Chapter 13

13

Ten days until the wedding…

Richard slowly opened his eyes and saw the first orange hints of dawn filtering through unfamiliar curtains. He couldn’t remember how he got there, and it took a few moments for him to adjust to the strange surroundings. As he shifted to his side, he felt a gentle weight on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Jane’s peaceful face snuggled against him. He almost didn’t recognize her without her spectacles. She looked so vulnerable, so sweet…so beautiful.

He didn’t mind the spectacles, but he thought they hid some of her natural beauty, which was a pity. Perhaps there was a model that would better suit her face. He’d need to take her to a good optician who may design something more flattering for her.

Her warm form tempted him to stay. But the thought of someone coming into her room filled him with dread. He didn’t want to be responsible for ruining her reputation. It was imperative to get home as soon as possible.

The house was quiet. Very quiet. The servants must still be asleep. Activities in Elysium must be slowing down if not over. So Blackmore would either be asleep or busy at Elysium.

And Jane slept, too.

An idea struck him.

He’d never have a better chance.

Very, very gently, he rolled Jane over onto her other side and freed his arm. Trying not to make a sound, he stood up, put on his blood-caked shirt, then his waistcoat and his overcoat, without bothering to button them. He was still in his boots.

He looked at her, considering waking her up and asking for her help. But if last night had shown him anything, it was that Miss Jane Grant was far too dangerous for his heart. He’d never expected to be so affected by her. Avoiding heartache was the whole reason he sought meaningless encounters. It was easy to feel physical warmth and connection without falling in love.

Jane, with her glasses and her plain clothes, her open heart and her sharp mind, made him dream of something more. Made him feel special.

All that meant pain and heartache. He wouldn’t survive a repetition of what had happened with Lady Charity.

If he could get into Blackmore’s study and find the information about Spencer by himself, he would release her from this engagement she did not want. And he would release himself from it, go back to his life, and forget all about her.

As slowly and as soundlessly as he could—thank heavens for the carpet—he moved to her door and walked out.

The hallway was dark and quiet. He needed to descend the stairs and then somehow find his way through the damned maze of corridors that led to Thorne’s study.

Wooden stairs creaked as he descended. He remembered seeing this staircase when he had visited Blackmore a few days ago. He turned left, then walked straight and there it was, the door to his study.

He stopped and breathed, listening. But everything was quiet, and he could hear only his heart beating hard.

He pushed the door and entered.

Empty, thank heavens.

The dim dawn light coming from the windows showed the desk covered in stacks of papers and books, the bookshelves full of files and book bindings. He found a candle, lit it, and began shuffling through the papers. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for. Some information. Something.

He scanned through the letters, bills, notes. Accounting books for Elysium. Everything looked like it was kept in the strictest order.

Opening one of the drawers, he saw a black leather folder. He flipped through it, frowning, trying to make sense of what he was reading. These must be different reports of some cryptic activities. Things like It is done. And The package was delivered. And All eggs from the basket are now in the henhouse.

Among those, there was a note with the date of Spencer’s death.

The duke is taught a lesson at your request. A complication occurred. More later. Reuben.

Richard’s heart drummed so hard he didn’t at first hear the steps and the door creaking open.

Then there was a gasp and he looked up. Jane stood in the doorway, still in her gray dress and with strands of her hair hanging from her bun. Her wide eyes stared at the paper in his hand, her mouth open in shock. The next moment, she ran through the study to him, her arm outstretched, her hand grasping for the paper.

He stepped aside, holding the note high in the air, out of her reach.

“What is in your hand?” she cried.

“Proof,” said Richard, stepping back and around the desk. Closer to the door.

Still backing away, he folded the note and tucked it into the inner pocket of his vest, then turned around and left the room. Reuben. The complication. The duke. It was all about Spencer. It was proof that Thorne and his men had been involved, but it didn’t give him any clue where Spencer was or what had happened. Richard was not sure what to do with this yet.

“Stop right now!” She ran after him. “How could you do this?”

In the dark maze of the corridors, he stopped and turned to her. “You know what we’re after! Why are you surprised? You wish to be free from our arrangement as much as I do.”

“What the devil is going on?” roared Thorne as he appeared from around a corner.