Page 69 of All Scot and Bothered

God but she spun him about. Her scent. Her shape. Hersound. She was a delicacy—nay, a feast—for his senses, and the senses not currently occupied by her screamed for him to do something about that.

If only he could touch her.

Taste her.

He flipped through the book blindly. The symbols and formulae therein might as well have been written in hieroglyphs. “Ye think… ye can decipher this?” If so, she was a bloody genius.

She nodded. “I’m more determined than ever to understand what Henrietta was up to. I just need time.”

His fingers stilled upon the pages as he prepared to reveal to her what he’d learned. “Time ye may not have,” he said, welling with regret. “Yer enemies know as well as I do that ye’re Cecelia Teague and not Hortense Thistledown. They ken where ye live now.”

She chewed on her lip, thrusting a hip into her hand as she pondered this. “Yes, and who’s to say whotheyare?”

Ramsay grimaced. Wishing like hell he didn’t have to tell her this. “Those men I killed today…Iknew them.I’ve hired them in the past.”

She shrank away, clutching at her wrapper and gown. “Hired them? Surely not to—”

“The one I gunned down in the street, I employed him to watch ye during the day whilst I was engaged elsewhere. I thought he was trustworthy. He’s often in the employ of other agents of the law, including my superior, the Lord Chancellor.”

“No.” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Aye,” he confirmed as her brow knitted into an expression of horror and disbelief. “I heard what those men said to ye,” he continued. “They intended to take yer little girl, to replace the one they’d lost. I believe they referred to Katerina Milovic.” He brandished the codex at her.“They asked for this book, and if there’s something in here that incriminates yer aunt as well as the Lord Chancellor, I need to ken what it is so I can crush him.”

Cecelia seemed to compose herself and drifted forward, reaching out for the diary. “My lord, you’ll need to consider this carefully. What is in this book could go to the very top of the chain. Even above Redmayne’s head, you understand? I saw a member of theroyal familyleave Henrietta’s establishment right before the bombing. And also the Count Armediano.”

“Armediano?” he growled. “That rat bastard could certainly have something to do with it.” He thought darkly of the count’s fingers on the soft white flesh of her arm.

“These revelations could be dangerous for the both of us.” She clasped his free hand between her two palms, imploring him to listen. “If that bomb was connected to a timing device, anyone in the world could have planted it. All of Henrietta’s records but this have been destroyed, and I wasn’t at Henrietta’s that morning to see who else might have left it.”

“Why not?”

She glanced away guiltily. “I didn’t sleep the night before.”

“I’m sensing ye’re not a grand sleeper.” He let his thumb drift over her fingers.

“I am, usually,” she argued. “This was your fault on both accounts.”

His fault? He considered this. The morning of the bombing was right after the dinner party at Redmayne’s.

A carnal memory glistened in her eyes and stained her pale cheeks a dark, guilty shade.

Suddenly he knew exactly why she hadn’t slept.

Because she’d been up contemplating their kiss.

As had he.

“Ramsay.”

His name on her lips stopped his heart and corded his muscles. He became like a statue, his every marble molecule waiting for the chisel of her next words.

“I need you to believe that I’m neither criminal nor bawd. I need to you trust that I’m embroiled within this catastrophic mystery against my will and better judgment, and that I am as committed to doing what is right as you are. Even if we might disagree as to what that is. I need an ally, not an enemy. I have enough of those, and Ipromiseyou, I’ve done nothing to deserve them.”

The earnest intensity glowing on her heart-shaped face threatened to melt the steely cold center of him within a feminine forge.

He fought the rising molten wave of warmth. He could not afford to let her shape and mold him to her will. He could not—would not—be one of the men who undoubtedly fell to their knees before her, waiting to be anointed her knight in shining armor.

“Tell me you believe me,” she pleaded, her eyes going soft, gathering little jewels of moisture at her lashes. “That you believe I’m innocent.”