Chapter 2 #3
“What about the ledger itself?” she asked. “If someone took it only to cast suspicion on me, surely it will be returned somewhere dramatic.”
“Perhaps. But if the accounts matter to the auction, the removal may serve a second purpose.”
Genny tilted her head. “You think the sabotage concerns more than my humiliation.”
“I think anyone willing to manufacture a scandal may also wish to disrupt the event.”
That sobered her at once. “Then this is worse than I thought.”
“Yes.”
She blew out a breath. “I dislike being behind.”
“So do I.”
Their eyes met, and that strange new sense of alliance flickered between them, fragile and unexpected.
Genny tipped her chin. “Then I suppose we must investigate.”
Woodmere’s expression returned to wary restraint. “We?”
“Yes, we.”
“No.”
She stared at him. “No?”
“No.”
“How eloquent.”
“Miss Moreland, whoever contrived this has already used you as bait.”
“And therefore you propose to leave me out of the matter altogether?”
“I propose to prevent further harm.”
“There you are again, deciding things beautifully on my behalf. You really must take care, my lord. It is a dangerously husbandly habit.”
His jaw tightened. “I am attempting to be sensible.”
“And I am attempting not to be managed like an unruly spaniel.”
Irritation flickered across his face, but beneath it a hint of reluctant admiration.
“You are unlike any spaniel I have ever encountered.”
“Flatterer.” She waved a dismissive hand.
“Realist.”
“Then I pity the spaniels.”
Genny stepped closer. She had not meant to.
It simply happened, drawn out of her by anger and pride and the impossible steadiness of his gaze.
“Listen to me, my lord. This person chose me because they thought I would be easy to blame and easier still to silence. I refuse to oblige them. If you mean to recover that ledger and uncover who did this, then you shall do it with me.”
He looked down at her, and all at once the air felt very close.
She was aware of ridiculous things. The polished edge of his cravat pin, the faint shadow at his jaw, the warmth of him in the shaft of sunlight slanting across the carpet. She wondered whether he felt the same strange quickening in the room, or whether that was only happening to her.
When he spoke, his voice had gone quieter again. “You are astonishingly determined.”
“I have often been told so.”
“Usually, I imagine, by people on the verge of surrender.”
“Usually,” she admitted, “by people with excellent judgment.”
His mouth shifted.
This man would be the death of her composure.
“Very well,” he said.
Her brows rose. “That was suspiciously easy.”
“It was nothing of the sort. I simply know by now that forbidding you would waste valuable time.”
Genny smiled despite herself. “There is hope for you yet.”
“I beg you not to say such things. You will damage my reputation.”
She should not have noticed how near they stood.
She should not have been so aware of the note on the table, the scent of roses, the hush of the house beyond the doors.
Most of all, she should not have noticed that, for the first time in her acquaintance with Harrison Jones, he seemed to be speaking to her not as Esme’s troublesome friend, nor as a complication to be sorted, but as a woman whose mind he expected to matter.
The feeling was potent.
Lord Penworth chose that moment to reenter, followed by Louisa, Alexandra, and Niall, all of whom looked infuriatingly alert to the atmosphere they had interrupted.
“Well?” Niall asked.
“Well what?” Genny returned.
He glanced between her and Woodmere. “Has the room survived?”
“Barely,” said Woodmere.
Louisa’s eyes narrowed with gratifying interest. Alexandra, far more charitable, looked relieved to find Genny no longer on the brink of tears.
Lord Penworth wrung his hands. “My secretary has not seen the ledger, Jones. What are we to do?”
Woodmere turned, every inch the composed viscount once more. “We begin with the adjoining rooms. Then the study, the morning room, and the secretary’s room. No mention of the missing ledger is to leave this floor.”
“And Miss Moreland?” Mrs. Wexley asked from the corridor, having apparently failed to go very far.
Woodmere did not even hesitate. “Miss Moreland will assist me.”
Genny blinked.
The words were practical. Entirely practical. Yet a queer little thrill moved through her all the same.
Niall’s grin returned at once. “Now that,” he said, “seems uncommonly dangerous.”
“It is,” Genny said sweetly. “For anyone foolish enough to underestimate me.”
Woodmere looked at her then, and in his gaze she saw it at last, wariness, yes, and exasperation in abundance, but also a glint of something new. Respect, perhaps. Or the beginning of it.
It was enough to steady her. More than enough to sharpen her resolve.
If someone wished to make her the villain of the piece, they would soon discover she had no intention of playing the role meekly.
And if Harrison Jones meant to stand at her side while she proved it, then the day had just become far more interesting than either of them had planned.