One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,35

harm.

But what exactly was it he wanted to see?

The glass tumbled from his suddenly nerveless fingers, falling, falling, until it reached the end of the silk ribbon by which it was tethered to a button of his waistcoat, jerked in surprise at its arrested momentum, sprang back, and clanged against a wrought-iron fence post.

Amanda froze mid-stride and searched the darkness beyond the gate.

She’s not foolish enough to investigate a noise in the alley after midnight.

She took a step closer. Two steps.

She’ll never know it’s you if you don’t move.

“Magpie?”

Stiffly, he moved into the gap between the hedges, where the narrow gate stood.

“Lady Kingston.”

Her face, which had been creased with worry, eased into a smile. “I hoped it was you.”

She had?

“Better a spy than a thief, I should think,” she explained through upturned lips.

He ought to waste no time in correcting her assumptions about spies. About himself in particular. Ought to tell her right now of the dangers she faced, the knowledge of which would surely wipe away her pleased expression. He even opened his mouth to form the words.

But of course, she spoke first.

“Did you find the b—?” She bit her lip to stop herself from saying more, and for a moment, he could not think why. Then he remembered having asked her not to mention the book. “Did you find what you were looking for last evening?”

Had he?

He looked her up and down. At this distance, hampered only by the wrought-iron fence and the prickly offshoots of an overgrown hedge, he could see her quite clearly without any mechanical aid. The way the silvery silk of her gown highlighted her tall, slender form, though not quite as the red one had last night. More like a marble statue, inviting a connoisseur’s appreciation.

Surely a man could admire a woman’s appearance dispassionately, could he not?

The persistent memory of the way she’d felt in his arms—not at all like cold, unyielding marble—was another matter entirely.

“No,” he answered gruffly. “I did not. I made as thorough a search as I could of that room, without drawing attention to myself or the light. By then supper was ending and having shed my footman’s livery, I did not dare venture further into the house.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It must have been very frustrating.”

Briefly, he closed his eyes against her present beauty, against the recollection of last night. “Yes. It was.”

“If I’d known, I should have sent you a note this morning to tell you he was out all day. He took my boys for a drive into the country. But I didn’t—that is, he didn’t ask my permission—not that he has to, of course, as he is their guardian—I only meant to say I didn’t know beforehand about the outing, or I could have told you the house would be empty.”

He’d taken her boys without asking? Langley liked Dulsworthy less and less with each passing conversation about the man.

“Anyway, I have been wondering whether you were successful. It’s kind of you to take the trouble to let me know the outcome of last night’s…mission.” Before speaking the last word, she glanced around them and dropped her voice to something even less than a whisper, for she had already been speaking quietly, though there was no one to overhear them.

He did not correct her assumption about why he was there.

“I’d invite you in,” she said next, still softly, “but the lock…” She pinched her lips into a sort of amused frown and stepped closer, curling her fingers around one of the wrought-iron cross bars. Almost, but not quite, touching him. “I don’t think anyone had turned that key in all the years since the garden was first planted. It was nothing but rust, and the next morning, after you were—and we—well, anyway, one of the maids came out to, to, ah—” Her other hand circled in the air, as if to conjure the rest of the explanation from thin air.

He could guess, based on the smell of the alleyway, that the maid had been emptying the slops. He could also guess the unfortunate servant would not have been pleased to find the gate unexpectedly locked and barring her from completing her task.

“She found half of the key lying on the ground, and the rest—well, it was apparently still in the lock. It just…disintegrated. Mr. Matthews has sent for a smith to have it repaired, but the fellow won’t be here until Tuesday next.”

“It’s just as well.”

He meant it, too. Not only because he had no business poking