Chapter Four #3
But when he glanced over his shoulder, he found her hand braced against the hearth with her back to him.
Reuben retreated from the room, nearly stumbling in his haste. By the time he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, he kept going with only one destination in mind.
Inside the study, he closed the door, sliding the key into the lock and securing it. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath ragged and racing. Leaning against the door, he took several deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out.
He had nearly lost control.
Had she kissed him—fuck. He would have surrendered to her completely. He leaned his head back against the door and swore aloud this time. Seduction. He scoffed. That had been Simon’s suggestion. But who was seducing whom in this instance?
Reuben pushed away from the door, his steps taking him directly to the decanter and Her Grace’s discarded glass. He poured himself twice the amount he should have and downed the port, letting it burn a path to his gut.
The warmth of the liquor infused him. Slowly, the uncertainty ebbed away. He stared into the fire, losing himself in thought. As much as he desired her, this was not how he wanted her.
Images of exactly how he wished to take her filled his lust-addled, port-enhanced fantasies.
He would wrap his hand in her long, thick hair and trace her body with his mouth.
He longed to commit every curve, every hollow to memory before devouring her sweet cunt until her cries filled the air, echoing off the walls.
Then he would bend her over the bed and drive deep, sating the desires they both secretly harbored.
The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. He stared at the face of the gilded monstrosity and inclined his head. His brow furrowed. Was it truly eleven already?
Grumbling, Reuben reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. It clicked open. His brows rose. According to his clock, it was only half past ten. One of them was wrong.
Quietly, Reuben unlocked the door and ventured toward the entryway where the grandfather clock stood in the hall. Half past ten. He clicked his pocket watch closed and returned to the study.
Once he’d closed and locked the door, he removed the clock from the mantel and opened the back.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Excitement coursed through his veins as he removed a small key from inside the mechanism box.
Reuben moved closer to the light, inspecting the small key. On the depression he found an inscription. Colver. Wait, where had he seen that name before?
Pocketing the key, Reuben searched the entire room, including the books, for that name.
High and low he searched, until he finally collapsed in the desk chair and hung his head.
Perhaps he had been mistaken. He opened the desk to withdraw a piece of parchment and instead saw the brass plaque inside the drawer.
Colver and Sons. That was it! They were furniture makers.
He pulled open the drawers, feeling high and low for any hidden triggers or false bottoms. When he wrenched open the largest drawer, he saw it. The discrepancy. The drawer was shallower than it should have been. He took the letter opener and pried the bottom until it finally popped free.
He licked his lips, blood rushing in his ears as he opened the compartment. A lockbox by the same furniture makers. Quickly, he removed it, placing it on the desk. After wiping his damp palms on his trousers, he placed the key in the lock and turned it.
It clicked open.
Reuben held his breath as he lifted the lid. The stack of papers and folded letters lay in a neat bundle tied with a red string. He lifted it out and cut them free.
As he read, Reuben’s grin grew wider. Finally, he thought. Everything I need and more. The papers within this lockbox would bring closure and justice to all the wrongs done to him—to those he loved.
He tucked the papers back in the box and eyed the empty drawer. Guilt pricked along his neck, sinking its teeth into his conscience.
Tell her. The still-small voice inside of him whispered. She deserves to know the truth.
Reuben swore and raked his fingers through his hair. He had everything he needed. There was no reason to involve her.
Only there was. She’d suffered at the hands of the same man who’d stolen everything from Evans. He’d uncovered the truth, the proof of her husband’s sordid dealings. If he revealed it to the world, she would be embroiled in the scandal. What was he going to do with the information he now possessed?
Fuck.
Reuben had everything he needed, but he could not bring himself to bring ruin to the woman he had come to care for. A woman who deserved nothing but compassion for those wasted years married to that horrid bastard.
But should he show her?
The true question was: could he trust her?
Locking the box, he tucked it back into the drawer, but he did not hide it beneath the secret panel. With a sigh, he left the key in the lock and closed the drawer.
She would find it. All he had to do was wait.