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Um. No hidden meaning there. Quite clear, that.
She perused the rest of the topmost verse, which had been written by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, apparently a man after Lord Rafe’s predilections. Oh dear. It got worse.
Much worse. She thrust the poem aside. She wasn’t here for bawdy verse—she needed cold, hard answers to such questions as where was Lord Rafe? And what new trouble had he found?
In a small drawer tucked into the side of the desk, she found a stack of letters written in a feminine hand and scented with jasmine perfume. Finally a clue. Jasmine perfume could spell trouble.
Why haven’t you come to see me lately? Your turtledove is cooing with impatience.
Ugh. Turtledove?
The letters were all signed with a flourishing letterF. She pocketed one of them.
Nothing else of interest on the desk or in the drawers. She patted the bottom of the desk, listening for the hollow sound that would indicate a false bottom.Voila.
It only took a few seconds to pick the lock and access the hidden drawer. She reached inside and found a crumpled sheet of paper.
She smoothed the creases from the letter against the surface of the desk and pushed the lamp closer. Bending over the paper, she whispered the words aloud:
I know what your brother is doing. You must PAY. Await further instructions and TELL NO ONE or Lady Beatrice will be KIDNAPPED.
Her mind was a little fuzzy from the brandy but she guessed the significance of the note instantly. Thorndon had come to London because of this letter.
Lord Rafe was doing something reckless—unless the letter was an outright lie, a daring ploy to extort money from the duke.
She traced the words with her fingers, intent on deciphering the possible identity of the scribe. So intent that she didn’t notice the approaching footfalls until a gruff, incredulous voice sounded, nearly in her ear.
“What the devil? Is that you, MissPenny?”
Thorndon.
Acting on instinct, she hastily rolled the note and stuffed it down her bodice before straightening.
She turned to face the duke.
It must be the brandy, because she suddenly felt like she was standing on the deck of a ship in the eye of a storm.
Now that she’d seen him completely naked, albeit from a distance, he was even more attractive. His huge, sculpted body was mostly covered by a blue silk dressing gown, knotted at the waist. Her gaze darted downward.
His legs were covered by undergarments, but his feet were bare. That must be why she hadn’t heard him padding toward her, creeping up and surprising her. She should have been more alert, more cautious.
What explanation could she possibly give for her presence here? One of her uncle’s agents would have a convincing cover for any occasion.
“Yes, it’s me. MissPenny,” she said.
Oh brilliant. Truly innovative.
Think, you foolish girl. You want to be a spy, right?
His brow furrowed, eyes dark in the gloomy room. “What the deuce are you doing here?”
“I saw you,” Mina whispered. “In your bedchamber window. I was crouching below in the shrubbery.” Her heart hammered. He was so much more formidable from this close-at-hand vantage point.
“My window,” Thorndon echoed. “You saw me.”
Understanding dawned across his face like the sun rising over a rugged sea cliff. She would have called it a blush, if a duke could be said to blush.
“I hope you didn’t seeallof me,” he said darkly.
