Not if the titles and lands passed down through generations of his ancestors had been entrusted to his care would he have been more pleased than he was by her words. It occurred to him that she was far more dangerous than he’d originally realized because he was beginning to truly like her.
She had surely gone mad, to have Marcus Stanwick with torch held aloft following her as she guided him through the narrow network of tunnels beneath the city while off in the distance Big Ben tolled the hour of midnight. That afternoon, rather than fetching the once-destined-to-be-duke’s clothing, they’d visited a tailor with ready-made apparel that required the minimum of adjustments. While he’d originally balked at the idea of her paying for the purchases, she’d used the tack of reminding him that his father had presented her with several expensive gifts, so she was simply returning the favor. Although no longer attired in evening clothes, he somehow seemed all the more handsome, drat him!
She hadn’t much liked the relief that had washed through her with his admittance that he had nowhere to lay his head, and, therefore, staying in her residence would suit him. It suited heras well, much to her chagrin. She enjoyed sparring with him, teasing him. Enjoyed even more the way he looked at her as though he was considering gobbling her up.
And his blush. Dear Lord, but it did the most peculiar things to her chest, caused it to grow warm and tighten, even as it felt like it was expanding. It was incredibly strange to feel, to feel anything at all, especially something that had the edge of wondrousness about it. Not that anything between them would go beyond the physical, not once he knew the entire truth of her. Although perhaps she could avoid revealing it if they fornicated in the dark. However, as she envisioned it, she didn’t know how anything with him would be without passion, would be only motions, the scratch to an itch.
She’d very much like for him to do more than fuck her. She’d like for him to make love to her. Perhaps to even love her. She had most definitely gone mad.
“How the devil did you even find this place? It’s practically medieval,” he grumbled behind her, his voice echoing alongside the constant drips of the Thames as it made its way through ancient cracks and crevices.
“I was given a map. It’s not that difficult to navigate when you know the path to your destination. Although I have done some exploring on my own from time to time.”
“Of course you have. Curiosity killed the cat, you know?”
“Lack of curiosity has killed a good many more.” Stopping, she faced him. “You’re one to talk, striving to uncover the truth of your father. I believe that would fall under the heading of curiosity.”
“Redemption, retribution, restoring of honor. Not curiosity.”
“O is not likely to be pleased that I brought you. He’s an eccentric fellow, tends to stay in the shadows during most of our meetings, so don’t take offense if he doesn’t make you feel welcome.”
“Trivial matters no longer offend me.”
“Did they when you were an earl on the cusp of becoming a duke?”
“Much to my shame, I must admit I was quite the arrogant sod.”
“You’re still arrogant.” But his arrogance was tempered by more than a year of struggle, humiliation, and betrayal. The flames of the torch captured the hint of amusement in his eyes, and she’d dearly love to hear him laughing out loud and to see him joyous without cares. His father’s activities had aged him, and she cursed the previous duke for that, for the actions he’d taken that had led to the destruction of his own family. Before Stanwick could detect her blossoming guilt for her role in bringing about his misfortune, she spun on her heel and carried on.
The passageway narrowed, then widened, opening into an alcove, already ablaze with torches perched in sconces, but the light was orchestrated in such a way that darkness reigned at the edgeswhere she knew other corridors emptied into this nook. Before Stanwick could lift and wave the torch about to reveal what she knew O wanted to remain hidden, she took the flaming object and seated it into a sconce just inside the portal through which they’d entered. “Don’t move beyond here,” she ordered quietly.
“No exploring?”
“None whatsoever.”
“The eeriness of the place is like something in a novel Benedict Trewlove would pen.”
“Except a dead body would have greeted us.”
“Do you read my sister’s husband then?”
Trewlove had become a novelist long before he’d learned he was nobility. Looking over, she offered Stanwick a small smile, wondering what other pleasures they might share, striving not to think about the greatest and most pleasurable of all. “I have his latest novel if you’d like to read it.”
He gave the most subtle of nods. It shouldn’t please her so much to provide him with something he desired, even if it was no doubt only a minuscule desire. She turned her attention back to the room. “I know you’re here, O.” Mingled with the musty scent of these caverns was the lingering stink of the acrid tobacco he used in his pipe. “This gentleman is Marcus Stanwick. We’ve joined forces.”
The clicking of rats scurrying about, the occasional squeal, the moans and groans of the earth settling in might have unnerved some, but she ignored it because it was theater for O’s attempt atskullduggery. She held up a packet. “I found the document you thought I might. Here are the photographs. Not nearly as helpful as we’d hoped.”
“Perhaps you don’t know what you’re looking for.”
“What precisely would that be?”
“Names of traitors. Like his father.” She heard the absolute disgust and hatred shimmering through his voice.
Stanwick took a step forward. “My father’s treachery is the reason I’m here. By working with Miss Lancaster, it’s possible something innocuous the duke said might cause one of us to view his words—or even his actions—in a different light and lead us to deciphering who the devil was pulling my sire’s strings because I know damned well that he wasn’t the puppet master but rather the puppet.”
“Who do you suspect?” came the disembodied question.
“I’m certainly not going to reveal any of my suspicions to someone who cowers in shadows.”
