Vivienne laughed. It was the only way to banish thoughts of being ravished by Evan Sloane. To banish the vision of him stripping off his shirt to reveal bronzed skin stretched taut over pure muscle. Well, that’s how she pictured him. Carved to perfection.
“Continue in this vein, and you can forget about playing our little game. We’re likely to spend the night in Newgate.”
“Then I had best work quickly, for you will answer my probing questions tonight else you must pay a forfeit and do what I command.”
Excitement shot through her like a lightning bolt. With every passing hour, she thought more about this gentleman and less about the case. “Then I suggest you stop talking and focus on the task.”
He did. Less than a minute later he opened the door, and they entered Mr Golding’s dismal abode.
Mr Sloane tapped his finger to his lips, cocked his ear and listened. Vivienne heard nothing. Not the creak of the upstairs boards, not the hum of conversation, not Mr Wicks’ drunken mumbling.
“Follow me and stay close.” Mr Sloane padded lightly up the stairs.
Vivienne peered through the wooden railings as she tiptoed behind him. The office door was open, the room a dreadful shambles. Strewn files covered the floor, along with the discarded drawers from the oak desk.
“What if something has happened to Mr Golding?” She gripped the back of Mr Sloane’s coat when they reached the landing, fearing they might find the lawyer dead beneath a mound of paper.
“You should wait in the carriage,” he said, his voice thick with alarm.
“I’ll not leave you.” She stood beside him as he assessed the ransacked room from the safety of the doorway. “We should check Mr Wicks’ office and the rooms upstairs.”
Mr Sloane dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his jaw. “Very well. Based on the fact we visited the office together the other day, we must assume the intruder came for information about our legacy.”
Stepping with caution, Vivienne followed Mr Sloane over the threshold. Her heartbeat settled upon finding no sign of the lawyer’s blood-soaked body. But the veneer side table with the mechanical drawers had disappeared.
“Someone took the table.” She pointed past the overturned bookcase to the space on the far wall.
“Perhaps Golding moved it elsewhere for safekeeping.” Mr Sloane sifted through the papers on the desk.
“You won’t find the black book. If Mr Golding didn’t take it, the intruder did.” Vivienne tried to remain positive. Mr Golding had kept the secret notebook for years and wouldn’t fail them now. And yet he could have given them fair warning, could have sent a note to Keel Hall or to the office of the Order to inform them of his sudden departure.
“We should leave and alert the constable.” Mr Sloane glanced at the ceiling. “Though not before ensuring the man isn’t a cold corpse in his bed.”
“A cold corpse?” She screwed her eyes shut briefly to banish the terrifying image. “You might have phrased it differently. Now my heart is thundering faster than a Derby contender.”
Without Mr Golding, how could they proceed with their plans? These last few days, she had grown more than accustomed to the idea of marrying Mr Sloane.
“Does your heart not race when you’re in my company?”
“Rarely,” she lied. Her heart thumped wildly just thinking about him, and she had done an awful lot of that lately.
He stepped over the upturned drawers and prowled towards her. “Have you grown tired of me already, Vivienne? Was the kiss we shared so unmemorable you have forgotten how good it made you feel?”
Heat rose to her cheeks. Lust pulsed between her thighs at the sound of his velvet voice. This man was a magician. He could turn fear into desire by uttering a simple sentence.
“It must have been an unmemorable kiss for you, as you’ve had no desire to repeat the experience. I understand. I lack the skill required to please a man like you.”
Indeed, his moods were unpredictable. Only last night, they’d been laughing while playing daring games until he became solemn and subdued. He’d left the room and returned as if nothing had occurred.
“Is that what you think?” He stood so close his breath breezed over her cheek. “The kiss exceeded my expectations on every level.” He captured her chin between his long, elegant fingers. “There’s a reason I haven’t devoured your sweet mouth again, and it has nothing to do with your lack of experience.”
The heat from her cheeks journeyed southward to pool in her sex. “Is it because I lack the usual feminine attributes?” Most men didn’t want a woman drinking their brandy or beating them at cards.
His gaze dipped to her breasts concealed in a pelisse, though he stripped her naked with his rakish stare. “Trust me. You have everything I need and more.”
Then, as quick as a wink, he released her chin and muttered a curse.
“What’s wrong?”