Raven lifted the satchel he’d brought from the house and tossed it to her. “Look inside.”
Heloise opened the top and glanced at him in amazement. It contained her favorite pale blue morning dress, her comb, and a bar of her rose petal soap. “How did you get these?”
“I rode over to your house last night.”
“You idiot! You let the servants discover I wasn’t in my room?”
“Of course not. I let myself in. Although they’ll have noticed you’re missing by now, in any case. I left Hodges a note.”
Heloise gulped and tried to recall if she’d hidden the embarrassing gothic romance she’d been reading under the volume ofAristotleby her bed. “How did you know which room was mine?”
He gave a piratical grin. “I’ve always known where to find you.”
“I imagine you’re quite the expert on finding ladies’ boudoirs,” she sniffed.
The idea of him, prowling round in all his black-wolf potency, touching her things, made her feel faint. A sudden suspicion gripped her and she checked the satchel again. Oh no. There, under the dress, was her favorite teal-colored shift and matching drawers.
Which meant he’d been rifling through her underwear, too, the weasel.
He smiled innocently. “I admit, it was a shock to find your room so feminine.”
Heloise bristled. “What did you expect?” Her room was feminine. True, it was pale green, instead of the traditional lavender or pink, with a large desk and several sturdy bookshelves, but it had gilt accents and elegant furniture, too.
“Oh, I don’t know. More mummified remains? Jars of pickled newts? The odd sarcophagus or two…”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha. You’re just intimidated by intelligent women. Someone like me threatens the very core of your masculinity.”
“That’s not true. I happen to find intelligent women extremely attractive. Especially when they’re only partially dressed.”
She followed the direction of his gaze. Her dress and loosened corset had slipped down. Heloise gasped, yanked them back up, and scowled at him. Her gaze strayed to the book on the desk, which he’d been reading. She squinted. It looked awfully familiar, like—
“Hey! That’s mine!” she shrieked.
Her diary had been hidden in the same drawer as her scandalous undergarments. The battered notebook held mostly mundane scraps of information—notes to herself about new avenues of research, snatches of poetry, quotations she liked—but it also contained her ever-evolving list.
At least she’d had the self-preservation not to commit the myriad of erotic fantasies she’d had abouthimto paper.She’d be spared that particular humiliation, thank God, but still, what shehadwritten was sure to be embarrassing enough.
Heloise made a dive for the book but Raven scooped it up and held it out of reach.
“That is a private notebook! I can’t believe—”
“That I’d read it?” he finished with an unapologetic chuckle. “That’s the thing about us spies. We’re insatiably curious.”
She made another lunge. “That is such a betrayal of trust!”
He scanned a page and frowned. “What on earth is a Vigenère cipher? No, never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“Give that back this minute.”
He turned the page. “Too late. I already read your infamous list. It’s pathetic.”
She bristled. “What do you mean, pathetic?”
“As in dull. Boring. Immature. It needs someseriousmodification.”
Heloise ground her teeth. “And I suppose you have plenty of suggestions?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He picked up a pen. “Item number one: ‘Run in the rain.’ ” He glanced at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”