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His words seemed to bring her to her senses, and she immediately stiffened. “Right. Yes, of course. I––I quite forgot myself.” Her cheeks blazed as she began to pull away, but Rafe caught her hand.
“Please don’t think I want to be anywhere other than here. With you.”
She watched him closely for another agonizing moment, but her gray eyes betrayed nothing. “All right,” she said flatly, as if they hadn’t just been a few heated kisses away from tearing each other’s clothes off. Rafe then stood and helped her to her feet. Miss Sparrow patted her hair.
“I must look a mess.”
“You look lovely.” Rafe turned her around and made quick work fixing the pins that had come loose. “There,” he said. “Now no one will know you were being naughty in front of the books.”
She gave him a faint smile. “You’re never serious for very long, are you?”
“Only when the situation requires it.”
This time she didn’t return his smile. “I think you hide an awful lot behind that smirk.” Rafe’s eyebrows rose at this uncomfortably astute observation. But then, she looked at him more closely than most. “Good night, Mr. Davies.” She turned to leave, but Rafe caught her hand.
“This may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t often kiss women without at least learning their first names.”
There was still a wariness in her gaze. “It’s Sylvia.”
“Sylvia Sparrow.” His lips curved as he spoke. “Delightful name. ‘What light is light, if Sylvia be not seen?’”
“Yes.” She dipped her chin, and a devastating ache bloomed in Rafe’s chest. “My mother loved her Shakespeare,” she added softly.
Rafe noted the past tense. “Then she had excellent taste,” he quipped, attempting to clear the heaviness that had filled the air while filing this precious detail about her background away. “My name is Rafe, by the way. In case you wished to know,” he said lightly, trying to hide the desperation that had suddenly come over him at the thought that she might not care at all, actually.
But then her mouth quirked. “Rafe,” she said slowly.
The sound of his name on her lips was unexpectedly erotic. He leaned over and brushed a fairly chaste peck to her cheek. “Until tomorrow, Sylvia Sparrow.”
She gave him one last parting glance, then left the room. Once he was alone, Rafe mulled over this new information. Mrs. Crawford had said her father had been a scholar, and it sounded as though her mother had received a decent education. Yet now Sylvia worked as a companion, which indicated she had fallen on hard times after her parents’ deaths. But there were still a few mysteries that remained, like the source of her friendship with the viscountess. Some of her wariness around him could be attributed to his reputation, but Rafe suspected there was something else she was hiding.
He worried his bottom lip, savoring what little of her taste was still left, and wondered where the hell she had learned to kiss like that.
Chapter Ten
Rafe spent the next morning searching the rooms of Lady Armstrong and Mrs. Barnes, while carefully noting anything that would be remotely of interest: an excess supply of laudanum, an unsent letter demanding repayment of an old debt, a diary entry that made reference to an unnamed paramour. At least Wardale would see that he was being thorough. He then delivered his findings to his host, who seemed uncharacteristically pleased by the information.
“I still don’t suspect either of these ladies,” Rafe cautioned. “As you can see, I found nothing to suggest otherwise.”
Wardale nodded swiftly. “Yes, of course. It’s a comfort to me all the same, though. Well done, Davies. Can you search a few more rooms today?”
“I’m afraid I have an engagement in Glasgow. I won’t be back until supper.”
Wardale’s expression darkened until Rafe mentioned who he was visiting.
“Captain Harris? Do you think he would come to the castle? My guests would be fascinated.”
Considering that Henry had barely left his sister’s house in months, Rafe highly doubted it. “I will pass the message along, sir,” he said diplomatically. “And not to worry. I will make use of the empty rooms tomorrow evening while everyone is downstairs enjoying the festivities. I plan to slip away early.”
“Excellent, excellent,” Wardale murmured, still preoccupied with the thought of the illustrious Captain Harris crossing his threshold.
Rafe left him to his musings. He had a train to catch.
***
Sylvia stared out the window above her desk, watching rain streak down the paned glass. After days of good weather, dark clouds had rolled in just after breakfast. It made no difference to her, as she had pages of notes to type up, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate for more than a few minutes before her thoughts returned to last night.
Sylvia idly tapped the end of her pencil against the glass. She hadn’t seen Mr. Davies since their encounter in the library but overheard someone mention he had gone into Glasgow to visit a friend. Since then she had been burning with curiosity. He hadn’t said anything to her. Not that he needed to, of course. She had no claim on him.
