Page 49 of The Lady is Trouble
Sidonie let the curtain fall as she collapsed against the carriage seat.
Soon, the rebellious girl would step outside her guarded world because her nature demanded it; she would do what she’d done before and create chaos.
Sidonie would be waiting.
Chapter 13
One man loved the pilgrim soul in you.
~William Butler Yeats
Julian learned muchabout Piper that night.
Intriguing, wondrous aspects of her personality, which only served to heighten his fascination. Hammer on the nail-of-a-belief that she was made for him.
Composed under pressure, fearless actually, and curious inspades, she made an excellent thief.
Christ, he thought and observed her calmly riffling through the Duke of Ashcroft’s desk mostly by feel alone, as the moonlight filtering through the open drapes was paltry at best. They’d decided one lamp risked enough, and it sat on the bookcase nearest him, throwing modest illumination over the chest Julian sought to crack.
Anyway, who needed lamplight when her vitality brightened the room like a thousand candles?
With a twist of Piper’s hairclip, he sent the rusty tumblers on the lock spinning, and the chest popped open. She raised a brow at his implement of choice but did not comment.
It held a varied assortment of journals. Slipping his spectacles from his coat pocket, Julian held one into the light, an image of Ashcroft a shimmer in his mind. The first entries were dated ten years ago—a long time to go it alone in their anomalous world. In a faultlessly tidy script, Ashcroft had listed instances where he’d experienced his gift. Those instances where a fire had raged out of control included the damages incurred.
Setting aside the journals, Julian disassembled the chest.. Removed each drawer, running his finger along the dovetailed edges in search of a hidden compartment. If he found nothing else, he could steal the journals, but torturing a man already tortured wasn’t the plan. To protect what was his—a compulsory response to the break-in—was.
Julian moved the lamp to the desk, the money clip he’d returned sitting atop a stack of books on the occult. Pages were folded and spattered with ink, speaking to frenzied research. The chime of a hall clock had him swearing under his breath. He glanced at Piper, but she remained relaxed and efficient, on her knees as she searched the lower drawers.
“This desk is very similar to one in the earl’s library. There was a concealed partition behind the pigeonholes.” She stretched, and he tried, he really did, to ignore the thrust of her breasts beneath silk. Even amidst bloody intrigue he wanted no part of, his cock gave notice where it wished this search was occurring. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration, her hands doing undeniably marvelous things to Ashcroft’s mahogany.
He felt run aground, abandoned on an island of enchantment and vacillation.
He imagined sweeping books to the floor and hoisting her atop the more-than-spacious desk. Bending her over the glossy surface and moving in behind her, sliding inside and showing her everything she wanted to know.
I want you to show me.
He’d never heard a more erotic declaration in his life.
“There was a trick to finding it,” Piper said.
He shoved his spectacles up. “Pardon?” He had completely lost the direction of the conversation.
Laughing softly, she examined the adjustable drawer, giving it a firm tug. “A small spring in the earl’s, right about here.” She gestured for light, and Julian scooted the lamp closer, pressing his hands to the desk to keep them from following commands his mind issued at rapid speed.
Brush the lock of hair from her cheek.
Tilt her head and kiss her before she knows it’s coming.
Before you can stop yourself.
She hummed low in her throat and probed the dovetailed edges. Julian pushed off the desk, rocking back on his heels. Was that the sound she would make as he thrust inside her? Her hands sliding over his skin with the same care and concentration as that drawer?
He suddenly, very urgently, wanted a drink. Or three. Piper wasn’t his partner in crime, no matter the comfort he experienced working alongside her. She was wreaking havoc, creating disenchantment with his uninspired but orderly life. Understanding this, he leaned in as her enticing scent caught him in a chokehold, her breathless exhalations leading his heart on a merry chase. His erection intensified until he was as hard as the mahogany he perched on, as hard as the damned ballroom floor.
While he brooded, the spring clicked, and the bedeviling woman shook her fist in triumph. “Gotcha.” She removed the drawer’s false back, drawing forth a velvet satchel the color of a bruised sky. “Ah, a treasure of”—her words clipped off as she moved the bag into the light—“my grandfather’s.”
Julian held out his hand, and she transferred the package, the embroidered initials coming into view.