Clem had to take another breath before being able to remedy her statement. Why did the wretched man have to be so strong, so tall, so...so many so things? Why did his touch have to leave her feeling tingly and unsteady, as though he had taken the axis of the earth and sent it spinning about her?
She didn’t even like him—or men in general, really. After her engagement to Archie, she realized offering her whole person to a man was not meant for her. How could she promise herself, her very wellbeing, to a person she might well lose interest in after a while? Her physical reaction to him made no sense.
She ran her fingers over the beading of her reticule and fixed her gaze to the pavement. Neat, square stones were a much safer place to look at than him. “I wished to speak with you.”
“And I you.”
She glanced up and regretted it, but she could hardly conduct the whole conversation with the ground now, could she? He dressed impeccably, his neat cravat held in place with a blue pin topped with a pearl. She sighed. Pearls were her favorite—a marvelous creation of nature that did not draw unnecessary attention.
“I was at a talk—” she started.
A dark brow lifted. “Do you do anything else other than attend talks?”
“I actually wanted to be at this one this time. Miss Herschel was talking of sweeping the skies with her brother’s telescope.”
“Yes?”
“I might get a telescope actually. I’ve been thinking about...” She trailed off as his expression hardened, his jaw pulsing. She imagined the sound of grinding teeth drowning out her inane chatter, which might not be such a bad thing, except why should he look at her so? After all,shehad all the reason to dislikehimafter what he did to her brother.
Chin lifted, she met his steely glare. Lord Rochdale might wish to cow her, but he’d have a fight on his hands. Especially when she knew she was right. “Anyway,” she continued, “I was at the talk, and it seems there had been a full moon on the twenty-third.”
His expression barely shifted.
“The night your aunt spotted her late-husband. Missing husband.” She gave a wave of her hand.
“And?”
“Miss Herschel bemoaned the increased light that night, so the chances are your aunt really did see him. Or at the very least a man. And we already know it was no ghost, thanks to the fabric and scratches.”
“I see.”
Highly aware of the hammering of her heart which hadn’t managed to slow since running into the marquis, Clem felt herself deflate. The information wasn’t that exciting, really. It didn’t even mean much except they really, truly had to believe Mary. So why had she got so excited over something that did not prove much?
Gosh, was she simply looking for a reason to see Lord Rochdale?
She blinked a few times and peered up at him, a dark silhouette against the tall white buildings of Chapel Street. She swallowed past a dry throat. “So, um, why did you, um, need me?”
∞∞∞
What was it about Lady Clementine Musgrave that addled his wits? It couldn’t be the freckles or the red hair or the suggestion of curves lingering around the golden embroidery of her waistline. Roman had seen all those features on several other women.
He supposed, though, he had not seen them in quite such an intriguing combination. Nor had he felt said curves on one too many occasions now. The fact the curves were a mere suggestion, hidden carefully like a secret waiting to be unraveled, known only to those who would touch her intimately, played on his mind like a tune he could not force from his head.
The fact he could be one of the few men who knew about the lines of her body drove him even more insane. A man loved a secret, especially when it was his to keep.
Roman ground his teeth again. If this continued, he’d have a mouthful of dust. Somehow, he needed to get his thoughts straight and focus on his plan.
Remove any suggestion his uncle might be alive, ensure his aunt had full control of her finances, and marry Miss Fisher before the Season was out. He didn’t know much about Miss Fisher, and he didn’t need to know anything other than her accomplishments and suitability for being a wife, but he doubted she’d appreciate him pondering another woman’s figure mere weeks before their engagement.
“I need you—” He stopped, hating the way the words sounded far too right. “I need your skills, that is. At lock-picking.”
A sly smile worked across her lips. He allowed her it. She had every right to be smug, considering he had dismissed the need for such a skill.
“Could you not hire a locksmith?”
The sparkle in her blue eyes had him flexing a hand. He was a powerful man, not to be teased. But Clementine Musgrave did not care for rules, did she? He already knew that well enough.
“I want discretion.” He took a step closer as a gentleman walked past, nodding his head briefly at them. “If the letter is discovered, the contents must not be made public.”