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“Something?”
“Blake, you should have been there. I’ve never seen a child look so terrified. And it was the manner in which he did it.” She stepped close to Blake and moved her face to his ear. “He spoke to him like this with the most threatening expression.”
Blake glanced sideways at her. She felt the heat from his skin on her cheek and smelled his cologne. Just a tiny movement, and he could press his lips to her skin and then down, along her neck and—
She stepped sharply back and swallowed the knot in her throat. “Worse, he acted as though nothing had happened afterward. He just smiled and ambled along, appearing, well, pleasant.”
He tapped a finger to his lips then shoved a hand through his hair. “I knew it.”
“You were right, Blake. Your instincts, that gut of yours, was right. There is something wrong and Michael Foster is not the man he says he is.”
His grin turned triumphant. “Instincts, Demeter. Always trust your instincts.”
“There’s no need to look so excited. He could be a murderer or…or…” She struggled to think of something worse. “Or something.”
“Yes.” His grin widened. “And we are going to find out exactly what in a few days when we attend that meeting.”
We. Demeter pressed out a breath. Lord, if only such a simple utterance did not make her heart give a delighted little skip.
***
Before Blake could promise to send word to Demeter and put an end to the conversation that her aunt and his mother were not-so-subtly watching through the windows, the butler stepped into the drawing room followed by Ashford.
Ashford’s gaze darted between them then to the window behind. A slow smile crossed his lips. He ignored Blake, moved past the butler and fixed his gaze upon Demeter. Her eyes widened and Blake ground his teeth together. He’d seen that smile on Ashford too many times. He used it to charm and sway and ensure any number of women fell at his feet.
How dare he use it on Demeter.
“Lady Demeter, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Lord Ashford.” She dropped her gaze and dipped demurely.
He dipped his head and handed over his hat and gloves to the butler, ensuring Blake got the message—I’m staying.
“Lady Demeter was just leaving,” Blake said tightly.
“I was?”
Ashford chuckled. “My friend has the most beastly manners. I see you have not even offered her tea.”
“I’m hardly the sort to sup tea, Ashford.”
“I-I do not need any, really,” she protested. “And I was about to leave.”
“So soon?” Ashford motioned outside. “It looks as though Mrs. Blake and your aunt are having such a pleasant time. It would be cruel to part them.”
“So soon?” spluttered Blake. “How do you know she has not been here all afternoon?”
Ashford lifted a shoulder. “I just know.” He cocked his head and eyed her wrist. “What a charming bracelet.”
Demeter blinked and lifted her wrist, unwittingly offering Ashford a chance to finger the flowers around her delicate limb.
“Is there significance behind it?” Ashford ran a finger along the fabric flowers, almost grazing the inside skin of her wrist.
Blake’s teeth hurt. He forced himself to unclench his jaw.
Her cheeks turned pink and she bit her bottom lip. “It’s a habit,” she said softly.
A habit? Damn it. What did she mean by that? And why in the hell hadn’t he thought to ask her about the flowers? Why was Ashford getting to know all her secrets?
