Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,88

contracted with?”

His lip quirked. “Are you spying for Cartwright?”

“If it’s worth my while, I might be willing to act as his agent. Perhaps he and I may discuss it after we speak about Charlotte’s come-out.”

“I will be present for any such conversation.”

“Really, Mr. Lovelace.”

“George.”

She threw up her hands. “George. Your mother will be present and she can report back to you.”

As she slipped by him, his arm came around her shoulder.

“Fair enough, Sophie. Now, why this unexpected visit in the middle of the night? Were you looking for me?”

“No. I was hoping you wouldn’t be here.”

His chuckle tickled her ear.

“I’m looking for information.”

“About the guardianship?”

“Yes. And the Glanford accounts.”

“Your steward—”

“Won’t tell me anything, as I have no legal authority, he says. Though I am the one the tenants confide in. If only we might buy new equipment, and adopt newer methods of farming…”

“You’re involved in the estate management?”

“I would like to be. I’ve come to enjoy the countryside, and to care for the people.”

He turned her around to face him. “Mother said you sent letters.”

“I did. Fitz hasn’t answered them, and I made sure they were posted.”

He clenched his jaw, his dark look returning. “All I’ve found are the guardianship papers. I’ve looked in every cabinet, and box, and drawer.” He grimaced and walked back to the desk. “Except this one. It’s locked.”

She moved up next to him. “You don’t have a key?”

“I have several but none of them work.”

“May I?” She brushed by him, shoved back the chair, and bent down, examining the lock.

His quick intake of breath and the chuckle that followed sent hot blood to her cheeks and made her drop to her knees. “Let’s pick the lock, Mr. Lovelace.”

“Call me George.” When she looked up, a small smile curved his lips and his gaze had darkened.

“Not when you look at me that way.” She drew out a pin, and tucked the dislodged lock of hair behind her ear. “Well?”

“By all means. How did you learn your criminal skills?”

“One develops talents when one is kept in the dark.”

“Indeed,” he said, sounding thoughtful.

Shushing him, she put her ear to the lock. His closeness sent her heart pounding and her thoughts straying to that last kiss.

With a deep breath, she steadied her hand.

“Shall I try?” His breath tickled her ear.

“Mr. Lovelace. Please.”

Chuckling, he seated himself, the chair creaking under him, his knees bumping her shoulder.

She froze. George stilled as well. The creaking continued.

Heavy steps thudded across the carpet.

“Cartwright.” George called.

She squeezed herself into the desk’s kneehole and tried not to breathe.

Chapter Ten

“Thought you would have gone up,” George said too loudly.

The guest chair thumped, and George shifted closer. The scents of wood polish and shoe leather filled her nose, and she squeezed back a sneeze.

“Fine library Loughton has here.” The older man’s deep rumble permeated the heavy mahogany. “Thought I might go up, and then I saw your candle moving this way.”

Oh Hades. He’d seen her candle. She’d nearly been caught.

“I see you’ve got the Manchester paper there from last week. I read the piece on the new Stockton and Darlington Railway bill.”

George’s shoe bumped her as he shifted again, and she pressed her cheek to the cool mahogany, holding her breath, barely hearing his murmured reply to Cartwright. The closeness was addling her, and he was fidgeting like Ben did when he was practicing his letters.

When his knee nudged her shoulder, she teetered and reached for the nearest brace—his leg. The solid muscle flinched under her fingers. Breathless again, she pressed her cheek to his knee and swallowed a surge of longing. What would it be like to make love to a man she wanted?

Easing in a breath, she tried to still her racing heart and the temptation threatening to overtake her.

George emitted a strangled cough and cleared his throat. “Cartwright. Tell me more about your interest in the railway.”

“I’ve heard rumors it’s a grand plan. I might want to invest, if you’re selling shares.”

George shifted, and her hand moved of its own accord sliding up the firm muscle, venturing higher to the bend of his knee.

A sharp intake of breath rattled through him.

Cartwright laughed. “I’m not a competitor, I can assure you of that. You think on it and we can talk more in the light of day. Now, perhaps you might tell me what you know of Lady Glanford. Fetching woman, isn’t she? Your mother is pushing hard for her to manage Charlotte’s come-out, but I’m not so sure Lady Glanford won’t be turning heads herself.