The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,90

stairs, or ascending to the upper floors. Tristan and Sophia waited, hardly daring to breathe, but no one appeared, and the footsteps faded.

“Now.” Sophia laced her fingers with Tristan’s, her heart racing as they darted across the entryway. She didn’t dare look anywhere but straight ahead until they reached the relative safety of the dim hallway on the other side. They paused there, but when silence continued to reign over the house she peered around the corner.

No one was there. Aside from her and Tristan, this part of the house was deserted.

“Everly’s not the trusting sort,” Tristan whispered as they tiptoed toward the study door. “What’s more, given his position and connections in the House of Lords, he considers himself very important, indeed. Be prepared for his study door to be locked.”

He said no more, but Sophia heard what Tristan didn’t say.

If it’s locked, we’re not breaking in.

But the door wasn’t locked. In fact, it stood wide open, as if beckoning them inside. Sophia’s heart leapt with hope, but it crashed again seconds later when they crossed the threshold and their eyes adjusted to the dim room.

Aside from an inkstand and quill and a half-empty glass of brandy, Everly’s desk was bare. The handsome mahogany credenza against the wall was equally disappointing, the polished surface also bare. The only pieces of furniture in the room that looked as if they’d been touched were the leather chair behind the desk, which was worn in the seat, and the liquor cabinet.

“It looks as if he uses this room primarily for sitting and drinking.” Tristan pulled the brass knob on the drawer in the center of the desk. It slid open easily, but there was nothing inside but a letter opener. Another drawer contained a set of uncut quills, sticks of wax and a seal, and third a small stack of blank, loose paper. Otherwise, the desk was empty.

Sophia stared at it in disbelief. “I don’t understand. What sort of earl doesn’t have a scrap of paper in his desk? Lord Everly’s a member of the Lords, for pity’s sake.”

Tristan was staring at the empty drawer, his eyes narrowed. “No, it doesn’t make sense. Everly does more running and fetching for William Pitt than any other lord in the house. His desk should be crammed with documents and papers. Suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

Sophia met Tristan’s gaze from the other side of the desk. “Everything about Lord Everly is suspicious, and grows more so by the moment.”

“There’s only one reason a man like Everly would take such care to make certain not a single shred of paper can be traced back to him.”

A shiver darted up Sophia’s back at Tristan’s foreboding tone. “What reason is that?”

Tristan slid the drawers closed. “To make absolutely certain whatever he’s up to, he doesn’t get caught at it.”

“But there must be something here, Tristan. How else could—”

Sophia broke off, and their heads snapped toward the door. They’d both heard it at once—a soft thud, like the sound of a door closing above. They waited, frozen, and a moment later they heard the sound of footsteps shuffling down the stairs.

“They’re coming this way. Quickly.” Tristan grasped Sophia’s hand and tugged her to the far side of the room, away from Everly’s desk and the muted glow of the fire, but there wasn’t time to do more than tuck themselves against either side of a massive bookshelf, and hope the shadows would hide them.

A moment later, a man strolled into the study, whistling to himself, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Sophia shrank back against the wall, not daring to draw a breath as he strode toward the desk and slid open one of the bottom drawers. He rummaged about, digging under the neat stacks of blank paper until at last he pulled a tiny scrap out from underneath it.

He closed the drawer with a click, then crossed to the fire. It was late enough the servants had let it die to embers, but there was enough feeble light to reveal Sharpe’s rodent-like features. He held the slip of paper between his fingers, moving it closer to the light. He squinted down at it, his lips moving as he read it once, then once again.

Sophia couldn’t see much from her place by the bookshelf, but she already knew what was written on the paper.

A name.

Sharpe read it over a few more times, obviously committing it to memory, then with a careless flick of his fingers he tossed