“One never knows when one might get locked in somewhere, does one?”
“And do you carry lockpicks upon your person?” He looked her up and down. “Tucked in your skirts perhaps or your, uh, bodice?”
“Well, no...” Once she had mastered picking as many locks as she’d managed to get her hands on, she had rather lost interest. “But that’s beside the point. Someone broke into your aunt’s bedroom and tried to pick the lock.” She brushed a finger over the scratches. “They appear to have become rather frustrated so I would wager they did not succeed.”
“Would you indeed?”
She met his gaze, feeling heat rise into her cheeks. The man clearly did not trust her at her word, and it could be for two reasons—she was a Musgrave or because she was a woman. Most likely both.
“Yes, I would actually.” She lifted her chin a little. “We need to ask your aunt about what was in here.”
“You should not be encouraging her.”
“Oh, you mean I should ignore the fact someone broke into her bedroom?” Clem thrust a finger his way. “Like you are. You know for someone who is meant to be the caring nephew, you do not seem at all worried that some strange man has been creeping about her bedroom.”
“A bit of fabric and some scratches does not mean she really saw someone.”
She faced him, warmth radiating from his body. They were close, both remaining crouched, and all she needed to do was reach out and she’d be touching him.
Not that she had any intention of doing that unless it was to shove him onto his pompous, argumentative rear.
He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles blanching. She spied tension ripple through him as though readying for a fight. Well, if it was a fight he wanted, she was willing to give it to him. This mystery was becoming far too interesting.
“Ghosts wear linen shirts now, do they?”
“You do not know—”
“I know you are not listening to your aunt, and I know someone real had been in here.”
“I have listened, and I have indulged this whole affair long enough. My aunt’s situation is precarious, and I do not need this nonsense—”
“You do not need…” she scoffed. “So it’s all about you and your needs, is it? Do not want your aunt getting in the way of your bachelor lifestyle perhaps?”
He smirked. “You are determined to make your judgements, are you not, Musgrave?”
She blinked at the odd familiarity. It wasn’t her first name or even Clem, but it shook her to the core, making her legs feel wobbly beneath her. Musgrave. The name was synonymous with scandal and rumor. A name bandied about in gossip columns, drawing rooms and ballrooms—used for entertainment. Clem wasn’t ashamed of it; however, hearing it upon his lips had a strange, visceral effect.
“I am only…” She swallowed as the smirk lingered on lips that were far too pleasing for her liking. “That is…”
“Yes?”
“Well, I am simply trying…” Her mouth dried when she glanced at his mouth again then noted his gaze had done the same, darting down to her mouth then up again. Was it just her or had the room suddenly heated as though someone had lit a fire in the grate? She swallowed again.
“All I want…”
“All you want…” His pupils darkened.
She saw his chest rise and fall, and his grip on the desk loosened. She thought he might reach for her which was a ridiculous thought. Why would they go from arguing to touching in mere seconds simply because they were near each other?
They were so, so near, though. Her fingers tingled with the idea of touching him. How would those muscles feel? Were his lips as soft as they looked or did he kiss with the same ferocity that seemed permanently etched on his brow?
And why on earth was she having such thoughts?
“A-All I want is…” She darted a tongue over her dry lips briefly and she swore she heard a growl emanate from him.
He leaned in. She wavered forward. His gaze held hers and she could not look away let alone leap up and run from the inevitable.
He was going to kiss her.