Impatience flared, sparked by the burning need to understand why her father had been struck down. She’d always had it—this compulsion to break things down to their elements. To discover the why and the how. It was what drove her to continue to pursue science, even though she’d been harshly discouraged by her aunt and rejected by the male establishment. And in a sense, it was what drove her now. She would discover the truth.
Liliana picked up her candle and started across the room, dodging shadowy sofas, settees, tables and ottomans. The most logical place to look first would be Stratford’s desk. Lighting her way with her taper, she found only a rosewood writing desk, with nothing inside but writing implements. Unlike Claremont Cottage, Somerton Park must have a separate study.
Two locked doors cleverly tucked between bookshelves seemed the most promising locations, but she saw no locking mechanisms she might manipulate. She ran her fingers over their seams and tugged on the wall sconces that flanked them, hoping to find a trick lock. She gave up after a time. There had to be another entrance to Stratford’s study elsewhere.
She chafed at the probability of leaving empty-handed and returned her gaze to the library. Could Somerton Park’s shelves house a secret compartment as her father’s did?
She rushed to the first set of shelves, using her taper to light a wall sconce. As leather-bound volumes came into sharper view, she abstained from reading the multicolored spines and instead methodically checked each shelf as high as she could reach. She ran her hands behind the books, feeling for anything unusual—a raised section, a changed texture. Finding nothing, she hurried to the fireplace, where a rolling ladder rested. She braced it in front of a bookcase and climbed, her stocking feet smarting at the hardness of the rounded rungs.
By the time she’d reached the third case, the muscles in her thighs and calves trembled slightly and her left arm ached from anchoring herself to the ladder. By the fourth case, small beads of sweat broke out on her brow from her exertions. If she were wise, she’d give in for the night and start fresh tomorrow.
Then something caught her eye. Excitement charged her blood with a crackling energy. In the very top right corner of the highest shelf, a black leather volume stood out like a crow amongst colorful songbirds. The unmarked binding gave no hint of its contents. Of course, it could be nothing. But it resembled a journal or a ledger book, either of which would surely have a sample of handwriting she could compare to the killer’s letter.
A tingle danced up Liliana’s spine. She gripped the ladder and scrambled to the top.
The black volume loomed just out of reach. Liliana stretched out her arm in an effort to grasp it. She strained, fingers trembling for a long moment. She gripped a bookshelf with both hands and tried to inch the ladder farther by shimmying her hips in a rather undignified manner, but it wouldn’t budge.
Liliana clenched her teeth and looked longingly at the book. She had to know what was in it. Aunt Eliza always said her unladylike curiosity would be her downfall, and perhaps tonight that would prove to be true. Regardless, finding something of interest in that black book was Liliana’s only hope to salvage this entire day.
Blowing a wayward curl from her face, she straightened. She raised her left foot and stepped up another awkward rung. She eased her other foot from the ladder, extending her stance wide to rest her toes on a lower shelf. Liliana’s heart galloped, spurred by her precarious position. Holding on with her left hand, she reached with her right. Her middle finger brushed the spine of the book, the leather soft and supple. She stretched harder, triumph bubbling into a smile as her fingers slipped between the book’s cover and the wood. She wiggled it loose.
A sharp click echoed from below.
The ladder shuddered beneath Liliana just as the book came free. She wobbled and let the book drop, clutching the bookcase with both hands. She shifted some of her weight to her right foot, no longer trusting the ladder.
The book hit the floor with a resounding thud.
Liliana strained to look down over her shoulder. Suddenly a bookcase shifted as if trying to open as a door would, but the ladder blocked its path.
“What the hell?” came a muffled voice. The bookcase moved again, slamming into the ladder this time. A jarring crash rent the air, and the ladder shot from under Liliana.
She shrieked, panicking in an effort to hold on. Without the ladder for support, gravity ripped her from her hold and she fell.
Flailing, Liliana grasped at thin air. She wrenched herself around, trying to catch at anything. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for impact.
“Ooomph.” A masculine groan of pain followed.
Liliana squeaked as she was jerked upright against something solid and warm, smelling of soap and spice and…mint?
Her eyes flew open to meet an equally shocked gaze of indigo blue, framed by thick black lashes. She failed to catch her breath, either from fear or from the fact that the Earl of Stratford’s muscled arms held her crushed against him.
It hardly mattered. Breathing was the last thing on Liliana’s mind.
In the dim light she watched, fascinated, as those eyes lost their surprise and narrowed in confusion. Then they softened and sharpened all at once. Was that possible? Indigo melted into warm cobalt, a blue fire that heated Liliana from within. She felt his gaze all the way to her toes, which she realized had yet to touch the ground.
She noticed other things, too. Like the fact that she held on to him for dear life, grasping his shoulders, his silky jacket crushed between her curled fingers. That her chest moved in unison with his, her breathing having sped up to the same rhythm. That her breasts felt heavy and soft crushed against his harder, muscled pectorals, yet her nipples had tightened and sent tiny bursts of sensation through her as they brushed against her clothing with each breath.
Her gaze raked his face, long and sculptured, with dark brows that slashed over hooded eyes. The veriest hint of evening stubble darkened his jaw.
Stratford’s gaze dropped to her lips. Liliana nervously wetted them, and his eyes flared. For an endless moment he stood there with her suspended in his arms, the lengths of their bodies pressed tight against each other.
Eventually, Stratford released an uneven breath and lowered her to the floor. The intimate glide stole Liliana’s breath, the friction tantalizing her, confusing and exhilarating. Her feet touched the cold wood, startling her out of her sensual haze.
But not as much as his words did.
“If you think getting yourself ‘discovered’ alone with me will win you a husband, Miss Claremont,” the earl said, ice in his voice, “you are sadly mistaken.”
Chapter Three
L
iliana Claremont’s gasp of outrage sent her flying from his arms. The sight might have amused Geoffrey…if he weren’t so damned irritatingly aroused. Her shocked expression, the delicate hand spread across her chest in a “how dare you accuse me” gesture. Oh, she was good. No doubt about that. Geoffrey ruthlessly shoved aside the part of him that wondered, given their recent embrace, what else Miss Claremont would be good at.
He exhaled as the burning pain that speared through his lower back eased a bit. He shouldn’t have held her so long. Geoffrey willed his discomfort into the background and instead focused on the fiery woman standing before him.