The brilliant silver gaze was hooded as it silently flicked over her.
"So, it was not a mouse that I heard scurrying about my house, after all. Instead it is a rather unexpected guest," he murmured in his dark, honey-accented tones.
Her hand pressed her pounding heart. "Oh, Mr. St. Ives."
A bronzed brow slowly arched. "I did not expect to encounter you again so soon, Miss Hadwell. A delightful surprise, of course, but I am rather displeased with my housekeeper. She did not bother to tell me that you had arrived."
Amelia shifted uneasily. There was no ready lie to explain her wicked behavior. She had boldly been nosing about his house, like the lowest sort of sneak thief, and had been caught.
There was little to do but own up to the truth.
"No, it was not your housekeeper's fault. I did knock but there was no answer. I... I sneaked in so I could look about."
"Ah." The silver gaze slowly trailed down to the hands that were tightly clenched at her side.
"A rather odd habit."
"It is not my customary habit," she retorted in wry tones. "As a rule, I possess all the usual manners. I suppose my only excuse is the fact that I desired to learn more of you."
Surprisingly, the full, sensuous lips twitched at her ridiculous words.
"Learn more of me? Why?"
"Well, you seem rather determined to remain a mystery. I suppose I thought to discover more of you."
He glanced pointedly about the barren room. "Among the dust sheets?"
The heat returned to her cheeks. "I realize that I was being absurd. In truth, I do not know what I sought. I am not thinking very clearly this day."
There was a moment of silence as he studied her tense countenance more closely. A sudden frown lugged at his brows.
"You are troubled? Has something occurred?"
Amelia hesitated a mere heartbeat before giving a slow nod. Perhaps it was not entirely fair to unburden her troubles upon a gentleman who was little more than a stranger. But, the need to confess her latest troubles with someone, anyone, was undeniable.
"Yes, a Mr. Ryan from Bow Street called upon me this morning. He was asking ... questions."
The pale features hardened at her words, and for a moment Amelia was sharply reminded of the faintly alien quality about him. It was in the elegant perfection of his countenance and the sinuous grace of his movements. He seemed somehow . . . above other gentlemen. As if there were more to him than the usual London dandies.
Thankfully unaware of her absurd thoughts, Mr. St. Ives held out his arm.
"We must speak of this, but not here. We will be more comfortable in the library."
Amelia found herself placing her hand upon his arm and allowing herself to be led from the room. Deep within her, she realized that it was certainly not proper to be alone with this man. A maiden never called upon a bachelor. Most especially when there did not even seem to be a servant about.
But neither did they sneak into homes or lie to Bow Street runners, she acknowledged wryly. It was rather too late to become missish at this point.
In silence they moved down the shadowed hall, and then with great care Mr. St. Ives turned her into a large, surprisingly cheerful library.
Consuming two floors, it possessed a lovely bay window and, far above on the ceiling, a fine rendering of Apollo pursuing Diana.
With a hint of bemusement, she regarded the towering shelves that were bulging with an enormous collection of leather bound books. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands. It seemed impossible to believe that any one man could ever work his way through such a vast number of tomes in an entire lifetime of study.
There was nothing neglected about this room, she acknowledged as she was settled onto one of the wide wing chairs. Everything was polished and gleamed with loving care. It was obvious Mr. St. Ives cared more for the privacy of his books than the more public rooms that remained shrouded in dust.
"Here you are."
With a blink, Amelia realized that her host was pressing a glass of amber liquid into her hand.