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Rafe held her eyes. “Good.” For a moment he looked nothing like the charming rogue she had come to know and instead exuded a stark graveness that sent a chill down her spine. She wouldn’t want to evoke the ire of this man. “Did it say anything else?”
Sylvia came around the desk and began looking through the piles of papers. Mr. Wardale may be many things, but organized wasn’t one of them. “They indicated that they would want information on the viscount once I returned to London.” She pushed a stack of papers aside as her anger bubbled to the surface. “I, stupidly, thought this would all be over with once I delivered the envelope. But of course it’s not. Of course Ihave to continue to pay for my mistakes again and again and again.” Just as she slammed another stack down, Rafe gently seized her hand.
“Careful,” he said. “We need to put everything back just as it was.”
“Butlookat this mess.” She shook her head in frustration. “How could he possibly tell?”
“Don’t be so certain,” Rafe cautioned, keeping his voice calm. “Never assume that someone won’t notice when their things have been rifled through.”
Sylvia took a deep breath and waited for her heartbeat to settle. He was right. She would have to take her anger out on something else. Rafe retrieved his glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on. They really were horribly unfashionable, and yet he managed to look adorable.
“Yes?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.
Sylvia had been staring. “You don’t wear your glasses often.”
He grimaced. “Only when absolutely necessary.”
“I like them.”
Rafe gave her a quizzical look, as though he was waiting for her to make a joke. But Sylvia merely held his gaze. The corner of his mouth turned up, and he began looking through the papers she had disturbed before carefully replacing them. Sylvia followed suit. Most of the materials on the desk made up the typical paper trail of a wealthy man—receipts for items so expensive Sylvia’s eyes nearly watered, old dinner menus, deeds to various properties, lists of actions to take or dates to remember. In short, nothing that signaled their host was up to anything nefarious.
Sylvia pressed her hands to her hips and shook her head. She could feel Rafe’s eyes on her. But she couldn’t give up. Not yet. Sylvia knelt down and began to check the desk drawers. The first two easily opened, revealing nothing more titillating than blank paper, envelopes, and hundreds of embossed business cards for Wardale Enterprises. But the last one held fast. Sylvia rattled the handle, but it refused to budge. Her heartbeat quickened as certainty suddenly filled her and she tugged even harder.
“Stop that.” Rafe covered her hand with his own. “I’ll open it.”
He brushed Sylvia aside and retrieved his lock picks once again, but this one proved more challenging than the door. Rafe cursed under his breath and shifted his position. Sylvia’s certainty only increased, though she hadn’t yet a clue how she would prove her suspicions. After another few minutes, the lock finally turned.
Rafe stood and wiped his brow. “I’ve never seen a lock on a drawer like that,” he said ominously.
Sylvia knelt down and pulled the drawer open. It contained several leather-bound folders. She pulled out the first one and placed it on the desk, then looked at Rafe.
“Well? Open it.”
Sylvia held her breath as she opened the folder, but as her eyes scanned the document, her heart began to sink. She quickly moved on to the next letter, then the next, but they were all the same. Nothing more than standard business letters to various tradespeople asking for payments. That was not unusual, seeing as how Mr. Wardale owned properties all over London.
Sylvia’s shoulders slumped. No doubt the other folders would hold more of the same. But as she continued to diligently flip through the letters, something began to stand out. A pattern. Something familiar. She stopped on a letter and leaned forward, dragging her finger across the text.
Rafe immediately took notice. “What is it?”
“I can’t be sure, but see here?” She pointed to the word “evening.” “See how the ‘e’ is slightly faded? And here again each time the letter is used? It was the same in all the notes I received. I might not have noticed if it hadn’t occurred so frequently.” Or if she hadn’t stared at them so often they had been imprinted on the backs of her eyelids.
She turned eagerly to Rafe, but he looked skeptical. “That could be a manufacturing error. Every typewriter of that model could have the same issue.”
“Yes, but—”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Sylvia. But it isn’t enough. We need to prove intent.” Her mouth went dry at the word. “If you’re right and Wardale is the one blackmailing you,” Rafe continued, “then that isillegal.”
Sylvia knew this, of course, but hearing someone else say it was sobering. And terrifying.
“I don’t want the law involved.”
Then her past would come to light and she would still be forced to leave her position. Everything she had tried to protect would be ruined anyway.
Rafe watched her carefully, but she kept her expression blank. He could not know what this would do to her. “I can only agree to that if we don’t find anything. It is likely you aren’t the only person he is blackmailing.”
Sylvia turned away. “Fine. Do as you wish.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but that didn’t mean she needed to keep helping him.
***
