Now why did he liked that little touch of concern? Since the death of his father, he couldn’t recall the last time someone was concerned over his health. Unless one counted Duke of course, but Duke was more worried about how Roman would cope with being wed to one woman than whether or not he’d enter into a sneezing fit. Though to say his father had been concerned might be stretching it. All that mattered was an appearance of strength, and that no one would ever discover quite how stupid Roman was.
“What exactly am I looking for?” he asked after pulling out a fifth book, flicking through it and shoving it back.
“Have you never heard of people hiding letters in books?”
He shook his head.
“It’s a thing, believe me. Or maybe it is that people leave them in there as bookmarks.” She shrugged. “Either way, many a letter has been discovered in books.”
Roman wasn’t sure where she’d gained that idea from, but he wasn’t willing to argue. Arguments with Clementine seemed to end up with him in close proximity to her, and at present they were at opposite ends of the library. He’d like to keep it that way.
They must have been searching for two hours by the time Clementine made a frustrated noise. He shot his attention in her direction as she slumped to the floor, her back pressed against the bookshelf, her legs splayed out in front of her.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded. “Your ankle?” Hastening over to her side, he stopped a step away from her when she shook her head and held up a hand.
“No, just fed up.” She motioned about the library. “We’ve been searching for hours.”
“And there are still more books to search.”
“It’s fruitless.”
He pressed his lips together. It could well be. Roman’s fingers were coated in dust and the need for a long, hot bath ate into his muscles. But he couldn’t stand seeing Clementine so defeated and he wasn’t sure why.
“You said it yourself, the intruder came from the library.”
She lifted her shoulders. “Asyousaid, how do we know they know anything more than us? They could be guessing where the letter is too, and we’re just wasting our time.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “I'm certain you have better things to do.”
Technically, he did. He’d intended to visit with Duke after finding out what the devil Clementine had been up to. He was nowhere near started with marriage negotiations, and there had been another letter received from his stepcousins’ lawyer.
“Not a thing,” he lied and moved over to a large freestanding globe.
He flipped it open and smiled when he spotted a full bottle of whisky and glasses that had escaped the ravages of dust. He pulled the stopper from the decanter, poured two healthy glasses of whisky and returned to Clementine’s side, dropping down on the floor next to her and copying her posture, his legs stretched out in front of him.
He handed her the drink. “Is your ankle hurting you?”
She cupped the glass in two hands and gave him a sideways look. “A little,” she admitted softly.
Well, that explained why the undefeatable Clementine Musgrave seemed so dejected.
“Drink up, Musgrave. It will help with the pain.”
She dutifully took a sip and wrinkled her nose. He laughed at her expression. “I would have thought a rebellious Musgrave would be into whisky drinking.”
“I rebel only when necessary. There’s no sense in punishing oneself.” She took another sip and grimaced. “I think I prefer ratafia.”
“Drink a little more. It will help, I promise.”
Pinching her nose, she took several more gulps then handed him the empty glass.
He set it on the floor next to his full one. “You cannot give up now.”
“I should have rather thought you want me to give up. It would make your life easier surely?”
“I want my aunt safe, and I want her comfortable. Neither of us would live well together, especially given—”
“The dogs.”
And his potentially impending nuptials. He couldn’t ask his new wife to deal with his eccentric aunt as well as all the responsibility that came with being a marchioness.