Deceiving the Earl by Kirsten S. Blacketer

Author:Kirsten S. Blacketer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Neo-Victorian, Victorian Romance, Steampunk, Late Victorian Romance, Historical Romance, Steamy Romance
Publisher: Kirsten S. Blacketer
Published: 2023-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The burn of the whisky lingered on the back of her tongue. What had she been thinking? Her nerves took control and she needed something to fortify her. But standing this close to Lord Dorrington, feeling the warmth of him, inhaling his spicy scent, Adele struggled to calm the racing of her own heart.

He stared down at her, curiosity and hunger in his eyes. Never in her life had a man looked at her in such a manner. It made her body weak and hot, and still it bolstered her courage.

“Confessions?” he said with a small quirk of the lips. “Have you sinned? For I am no priest.”

Adele closed her eyes, unable to speak while he teased her in such a way. “I am in earnest, my lord. I must tell you the truth.” When she opened her eyes, his expression grew somber.

“Very well then.” He gestured to the wing backed chairs situated near the fireplace.

A distance between them granted an air of relief for a moment, allowing Adele to refocus her mind on the conversation. Being in his company had become something of a distraction and that concerned her. Her plans began to crumble the moment she glimpsed his passion in the pursuit of the truth.

She sighed as she sat down.

Lord Dorrington sat relaxed, his leg crossed over the other, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. She could not read his expression, but found his attention bestowed solely on her.

Then she noticed the red on his sleeve.

“Are you injured, my lord?” She stood and reached for his hand. Before he could pull away, she peeled his coat sleeve back to reveal a small blotch of dark blood on his pristine white cuffs.

“Oh, damnation.” He jerked his hand away. “I am quite fit.” He met her gaze. “It is not my blood.”

Adele stepped back, pulling her hands to her chest. Fear rose inside her. “Whose blood is it then?”

Lord Dorrington stood and leaned against the mantle for a moment before turning back to her. “I called upon a friend. Someone who worked with Alistair and myself on some experiments.” He paused. “He was dead when I arrived at his home.”

She gasped and sat on the chair, her mind spinning. “What was his name?”

“Musgrave.”

Her eyes fell closed. She knew Mr. Musgrave since she was a small child. He had always been kind to her. He disappeared a few weeks before her father died. She mourned him as she had her own family.

“What happened?” she asked her voice faint.

“Murder, I suspect.” Lord Dorrington turned to face her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, covering the pendant beneath her blouse. “Why would anyone kill such a harmless gentleman?”

“Musgrave worked with Alistair and myself. He would have had an intricate knowledge of our experiments.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Someone wanted information, I believe.”

“What could possibly be worth murder?” she asked, horrified.

“You might as well know the whole story since I have embroiled you in this disastrous charade.

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