Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
W hile it had been some time since Jasper had ventured into his attic, and the lighting was dim, nothing seemed out of place. Old pieces of furniture draped with white material were piled before the wall that separated this storage space from the servants’ quarters. Paintings were braced along the wall that connected his home to his neighbours—the baron and his wife—and musty rugs were rolled up in the middle of the space.
“Damn.” Disappointment crashed through Jasper and sat like a stone in his stomach. For a moment, he’d been so certain.
The shaft of moonlight shining through the dormer window caught Maria’s thoughtful gaze.
“While we weren’t attacked upon entrance, Francis might still use this space,” she murmured, striding past him into the room. “Come, let us investigate further.”
His lips quirked and he did as he was bid. There was a reason this clever woman was in charge, after all.
Starting with the paintings, Jasper tilted first one and then another, noting nothing of interest—but for the damaged frame on the likeness of his great-uncle. He leaned them back in place and rubbed his fingertips together.
“The maid in charge of dusting up here is to be commended,” he noted.
“Mmm,” Maria hummed, the floor creaking as she bent to inspect the furniture under a cloth. “In that we agree.”
Crossing through the shaft of moonlight, Jasper felt along the rolled rugs— nothing —then turned his attention to the dormer window. The latch was aged and stiff, but it was secure.
“I’ve found nothing out of place,” Maria said, straightening from her examination of another bunch of furniture.
“Neither have I.”
“Blast.” She sheathed her dagger, striding toward him. “We had best check the cellar.”
Reaching for his hand and rising on her toes, she pressed a soft, warm buss to his shortly-whiskered cheek. Hell, but his heart stumbled into a gallop at the light contact.
“Yes,” he returned. “The cellar.” He nodded, absently following the decidedly remarkable woman from his attic. It will soon be her attic, too , his inner voice whispered. Damn, but he wanted that. She was ambitious and wholly desirable. How had he not recognized it before?
Unable to keep away from her, he brushed the back of his hand against hers as he matched her pace in the third-floor corridor. And a jolt of—hell, he couldn’t name the feeling, but it was entirely addictive—raced up his arm to settle somewhere in his chest.
Maria cast a sidelong glance at him, an erotic flush riding up her neck from beneath the fichu of her maid’s costume. And his cods tightened.
Damn. He had to stop doing that. Focus . Maria was working, for fuck’s sake, and his cousin might yet be hiding in his cellar.
They traversed the corridors and stairs with ease, greeting his staff—guards—with polite nods as they passed. And yet his body still felt… stimulated by Maria’s nearness.
At last, they descended the final staircase into the servants’ rooms. They passed the housekeeper’s bedroom, butler’s pantry, kitchens and scullery, and finally reached the cellar. A renewed sense of anticipation filled him, his pulse drumming and his breath coming quickly.
“I forgot that you had both a larder and a cellar,” Maria noted.
Jasper nodded absently. “All of the larger homes in Grosvenor Square have both.”
Despite his body’s demands, his focus was entirely on the closed door to the cellar. Francis could be within, and Jasper must have his wits about him.
Lifting his pistol in preparation, Jasper reached for the door’s latch and pressed, swinging it wide. Immediately, the scent of cured meats and fish filled his nose. Heart racing, he scanned the small space. Meats, fish, cheese, milk … No Francis.
He cursed and dropped his arm.
Maria brushed past him and into the room, bending low to peer beneath the bottom shelves, and his gaze narrowed unwaveringly on her arse. Christ , but the woman was endowed with a particularly spectacular bottom. Would that he’d given that part of her more attention during their tryst that morning. Would she be receptive to?—
“There is no sign of someone bedding down in here,” Maria said, cutting through his thoughts. “I daresay if he attempted to hide in a closet or cupboard, he would have been found out by your regular staff. I must have been wrong. Mayhap the new staff members are pilfering food.”
“Mayhap,” he said thoughtfully. Jasper carefully lowered the hammer on his pistol, feeling rather deflated that they hadn’t found the blackguard. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, he was spoiling for a fight with Francis after their encounter earlier. He wanted this bloody nonsense done with.
The dagger she’d been holding disappeared among the folds of her skirts, and he marvelled at her fearlessness. She knew how dangerous his cousin was, and yet there she stood, prepared to face the man, to spend the night standing guard in Jasper’s home, in the name of justice.
His body moved without conscious thought. Placing the pistol on one of the cellar’s shelves, he stepped into her space, breathing in her scent of ink and parchment.
Maria’s breath hitched, and the little sound tightened his cods.
He wanted to kiss her again, to press her up against the wall behind her and hear her cry out in pleasure as his cock rubbed against her sweet?—
“Kiss me, Jasper,” she breathed.
With a rough groan, he covered her lips with his. She opened on a sigh, her tongue reaching out to flick at his. She gripped the lapels of his coat before her hands found purchase in his hair, her nails gently abrading his scalp and sending gooseflesh over his skin. He pulled her closer, fisting her maid’s costume in his hands as his body came alive with desire.
Christ, but she sparked a fire in him, the likes of which he’d never before felt. These new facets of her character that he was discovering had him scrambling for purchase on the edge of some precipice. He wanted to know more, to feel more, to have more of her.
Her sweet breaths came quickly, and she arched against him, tightening her fingers in his hair and creating a delicious sharp tug that went straight to his ballocks. He left her lips to trail kisses along her jaw, but she chased his mouth with a soft mewl of protest, and his eyes threatened to roll backward.
A floorboard creaked nearby, and they sprang apart, huffing for breath.
Jasper turned away, rubbing a hand over his face and discreetly adjusting himself in his trousers.
“No one is there,” Maria breathed. “Seems the house was settling. But the timing was fortuitous, I’m afraid.”
He turned a dry gaze on the woman, took in the sharp, determined set to her jaw and obdurate tightness to her lips, and internally deflated. There would be no more kisses tonight.
“I must see to my duties,” she continued. “You had best get some sleep.”
A frown tugged at the corners of his lips. “Would it not be prudent of me to aid you?”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Help would be most welcome.”
His chest swelled, and he grinned. “Capital. Where shall we begin?”
An endearing, snorted laugh escaped her. “On the top floor, Duke.”
So, they did. With careful attention to detail, they began with the furthest guest bedchamber, examining every window and servants’ corridor entrance for compromised locks or weakened seams. They peered in all wardrobes and cupboards in the rooms, and found nothing. Then, they moved down to the second floor.
They searched by light of the moon, foregoing candlelight, as it would make them more visible through the windows.
Multiple times through their search, Harris and his men found them and made reports to Maria, apprising her of their positions within the house. In every instance, Jasper was in awe of—and, he must admit, aroused by—Maria’s role as supervisor in his case. And every time, he could not help but imagine Maria directing and organizing his— their —home and staff in such a way. He liked that thought very much indeed.
* * *
Darkness surrounded Maria but for the fire still blazing in Jasper’s study. It drew her into the room, the warmth and lingering scent of lemons and bergamot enveloping her. At some point during their examination of the second-floor rooms, they had agreed to separate and conduct their own searches. It was meant to save time, but it left Maria feeling lonely without his company. It also meant that she would not be able to explore Jasper’s bedchamber.
Now, he was a door away in a parlour while she was alone in his study. A decidedly naughty part of her wanted very much to peruse his documents and personal effects, to learn more about him, to perhaps feel closer to him. She would, however, neither betray his trust nor disregard her duty as a runner.
Instead, this was her opportunity to search, unimpeded, for any proof that Jasper’s father had nothing to do with Miss Jean Sinclair’s death—in addition to searching for signs of Francis. Jasper had mentioned that he, Juliana, and their father had been in London, at an exhibit of wax sculptures, on the occasion of Miss Sinclair’s death. Surely it was possible that evidence might have been left behind by the previous duke.
There was only one way in which to find out.
She scanned the room as low firelight flickered over every surface and threw shadows into stark relief.
A letter lying atop Jasper’s desk caught her gaze, the scrawled Mr. Sinclair drawing her forward. She picked it up, tilting it toward the light, and scanned its contents.
Your Grace,
I would understand your concern if your accusations were accurate, but as previously stated, these letters are the work of Mr. Sinclair’s hired ruffians. My men are working tirelessly to apprehend them.
Sir Ludlow Vaughan
A frown creased Maria’s brow, and she returned the letter to Jasper’s desk. The magistrate was scarcely making any effort to capture Francis, and he was certainly not inspiring confidence in the abilities of the Home Office.
It was fortunate, then, that Maria and her team had taken the case.
She continued her pursual of the space.
If any evidence existed—and the old duke had chosen to hide it—it would no doubt be in a place that Jasper had yet to uncover. That would leave out strongboxes, false-bottomed drawers, or the like, for Jasper would undoubtedly have accessed them already.
It was possible that the old duke hadn’t gotten the chance to inform Jasper of the information’s location before his passing. But mayhap he would put it somewhere Jasper was inclined to look?
She tapped at her chin and turned in a circle, considering.
The wall of bookshelves called to her. If she were to hide something, she might choose a hidden alcove on her bookshelves, or a spot within a book itself. With the number of tomes she had amassed over the years, it was more likely that someone would give up in frustration before finding anything of use.
With a nod, she set to work.
Beginning with the oldest volumes of what she imagined Jasper might read, she methodically removed books from the shelves and shook out the pages. Dust tickled her nose as she worked, but she persisted, stacking the checked book in neat piles upon the floor.
“Christ, but it’s bright in here,” Jasper whispered from the connecting doorway.
She glanced up, her pulse leaping at the sight of him. Heavens, but he’d removed his cravat. “Duke.”
“Maria.” A smile played over his features as he neared. “For what are you searching now? Surely you don’t suppose Francis to be hiding in the books.”
“Of course not.” She clucked her tongue—decidedly not looking at his exposed throat and collar. “We discussed Francis’ motivation for his determined incursion, and you had mentioned the death of his sister, Miss Jean Sinclair. While the chances are slim, I was hoping to find some clarification as to what happened, and perhaps evidence to prove that you and your father had naught to do with it.”
“Ah. That is very shrewd of you. Allow me to help. What else have you yet to examine?”
Heat spread through her chest at his compliment, and she licked her suddenly dry lips. “The windows—again.”
With a nod, he turned and strode toward the windows.
Maria’s heart hiccoughed. He was so willing to accept her direction. But would it last?
She shook the thought away and resumed her task, selecting another book and searching it for hidden secrets. Nothing . She placed it on the most recent growing pile.
Twisting her lips to one side in an effort to stave off a sneeze, Maria lifted on the tips of her toes to reach an aged leather-bound book of English ballads. She flipped the pages open, and two folded pieces of parchment fell to the floor.
Something at last . Whether or not it was what she sought, she was pleased.
She retrieved the items and unfolded the first. Her heart leapt. It was a handbill for Marie Tussaud’s exhibit!
Setting the book and handbill aside, she opened the other folded piece of parchment.
Uncle,
After careful thought, I’ve come to the realization that my brothers’ and my father’s need for vengeance against you and yours is wrong. You are the legitimate heir to the dukedom…
Unbidden, a gasp escaped Maria. She scanned down to the bottom.
I fear what my father or brothers would do to me should they discover my change of heart. For that reason, I must beg asylum with you and my cousins.
With hope,
Jean
* * *
A gasp cut through the silence of the study, and Jasper’s stomach dipped in alarm. He spun from the window to see Maria pouring over the contents of a letter.
Hurrying to her side and unable to keep himself from some sort of connection, he placed a hand to the small of her back.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
“I’ve found it,” she said animatedly, her gaze slipping to his exposed throat and smattering of chest hair.
Her eyes widened, and a flush crept up her neck. Fuck, but that was arousing. His gut stirred, and pride swelled.
Hiding his smile, Jasper asked, “Found what, precisely?”
She held out two folded bits of parchment. “Proof of your father’s innocence in Jean’s death. Your father hid it, no doubt to exonerate him in the event that your cousins attempted to cause him difficulty.”
Jasper blinked once more, taken aback. “And you found it, just like that?”
She nodded, a self-satisfied smile brightening her features. “It was between the pages of a book of English ballads.”
“Damn.” He squinted, scanning the documents and wishing he brought his reading spectacles to his study. His heart drummed faster as he read. “ Damn ! Maria, this is?—”
“I know.” Her gaze slid downward to his exposed skin, once more, and her flush deepened. “We will discuss it on the morrow, I’m sure.”
“Mmm,” he hummed.
She slipped the parchment in her apron pocket and turned her gaze toward the windows. “Did you conclude your inspection of?—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I’m afraid not.”
On swift feet, she sped to the first window to complete the examination. Jasper, however, was rooted to the spot, his gaze eagerly soaking in her profile lit by the low-burning fire in the hearth.
His stomach was a whirling tumult of emotion. In this room, together, he could imagine their future: she, having designed the space to suit her purposes, would have a writing desk of her own at which she would compose newspaper articles, and he would work happily from his own desk—wherever she deemed it suitable to the space. And— fuck , would she don the attire of Mr. Duncan Robertson while she worked? Oh, indeed, he would very much enjoy that.
“There,” she said, returning to his side. “Shall we continue? Divide et impera ?”
“Divide and conquer?” He huffed a laugh. “Very well.”
* * *
Pressing the hidden cupboard closed with a light thunk , Maria turned and searched the remainder of the small sitting room. In the past three quarters of an hour, she’d not crossed the path of another soul—not since Jasper had left with Harris to search the stables. Thirty minutes hence, she had heard two guards walk past the rooms on this floor and then descend into the service rooms belowstairs.
It was rather lonelier than she’d anticipated. She was, however, determined to complete her task.
She’d begun her search for evidence of either Francis’ forays into Jasper’s home or of Francis’ possible collusion with an old member of Jasper’s staff. But her mind endlessly wandered back to Jasper, and the view of his bared throat and collarbone. Despite the persistent eerie tingle down her spine, another flush crept up her throat and warmth swirled in her belly.
From what she’d seen of him in the study, the man, while lean, was soft and in possession of a thin layer of curling hair on his upper chest. It was decidedly arousing. She’d wanted to press her lips to his skin right then.
She scanned the dim room, ensuring that she’d searched the space entirely, when her attention caught on a partially opened book atop a little round table. It was a copy of Mr. Mystery’s latest adventure novel, and a pair of spectacles was trapped between the pages.
A small grin quirked the side of her lips. She’d been in this room on countless occasions, the cheerful pale-green wallpaper and cream wainscotting matching the cushions on the comfortable furniture. She had even seen Jasper wear his reading spectacles. But she’d never been given a hint of his preferred reading material. Of all readers, she’d have never guessed the duke?—
Creak . Maria spun around, following the sound with her gaze.
Nothing . Blimey, but Jasper’s home seemed in constant movement.
With every room she’d traversed, a part of her wanted to imagine her life as the lady of the house—the duchess!—or how she and Jasper might use each room. But, as tempting as those thoughts were, her body was too… alert .
With a shake of her head, she strode out of the sitting room and into the adjoining parlour. It was ordinarily a comfortable room of middling size with yellow-striped wallpaper and purple accents. Now, moonlight shone in through the large windows, lending the space a faint milky blue hue. Dark shadows crept around the room, every piece of furniture creating long, ghostly reaching figures that only added to Maria’s unease.
Creak . A shiver raced up her spine, and she turned toward the sound, the handle of her dagger digging deeply into her palm.
Something felt off . Her focus was diverted by the gooseflesh spreading in repeating waves over her skin, and the eerie settling of the house.
Her hand tightened reflexively around her blade’s hilt.
With quick steps, she rounded the furniture and reached for the parlour’s main door. She wrenched it open, flooding the space with the faint glow of the hall’s sconces.
She left the parlour and strode down the corridor toward the next room, peering deeply into each shadow as she passed. She’d not encountered a single opened or unlatched window, nor any breeze. And yet she couldn’t dispel the feeling that she was being observed… taunted .
Thump-thump .
She spun around, her gaze locked on the opened doorway to the parlour she’d just left. The sound had unquestionably come from within.
Gooseflesh spread over her skin, and her stomach swooped unhappily. Swallowing down her disquiet, she retraced her steps toward the parlour. She walked slow, careful to keep each footfall silent on the hall’s runner, and steadied her breathing.
Coming to a stop before the parlour’s opened doorway, Maria paused to prepare herself.
Her pulse raced, and a wave of exhilaration rushed through her as she whirled around the corner to face…an empty room. At least it appeared to be an empty room. She strode further inside, nearly bumping her leg on a low table. The moonlight and dim light from the corridor offered little relief to the nerves dancing along her spine.
“Blast,” she said into the silence.
A slow, hoarse chuckle filled the room, and Maria felt the rancour within it through to her soul. Francis . She hadn’t been a surprise to him, after all.
She darted her gaze about the room, searching for any sign of him, still clutching her dagger. She was determined to have answers.
“This house is protected, Francis,” she said.
Another low chuckle surrounded her, and awareness tingled at the back of her neck.
A breeze ruffled the curtains, and Maria realized that one of the windows sat open. A chill raced through her. She had just been there…
“Where are you?” she asked. “How?—”
Thunk .
A trinket from atop a low table rolled along the floor and came to a gradual stop. Had he bumped the table? Her gaze swung around the room wildly, searching for any sign of the man but coming up short.
Shink . Darkness engulfed the room as the curtains were pulled closed. Her heart hiccoughed alarmingly and set her pulse to throbbing loudly in her ears.
“Jasper!” she called.
The low laugh came again. “He’s still in the stables, pet.”
Maria shifted her stance, adjusting her hold on her dagger as she prepared for an attack. She was abruptly grateful for the training, however basic, that she’d received from Mr. Greene.
Fabric shifted across the room, and her gaze sharpened. She could see almost nothing through the obscurity, but she knew he was there, watching her. The back of her neck prickled, and a shiver wracked her frame.
“How did you get in, Francis?” she asked, marvelling at the calmness of her own voice.
“I’ll not fail where Miles did,” he replied, ignoring her inquiry. His voice was low and steady, with a slight gruffness to it.
She wanted to tell him that he had it all wrong, but she’d only just found the letter and wasn’t certain that she was entirely correct regarding his intentions, so she remained silent.
There was another shift in fabric, and Maria was certain that he’d stepped nearer.
“Surely there is an amicable solution for you and His Grace.”
A hiss came from the darkness. “No.” The word was barked, Francis’ voice low and biting. “There is no amicable path for us. I will end this as I ought to have from the start: with death.”
The cruelty in his voice took on a verve that sent cold dread through Maria. The man’s longing for the dukedom and his need for revenge was not borne out of a sense of duty or obligation; he wanted to do this.
“Why have you been quoting King Lear ?” she asked, in an attempt to get him talking.
“Everyone Jasper cares for will face me,” he replied, again ignoring her inquiry.
He stepped closer, slowly revealing himself in the dim light from the doorway.
His brown hair appeared freshly washed, his face clean-shaven, and his blue eyes dark as pitch in the dim lighting. She eyed him carefully, watching the play of his coat for any sign of a hidden weapon, but he didn’t appear to be armed. Still, she held her dagger at the ready.
The man’s lips curled malevolently, and another shiver skittered down Maria’s spine.
“And,” he continued, his voice dropping ever lower, “I do so like to play with my toys.”