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Some rational thought surfaced, telling her that this, here, now, was madness and they should stop, and then his hand left her breast and she sighed, a great shuddering exhalation of relief and disappointment, not knowing which was which. And she lost that thread of rationality again when Theo’s mouth sealed over hers, his tongue filling her with slow, heavy thrusts that made her clasp his shoulders for some anchor in this whirlpool of sensation.
The scrape of metal in the lock cut through her senses like a surgeon’s knife. One moment there had been nothing but the delirium of his kiss, the next she was staring wild eyed at Theo as he pushed her towards the deep kneehole under the desk. Elinor scrabbled for it, finding the knife, scooping it up as Theo followed her, his fingers pinching out the wick of the lantern as he jammed into the space. It was a partners’ desk, she realised, deep enough for two people to work opposite each other. Unless whoever was opening the door sat down and stretched out their legs, or bent to look, they were out of sight.
Theo’s arms came around her, holding her tight so they were facing each other, knees drawn up, backs curved protectively towards the openings on either side. Her body was still shaking, her mind was reeling, but his calmness helped her keep still, breathe slowly and quietly. The door was open now. Over Theo’s shoulder she could see the light of a candle, perhaps a branch—it seemed quite bright.
What time was it? What on earth was the count doing? In answer a clock struck the half-hour. It must be past three. Perhaps he had been unable to sleep and had come down to read. Then the quality of the footsteps struck her. Even a man in slippers should not be that quiet, surely?
As she thought it, she saw pale skirts pass and then stop. There had been a large inlaid box on top of the desk which they had left untouched because it was too small to hold the Chalice. The woman was opening that. Papers rustled, there was a soft exclamation, then the sound of the lid closing, the scrape of a key—or was it a picklock?
Who was it? She could tell nothing from the skirts, which looked like those of a heavy satin night robe. It could be any of the women who were staying. She was standing still as though in thought. Or was she listening? Could she hear them breathing?
Then, with a swish of skirts and the light tread of kid slippers, she was moving towards the door again. It opened, closed. Darkness, there was the scrape of metal again, then silence.
Theo’s hand pressed against her mouth. Elinor counted in her head and reached twenty before he began to wriggle back out of their tight confinement.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, getting to her feet as he lit the lantern again. Her legs were shaking. ‘It was a woman.’
‘I have no idea.’ He took out the picklocks and began to work on the box. ‘She was using picklocks, or a hairpin, on the door.’
‘Ana, then? Surely the countess would have a key.’
‘Not necessarily.’ He had the lid open, the papers in his hand. ‘It’s an inventory. My God—it is the wicked count’s inventory for his secret society. See, here’s the Chalice.’
He spread the crackling sheets of parchment on the table, Elinor struggling to read the ancient handwriting in the poor light. ‘And a platter from the same goldsmith. Chains of gold and silver…whips of horse hair and leather…What is that, I don’t recognise the word?’
Theo folded the list and put his hand on it. ‘I’m glad to hear it and I have no intention of telling you.’ He put the inventory back and closed the lid. ‘So, there are more things to find. Whoever she is, she is welcome to it. All I want is to locate the Chalice and get out of here.’
‘The inventory gave no hint about the hiding place?’
‘Not exactly. It has given me an idea, though, for where to look. I must study the plan again.’
‘We’ll look tomorrow.’ Now all she wanted to do was to curl up in her own bed, by herself, and try to sleep. Sleep and not think or feel or want. And somehow to subdue the heated intimate ache that Theo’s kisses had aroused.
‘We will not,’ Theo said sternly, working on the door. He shuttered the lantern and opened it a crack, listening. ‘Come on.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why not?’ He looked up from relocking the door, his face grim. ‘Because for some reason I cannot seem to keep my hands off you and I must. We are playing with fire, Nell.’
‘Just then—before she came in—what would have happened?’
‘Nothing more than a kiss,’ he said abruptly, taking her arm and turning back towards the wing where their rooms were. ‘I am still enough of a gentleman to be sure of that. But it isn’t easy, Nell, not when what I want is to take you to my bed. To take your virginity.’
‘Why?’ she asked, determined to work this out. She had no idea what she felt, what she thought. But he was experienced, he understood, surely, what was going on? ‘We are not in love. We are both intelligent, rational people. I do not understand why I am so confused, why I want to…to touch you, to have you kiss me.’
They were passing a deep window embrasure with seats built into the thick stone. Theo sat her down firmly, then sat opposite. At a safe distance, she thought, distractedly. ‘It is desire—impure, but very simple, Nell. It is easy to stir into life, difficult to damp down.’ He leaned forwards, elbows on knees, and ran his hands through his hair.
‘I see.’ Elinor tried to work it out. ‘I can understand why I want to kiss you—you showed me how, I like you and I trust you.’ And I want you, but I must not say that. I shouldn’t even think it. Theo groaned. ‘You seem to like kissing me,’ she ventured.
‘Men like kissing women, full stop,’ he said brutally, flattening any hope that somehow she was special. ‘Nell, stop trying to apply your intellect to this. It isn’t a set of grammar rules you have to learn and which then apply every time. Desire is very powerful, not logical and rarely convenient. It is not voluntary. It is especially inconvenient for ladies. Men can find mistresses. For ladies to take lovers and not lose their reputations into the bargain is almost impossible.’
‘Bel—’ she began and then clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified that she had almost said it.
‘Bel and Dereham? Before they were married?’ Theo, momentarily distracted, looked up. ‘Really? Well, good for her after that prosy bore she was married to. But widows are different, Nell.’
‘But I don’t want a lover,’ she said, trying to make herself understand as much as him. ‘And you certainly don’t want me, not when you can have experienced mistresses who don’t need teaching and won’t cause a scandal. So why can’t we just—’ She waved her hands about, frustrated at not being able to find the right expression.
‘Turn it off like a tap?’ Theo was smiling. It was a rather strained grin, but at least he was no longer frowning at her. ‘Because it keeps surprising us and it is a very powerful instinct. You see why I don’t want you in my bedroom?’
