Her Officer and Gentleman (21 page)

A muffled curse from Christian made her turn her head. “Well?”

“Nothing.”

“Excellent!” she answered.

He slid the letter opener into the next keyhole. One after the other, he opened drawer after drawer. Each time, he found nothing.

The last drawer finally opened, the one on the very bottom. Beth glanced back at the desk, but she could see only the top of Christian’s head. He began to dig through the contents, suddenly giving a muffled curse.

He stood, something in his hand, a stunned expression on his face. He cupped the object and ran a hand over it with an almost loving gesture.
Finally, he looked up and met Beth’s gaze. “I believe I win this point.”

Beth’s heart thudded to a halt before bounding back to life. He couldn’t have found something that implicated Grandfather. He couldn’t have. She would not believe it. She walked to stand beside him.

In his hand was a small miniature. It was of a woman with thick black hair and the most beautiful green eyes…“Your mother,” Beth breathed, running her fingers over the surface. “You look just like her. But how…why would Grandfather have a miniature of your mother?”

“I don’t know,” Christian said grimly. He caught Beth’s gaze. “Do you believe me now? Your grandfather has something to do with her death. I am certain of it.”

She wanted to answer him, but her throat was too tight. How could it be? Was it truly possible? Beth could not believe it. “Grandfather would never—”

A noise arose in the hallway. Jameson was giving orders, and in the background came the sound of a cane tapping heavily on the ground, coming closer with each step, a querulous voice raised in protest over the chilled air.

Beth grasped Christian’s coat. “It’s Grandfather! He’s awakened from his nap!”

G
randfather’s cane tapped closer to the door, his irascible voice cracking with irritation as he ordered one of the footmen to do something about a rug in the hallway.

Christian grabbed Beth’s wrist. “Under the desk.”

“What?” She looked at the desk, then at her gown. “I don’t want to—”

His hold tightened. “Get under the desk
now.
”

Before Beth knew what had happened, Christian had pulled her behind the desk. The library door
creaked open as Christian ducked beneath the opening and then tucked Beth in neatly beside him.

Christian slipped an arm about Beth and settled her close. It was surprisingly spacious under the desk, as the drawers were all rather small. But it was still a tight fit, especially as Christian’s shoulders were so wide.

Beth wiggled a bit, trying to settle, her elbow unwittingly coming to a halt in Christian’s ribs.

She heard his startled grunt and froze, holding her breath.

Grandfather paused, then muttered, “Damned pipes. Paid a fortune for those things and what do they do but grunt and groan like an old woman.”

Beth met Christian’s gaze and had to press a hand to her mouth to keep from chuckling aloud.

Grandfather’s cane tapped closer, then closer still. “Jameson!” he called, so close to the desk that Beth jumped a little.

“Jameson!” Grandfather called again.

This time, the butler answered. “Yes, my lord?”

“Bring me a rum toddy.”

Beth glared at the bottom of the desk. Grandfather was not supposed to drink rum as it made his leg ache. Thank goodness Jameson knew not to—

“Yes, my lord,” the butler said. “Shall I put it in a teacup so that Lady Elizabeth doesn’t see?”

Christian clapped his hand over Beth’s mouth as she gasped.

She shoved his hands aside and glared.

“Yes,” Grandfather said ungraciously. “And this time, make sure it has enough rum that I can taste it. I don’t want that swill you gave me last
time. Made me throw my damned cup. I have to pay for those, you know!”

“Yes, my lord.” Jameson’s voice was fading, as if he was walking toward the door. “My lord, Viscount Westerville arrived.”

“About damned time!”

“Yes, my lord. He is with Lady Elizabeth in the sitting room. Shall I bring your ‘tea’ there?”

“In the sitting room, eh? How long have they been in there?”

“Twenty minutes, I’d say.”

“Good. See to it they aren’t disturbed.”

Beth’s mouth dropped open.

Grandfather cackled. “Might do ’em some good, spending a bit of time together!”

“Yes, my lord. Oh. And, my lord, Lady Charlotte was asking when you would be up.”

“What does she want?” Grandfather said, his voice instantly waspish and impatient.

“I don’t know, my lord. She seemed quite upset. I suggested she might wish to speak to Lady Elizabeth but she refused.”

“Wonderful,” Grandfather said, his tone glum. “Whatever it is, I hope she doesn’t start crying. Never could abide a woman who tears up over every little thing. Don’t know what in the hell my son was thinking, bringing a woman like that into the family.”

“I shall fetch your drink,” Jameson said in his impassive tone. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, no! Just the toddy.”

“Yes, my lord.” The door closed behind the butler
and Beth listened, her heat beating anxiously as Grandfather’s cane thumped to the desk—straight to where she and Christian were hiding.

She met Christian’s gaze with a wild look.

He tucked her closer to him, his eyes level with hers. “If he finds us,” he whispered, his voice tickling her ear, a glint of amusement in his eyes, “we will tell him we were lost in passion, much as we were on the billiard table.”

Beth could almost picture Grandfather’s expression on hearing such a thing. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing a little. She was relieved when Grandfather picked up the morning paper from the desktop and then thumped his way back across the room, the thick carpet muffling the thud of his cane. His favorite chair creaked as he settled into it, followed by the crackle of the paper being opened.

The door opened again.

“My lord?” It was Charlotte.

“Bloody hell, can’t a man have some time to himself?” Grandfather snapped.

“I must talk to you. It’s important.”

There was a moment’s silence, during which time Beth imagined Grandfather glaring at her stepmama. “Are you taking your medicine?”

Beth shook her head. It was always the same with Grandfather; he worried more about Charlotte’s medicine than about his own health.

“Yes, yes. Of course. It’s not me. It’s about Bennington.”

“Bennington?”

To Beth’s surprise, Grandfather’s voice took on a more serious note.

“What does he want this time?”

“You see why I am upset! He is so controlling, so—”

“That, my girl, is a pie of your own making. So now you’ll eat it and stop crying about it.”

“He—”

“No. Not another word.”

“But he is asking about Elizabeth!”

“What about her?”

“Bennington spent some time with her in the garden the other day. I-I saw them from my window. I asked him what they’d talked about, but he was almost secretive. My lord, I think she has been asking questions, especially now that she is with Westerville. I have to wonder what you were thinking to allow that man, of all those in London, to be with her!”

“She was ruined,” Grandfather snapped. “And he ruined her. What else could I do.”

“I don’t know. I only fear she will ask questions and—you don’t wish her to know, do you?”

There was a moment of silence. Beth looked at Christian, her heart sinking. What on earth was Charlotte talking about?

“We will deal with Beth when the time comes.”

“My lord, you don’t understand, she is—”

“Charlotte! I won’t hear another word!” His voice cracked with rage.

“But…” Charlotte’s voice quivered. “I am afraid.”

“Go to your room. I will have Jameson bring some of your medicine.”

“But I—”

“Now!”
Grandfather thundered.

With a muffled cry, Charlotte ran from the room.

She must have passed Jameson, for the butler’s voice was the next thing they heard. “My lord?”

“Has Lady Charlotte seen the doctor?”

“She was asleep when he called last time.”

“That is not to happen again, do you hear me? Send for the fool now and tell him he is to see Lady Charlotte this very afternoon. And tell him to be damned sure she’s taking her medicine!”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I put your toddy here, by your chair?”

“No. You can put it right in my hand. I intend on drinking it now, and then I shall visit my granddaughter.”

“Yes, my lord.”

There was a short silence as the butler did as he’d been instructed, followed by a slurping sound from Granddaughter.

Beth bit her lip. Was it possible that Charlotte knew Grandfather’s secret? Was that why he was always so bitter about her, why he insisted she take her medicine?

She glanced at Christian and could tell from his expression that he was thinking the same thing.

“Ah!” Grandfather said. “Much better. Thank you, Jameson. You have a way with a toddy.”

“Thank you, my lord. Will there be anything
else? Shall I inform Lady Elizabeth you wish to see her now?”

Another noisy slurp was heard. “No, no. Give them some more time to talk. I daresay they’ve much to settle between them.”

“Yes, my lord. Please ring if you need another ‘tea.’” The butler’s measured tread shuffled across the carpet, then withdrew, the door closing behind him.

Beth’s shoulder was pressed to Christian’s chest, his heart beating a steady rhythm. She turned her head just the slightest bit and found him looking at her, his eyes darker than usual.

They were so close, tucked away where they could not be found. Safe and yet…not. The tension of being found heightened her senses. Beth shivered, intensely aware of the heat of his thigh pressed against the back of hers.

In the novels she loved, the women always swooned any time someone kissed them. None of the books ever talked about how lovely it was to be held. How warm a man’s rough skin could feel beneath one’s fingertips. How strong a desire one could feel, or how arousing it was to sit in a man’s lap and feel his reaction.

All the heroines in her novels seemed forever frightened, yet she wasn’t, not in the least bit. Oh, her breath was coming fast and her body was tight with excitement, but she was not in the least fearful.

She was, in fact, rather…comfortable. As if she belonged here. Excited
and
comfortable. How come none of the heroines ever mentioned that
particular aspect of being held in a man’s arms?

The newspaper rustled across the room. “Damned Tories.” As this was followed by a blissful “ah” as Grandfather slurped his rum toddy, it was obvious Grandfather’s hated Tories were behaving themselves today.

Beth would have a word or two with Jameson when this was all over. Meanwhile, she might as well enjoy where she was. There would not be many more times she would be so near Christian. Fewer than she wished to think.

She lifted her fingers and trailed them over Christian’s face, the faint roughness tingling beneath her fingers. He caught her hand and pressed it to his mouth, his warm lips firm against her skin.

Grandfather’s paper rattled again.

Christian glanced at Beth through his long lashes. “Should I release you?” he whispered.

“No,” she answered.

His lips twitched and she had the oddest impulse to kiss him.

Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling a lump in his coat pocket. Ah yes, the miniature. Beth frowned. Why would Grandfather have a miniature of Christian’s mother locked in his desk?

She traced her fingers over the circle that outlined the tiny painting. Etched on ivory, it was a delicate and lovely piece and not something someone would toss aside.

Her gaze met Christian’s. As if he was reading her thoughts, he leaned down and whispered, “Because he feels guilty.”

Beth still couldn’t accept it. There had to be an explanation. She leaned forward and pressed her lips near Christian’s ear. “I wish Grandfather had kept a journal. Then we’d know what it means for certain.”

Christian shook his head and whispered in return. “He is too intelligent to do such a thing.”

Beth nodded. They were silent a moment more, the sense of closeness binding them. Beth tried to breathe deeply to inhale his scent. He was so close, his hips against hers, his arms about her. If she leaned forward just the smallest bit, her breasts would have been pressed against his chest. She wondered if she could feel his heartbeat if she did.

Suddenly, she wanted to lean forward. Wanted to collect the warmth of his hips against hers. Wanted to feel his heartbeat and mingle it with hers. When this was over, when she’d settled the issue of Grandfather’s innocence, Christian would be gone. The thought tightened her chest.

She must have shown some quiver of emotion, for Christian’s arm came to rest around her shoulders. Beth tilted her head back, her eyes meeting his.

Something flared and sparked. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if he was afraid of scaring her, he lowered his mouth to hers.

As he did so, his thigh pressed against her knee, forcing it down. A low heat began to build in her as his tongue slipped along her lower lip, tantalizing her with promises of other fascinating things.

It was absurdly sensual, kissing in total silence.
She couldn’t moan, couldn’t speak, couldn’t allow her breath to quicken. She fought for control even as she savored the temptation to lose it.

His hand slid down her arm to her shoulder, then softly cupped her breast. His thumb rolled over her nipple, teasing it to a peak through her gown and chemise. Beth had to fight a deep moan, her thighs parting slightly as she turned more toward him, pressing against him in their small, dark space.

She’d never been kissed like this. Never been so sensually touched and handled. She found that her body flared with delight, softened and pressed against him. She wanted him, desired him, loved him.

She froze. She loved him. Oh God, when had that happened? And why? She tried to figure it out, but his hands found both of her breasts and she forgot everything as she arched into him. Her nipples hardened, heat flaring in her stomach. She wanted him, wanted this. And somehow, knowing that she loved him made her want to press against him all the more.

She ran her hands over his shoulders, up his neck, to the raspy sides of his cheeks. She pulled his mouth to hers and gave him a deep, longing kiss.

His hands clutched at her convulsively, holding her brutally tight.

A loud snore erupted from Grandfather, the noise breaking the spell that held Christian and Beth in its thrall.

Christian sent an annoyed glare at the back of the desk in the general direction of where Grandfather
slept. Then he took Beth’s hand in his own. “We should leave while we have the chance.”

“Now? But—”

“Follow me,” he mouthed, quietly climbing out, pulling her along by the hand.

They came out from behind the desk to find Grandfather asleep in his chair, a splash of sunlight limning his white hair into a halo. Christian put his fingers to his lips, then tiptoed across the room to the door. Quietly, he opened the door and slipped out, pulling Beth behind him.

They found the footmen and Jameson staring at them with astonishment.

Oh no!
Christian opened his mouth, but Beth tugged her wrist from his grip and quickly stepped forward. She smiled calmly at the butler, hoping he didn’t know she was sorely out of breath. “Jameson?”

He straightened immediately. “Yes, my lady?”

“I just found my grandfather sleeping in his chair, an empty glass of rum in his hand.”

The butler’s ears reddened. “Did you, my lady? How…how horrid.”

“I want you to find whoever is responsible. That is not acceptable.”

“Y-yes, my lady. I, ah, shall do so immediately.”

Beth turned and led the way to the sitting room. “Lord Westerville? Would you join me for a moment before you leave?”