She hiked up her skirts and slid her thighs over his shoulders. His hands locked around her legs to lift her up into the air. Shelet out a small gasp, her skirts bunching over his face before she pulled them back again. “Sorry.”
“You’re going to need breeches,” he muttered.
That made her smile. Her? In breeches? How interesting.
But she quickly forgot her amusement as she peered in the window. Once again, men scurried in and out of the warehouse, carrying crates of every size as another man barked orders.
On the side, one man with a pry bar opened a crate, revealing several bottles of wine. “Drat,” she muttered.
“Drat?”
“It’s just wine.”
“Perhaps one of the earl’s former associates provides him the wine for his parties as a way to keep him quiet about all the illegal activities.”
“Perhaps,” she said with a sigh, but then she sat up straighter, thumping the top of his head. “Oh. I see the quartermaster.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s taking two very small crates. But they look heavy.”
“They look heavy? How can you tell?”
“The way he’s carrying it. Like it’s a large burden despite its small size.” She squinted to try to see more detail.
“Are there more of those small crates?” he asked, shifting under her.
“Several,” she answered. “Next to the wine.”
The quartermaster disappeared from view while the work continued. “Interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?”
“Well,” he said as he slid his hands along her thighs, “it’s at least possible that it’s the money you said we should follow.”
She gasped. Of course. She grabbed his hair, trying to shift a little higher to get a better view.
“Rebecca,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “It’s not that I mind you pulling my hair, but perhaps not here and now.”
“Sorry,” she murmured as she loosened her grip, smoothing back down the silky strands of his dark hair. She’d missed the feel of it as much as she’d missed everything else about him. Her legs pressed into the hard, strong angles of his shoulders while her fingers danced down over his ears to the thick column of his neck. “I’m excited.”
“Me too,” he answered, his fingers sliding up her thighs.
Her eyes drifted closed before she snapped them back open. She needed to pay attention. But nothing else of note happened, the large doors to the warehouse closing while several men stayed inside the warehouse, organizing the delivery of goods.
“Do you think we can get inside?” she asked, as he slowly lowered her to the ground.
“Not now,” he answered. “Too many people about still.”
Then he took her hand and started the way they’d come. “What’s next?” she asked, lacing her fingers through his.
“Next we get you home to finish our conversation.”
“I meant with the investigation.” She tugged on his arm to get his attention.
His answer was to move her hand to his other side, wrapping his free arm about her waist. “I’ll see if I can’t get a look into one of those crates.”
“I’m going with you,” she said, squeezing his fingers.