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“Oh?” She stopped walking and gave him her full attention.
“Frances Flynn, Rafe’s former mistress, and one I knew nothing about. Apparently he ended it with her months ago. I visited her at her house.”
“And was she beautiful and sophisticated?”
“Very.”
“I suppose she was wearing a scarlet gown.”
“She wasn’t wearing a gown at all, only a lacy negligee and a thin silk wrapper.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “How scandalous.”
“Very.”
“And did you want to steal a kiss?”
Was she jealous? He studied her face. “I wasn’t there for kisses. I was after secrets. Unfortunately, she had none to tell. It seems we’ve come to a dead end. Until the author of the note sends another communication, we’ve exhausted all avenues.”
“We haven’t come to a dead end, Your Grace.” She smiled. “We’re just getting started. You’ll see.”
We’re just getting started.
It usually started with a kiss. Books helped. He wasn’t precisely sure why, but he’d always found that well-stocked library shelves were a surefire method to enflame a female’s passions.
“You know these are my books, not Rafe’s, right?” For some reason he wanted to make that very clear. “He’s not a great reader. He prefers gaming hells to libraries.”
“Interesting.” She studied the shelves. “Then we’ll be looking for a book that’s out of place. Something you never would keep in your library. How tall is Lord Rafe?”
“About my height.”
“I’m searching on the wrong bookshelf. It would be on the next one up. And it will most likely be brightly colored, so as to differentiate it from other books.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“The book that will open the secret chamber hidden behind the wall.”
“I hate to disappoint you but there’s no secret chamber. I have the working drawings for this entire house. It was designed by an architect who didn’t have a secretive or imaginative bone in his body.”
“Shhh.” She held a finger to her lips. “Let me work.”
He trailed behind as she chose books at intervals, this time rising on her toes to remove them from the shelf above her head. They were nearly to the end of the last row of shelves.
He overtook her easily and braced his hand on the shelves, cutting off her path.
She stopped, inches from him.
“There’s no hidden chamber. See? End of the line,” he said.
“That book. The red one your hand is resting on. What does it say?”
He moved his hand. “Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.”
“And did you purchase it and place it there?”
“I most certainly did not,” he said indignantly. “I may have been a rake but I didn’t keep lewd books out in the open on my library shelves.”
She giggled.
