Dauntless by Adele Clee

Author:Adele Clee
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2020-07-07T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

THERE WAS a fundamental difference between men and women, Eva noted as she escorted Noah Ashwood into the drawing room and told him to help himself to a drink, though she only had port.

Indeed, having asked Bardsley to summon Henry from his room, she returned to find Mr Ashwood relaxing on the sofa like he hadn’t a care in the world. One wondered if the man might close his eyes and take a nap. He offered a smile and gestured to the glass of port on the side table, the drink he had poured for her.

Was his mind not consumed with thoughts of their passionate kiss? Was his body not burning to strip away their clothes and indulge their desires? No? Was he not alarmed, disturbed by Henry’s blatant lie? Apparently not.

“I didn’t know you were a connoisseur of port wine,” he said, raising his glass in salute.

“I’m not. Howard insists on the best. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve wanted to pull the stopper from the decanter and empty the contents over his head.”

Mr Ashwood laughed. “What, and waste an extremely good vintage?”

Eva laughed, too. She liked having him in her private space. It didn’t feel strange or awkward. Few men cared to hear a woman’s opinion. Noah Ashwood was different. He possessed the rare quality of being so remarkably masculine without the arrogance and the desperate need to take control.

She liked that.

She liked him—more than she should.

The memory of his fingers threading into her hair, the memory of his hot mouth moving so expertly, sent tingles to her toes. Oh, lust was a dangerous devil, indeed.

Thankfully, a knock on the door brought an end to her amorous musings, banished all notions of her raising her skirts and sitting astride Mr Ashwood’s solid thighs.

“Come,” she called, though her voice revealed something of her torment.

Henry entered. He had dressed in a hurry and appeared a little dishevelled. “You sent for me, ma’am.”

“Come in and close the door.”

From her sharp tone, the servant knew something was amiss. He did as she bade him and then waited, hands clasped behind his back, for instruction.

Eva glanced at Mr Ashwood, who settled back into the plush cushions as if about to watch an entertaining drama at the playhouse.

“This morning I asked you to take important documents to Mr Ashwood’s office in Hart Street,” she said, focusing her attention on the footman.

“Yes, ma’am.” Henry’s pale complexion was a sure sign of his guilt.

“When I questioned you later, you explained that you handed the documents to him personally. That is what you said?”

The footman nodded and glanced at the gentleman lounging on the sofa.

“And yet you lied. You did not see Mr Ashwood this morning. And so I must conclude one of two things. Either you thought the letters had value and so kept them, or—”

“No, ma’am. As God is my witness, I didn’t steal the letters.” A green vein in Henry’s temple bulged as he pleaded his case. “I didn’t take them, I swear.

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