agreement, she watched as he picked the lock again. They left and headed for the stairs, only to halt when they heard Desmond’s voice waft up from below. “What do you mean, you want me to leave? I paid good money for my room.”

“I can’t have your sort hanging about with important people staying here,” the innkeeper said.

“
My
sort! I’ll have you know—”

“I always thought you were a suspicious one, talking
about hunting grouse when there’s none hereabouts. And his lordship’s anxiety confirmed my suspicions.”

“His lordship?” Desmond cursed loudly. “I suppose one of my cousins saw me and is causing trouble. If those Sharpes—”

“Sharpe isn’t the man’s name. You just be on your way, do you hear? Pack up and leave before he gets wind of your being here.”

“Who
is
this man?”

“Lord Manderley, and a fine gentleman he is, too.”

“Manderley is
here
?” Desmond squeaked.

Minerva’s gaze shot to Giles. “I thought you made him up,” she whispered.

His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Why invent things when the truth will serve? It just so happens that your cousin owes Manderley a lot of money.”

“How do you know?”

He flashed her an enigmatic smile. “Your brother wanted me to look into Plumtree’s finances. So I did.”

She’d thought that Jarret had asked him to look into the situation involving Desmond and Gran’s will, but she wasn’t going to argue the point just now.

Desmond’s panicked voice rose from below. “If Manderley is here, I’m leaving.”

Oh, dear. She glanced to Giles, but he was already tugging her in the direction of their room. They’d barely gotten inside and shut the door when they heard Desmond stomping up the stairs with Ned.

Though she knew he couldn’t see them, she caught her breath and held it until she heard boot steps passing down the other hall.

“We can’t leave until they’re gone,” Giles said. “Can’t risk running into them.”

She eyed him with deep amazement. How did he manage to maintain such an unsettling calm? “While
I
stand here shaking, with my heart pounding and my entire body tense, you act as if this were all in a day’s work for you.”

A shutter came down over his features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There he went again, behaving as if his actions were perfectly logical when they both knew they weren’t. One way or the other, she was going to make him admit what he had been up to that day at Newmarsh’s. It had finally occurred to her that she had the perfect way to do it: accuse him of the one thing she was certain he was not. The one thing he wouldn’t like being accused of.

“Admit it, there’s a reason you were in Lord Newmarsh’s study that night, a reason you know how to break into inn rooms and stay calm in the face of danger.”

“And what reason might that be?” he bit out.

“It’s quite clear to me. You’re a professional thief.”

Giles laughed, which made her frown. But he couldn’t help himself, considering what he’d been afraid she was going to say. “A thief. You think I’m a thief. Based on nothing more than my ability to break into your cousin’s room.”

“And the fact that I saw you stealing something years ago. That you’re comfortable sneaking into people’s houses. And adamant about not being interested in my fortune. Clearly you have another source of income.”

That banished his amusement. He strode toward her, anger fueling his movements. “Is it really so hard to believe I might make a decent living at what I do? That I might be clever enough to succeed as a barrister and command high fees?”

She stared him down. “Well, you must admit—”

“No need to admit it, when you’ve decided to admit it
for
me, with your vivid imagination and your talent for fiction.” He backed her against the door. “So this is what you’ve been doing with that keen mind of yours: turning me into a criminal mastermind.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” He braced his hands on either side of her, his temper getting the better of him.

She met his gaze steadily, apparently not the least intimidated.
“What am I supposed to think when you break into rooms and lie so easily?”

“I’m not the only one who lies easily,” he shot back. “You lie daily with your pen and think nothing of it.”

“That’s not the same—I’m telling stories. People know that.”

“Do they? Everyone speculates that Rockton is your brother.” He leaned closer. “And just a short while ago you played the part of Lady Manderley without a qualm, yet I’m not accusing
you
of being a criminal. I’m not questioning
your
character.”

She sniffed. “I was only trying to help you find out about Desmond.”

“Which I was doing for
your
family’s benefit. And this is the thanks I get—accusations and insinuations.” He glowered down at her. “You know what this is really about? You hate the fact that you’re attracted to me. So you’re inventing new levels of villainy in hopes that it will keep you from desiring me.”

She drew herself up. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re merely trying to distract me from asking perfectly sensible questions—”

He kissed her. What else could he do? He
was
trying to distract her from asking questions, and she was far too clever to fall for it. But there was some truth to his words, whether she admitted it or not.

He’d seen the flare of need in her eyes when he’d caressed her earlier, felt the sharp increase in her breath. She wanted him. And he damned well wanted her. He’d already spent half the day aching for her, tempted beyond endurance by her lush mouth and delicate wrists and the dainty ankle he’d glimpsed when she’d leapt into his curricle. Having her squirm on his lap had been the last straw.