Stratford devastated her senses—she, who was normally very much inured to the physicality of men. The realization shook Liliana. Air expanded in her lungs, relieving the tightness but doing little to calm the unusual tension that thrummed through her limbs.
She lowered her lashes. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring, though the desire to observe the Wentworths’ faces nearly overwhelmed her. Could you see guilt in someone’s eyes? And if so, how did you quantify it?
Liliana kept her head politely bowed through the tale of their broken carriage wheel. But her breath shortened and her nerves tingled. Gooseflesh prickled her arms as an urge to flee swept over her like a frigid breeze. She curled her toes to keep them firmly planted.
When she looked up again, Stratford’s attention was on Penelope’s introduction, giving Liliana an opportunity to settle herself. She couldn’t say what she’d expected upon finally meeting the earl, but certainly not this riot of indefinable awareness. She drew another deep breath. All she had to do was get through the moment and she’d feel normal again.
“And may I present my niece, Miss Claremont?” Aunt Eliza said, touching Liliana’s elbow.
Stratford’s gaze moved to her, and he stiffened. She’d never seen eyes so sharp, so blue. His eyes narrowed and focused intently upon her.
Liliana’s heart thumped—hard—then skipped a beat. Claremont was a common enough name. So why was he looking at her so? Unless her arrival alarmed him because he knew whose daughter she was and guessed why she’d come…Unease rolled like waves through her.
She affected a small curtsy, as much to compose herself as because his rank dictated. But as her eyes dipped, she noticed the signet ring on Stratford’s pinky and her resolve solidified. The Stratford seal was emblazoned on the ring, only inches from her. She was this close to learning the truth. She straightened, snapping her gaze back to the earl.
The man’s expression smoothed to one she could not fathom. “Miss Claremont,” he acknowledged with a slight bow, his voice deeper, rougher than it had been when he’d conversed with Aunt or Penelope.
Lady Stratford’s mouth creased into a frown. And didn’t the uncle’s eyes widen, just slightly?
A hot flush spread over Liliana’s face and neck. Stratford and his family had reacted to her name…she was sure of it.
The dinner gong sounded, the reverberating clang startling Liliana. She automatically looked toward the noise. When she turned back, all three Wentworths wore polite, benign smiles. And then they were gone, leading the assembly into the dining room.
Liliana stood still, immobilized by a surreal uncertainty quite unlike her. Had she imagined their responses because she’d expected to see something?
She stared after their retreating forms. Lady Stratford whispered something to her son. Liliana noticed his frown in profile, and her suspicion deepened.
No. If her hosts had nothing to hide, then she would find nothing. If they were guilty, however, she owed it to her father to bring the truth to light.
The question was, if she discovered something of an incriminating nature, to what lengths would the powerful Earl of Stratford go to silence her?
Chapter Two
“A
re you sure this is a good idea, Mother?” a feminine voice Liliana did not recognize whispered in the darkness. A ring of glowing candlelight advanced upon her in the hallway.
She flattened herself against the wall, squeezing between an ornately carved Chippendale chair and a massive wall cabinet containing shadowy sculptures and decorative vases within. She silently prayed the navy walking dress she’d donned would be dark enough to conceal her as she shut her eyes and forced herself to hold still.
“Of course, gel,” a voice answered, closer now. “Just pretend that you’re lost, and being a gentleman he won’t be able to refuse…” The voice faded as the women passed round the corner.
Liliana let out a breath at the near miss. She hadn’t anticipated that she wouldn’t be the only person sneaking around Somerton Park tonight. She shook her head. Whatever—whomever—other people hunted was none of her concern.
An image of black hair and arresting cobalt eyes flashed through her mind. An unwelcome rush of feminine appreciation rolled over her as she recalled her introduction to Stratford. He’d been a head taller than any other gentleman in the room, and even with his sleek muscles fully covered by black evening clothes, Liliana recognized that he would be a specimen worth hunting.
If, of course, he didn’t turn out to be a traitor. After she’d learned whose family crest had marked the seal, she’d done some research. Stratford’s father had been earl in 1803, so the letters had most likely come from him. But if he and her father had been passing—or receiving—sensitive information, who had more opportunity to carry that information across enemy lines than the current earl, who was then a soldier moving throughout the continent with his regiment?
Sure that the other women were far past, Liliana slowly felt her way in the shadows toward the central staircase, in search of the library. She was grateful she’d thought to leave her slippers behind. Even in her stockings, she imagined she could hear her every footfall on the cold marble. Her heart sped faster with each step.
After a frustrating half hour of wrong turns and missteps, Liliana came upon a set of double doors. They stood open, revealing only several bookshelves and shadowed furnishings. At least none of the husband hunters thought to lay in wait in the library. Of course, she couldn’t picture the ladies she’d seen tonight reading much beyond gossip rags or fashion plates.
Praying for solitude, she slipped into the room and closed the doors. In the oppressive darkness, Liliana made out the lines of a fireplace, cold and dark. Drat it all. Was it really too much to hope some fire remained for light?
No matter. She reached into a pocket of her navy dress, one of several she’d designed herself. While in London, she wore only fashionable pastels. But in the country, her darker dresses were more practical while working in her laboratory and out gathering the specimens she used in her efforts to isolate chemicals from plants to create more effective medicines. Not only could she carry several items in the oversized pockets, but the fabric stained less easily. The added benefit of keeping her hidden in shadow while sneaking around strangers’ homes was a bonus she’d never needed or appreciated before.
Liliana withdrew her tinderbox, a taper candle and a holder. She felt her way to the mantel, where she found a jar of spills. Opening the little drawer, she tugged a bit of char cloth into the open and snapped the drawer shut with her thumb. The flint sparked and the cloth began to smolder on the first attempt. Pride swelled as her experimental accelerant flared. She lit first the spill, then the taper.
She looked about. The high-ceilinged space swallowed the golden flicker of her candle after mere feet. The distant corners of the room disappeared into inky blackness. She would have to risk more light. Liliana made her way to the outer wall, where shutters covered the windows, and flicked a latch, willing the wood not to creak.
Moonlight flooded in, illuminating shelves and wall sconces.
Her stomach fell. The main room dwarfed her own study-cum-library many times over. Hers was more the size of one of the two nooks that flanked Somerton Park’s main collection. She counted the number of shelves around her and swiftly extrapolated. My God. She could spend her entire two weeks in here and barely scratch the surface. How would she ever find her father’s letters in this enormous manse—much less other evidence to link Charles Claremont to the Wentworths?