10

W hen her trunks arrived, the castle staff settled Elizabeth and her belongings in a southern-facing guest chamber overlooking Castle Harbrook's rear garden.

After ridding herself of pink-and-blue chalk residue, she dashed off a quick message apprising her family of the change in plans, then painstakingly copied the map Miss Oak had loaned her in order to send a duplicate home to her siblings. If some discrepancy might indicate a secret hiding place, cartographer Tommy would be the one to spot it.

After dispatching her correspondence, Elizabeth took a much longer time going through her full stretching routine. Her newly clean body seemed to be holding steady at sixty-five percent, but there was no sense getting cocky and tempting fate. Who knew when she might have to take up arms again?

With luck, the answer was: soon. Elizabeth loved taking up arms. Defending a castle was the mission she was born for. She just had to be ready.

Once her joints were as limber and supple as they were likely to be for the day, she began her search for the will—or at least a helpful clue—in the long corridor spanning the guest quarters. She tested every stone for cracks that might contain a slip of paper, felt behind every sconce, and inspected every looking glass.

Which was how she managed to trigger a hidden lever that dropped a hook that activated a pulley that lifted a chute that dispensed a row of iron balls that crashed into a miniature weighted wagon whose spinning wheels yanked a wire… that dislodged the carpet from under her feet.

Elizabeth flailed her arms for balance, cursing not beneath her breath but at the top of her lungs, in the hopes that Mr. Lenox would hear it wherever he was hiding. She managed to save herself from falling onto the stone floor, but the sudden twisting motions jarred her joints and hips enough to ensure she'd be limping for hours.

She gritted her teeth in fury and renewed determination. She would not let this case best her, or this castle, or its deranged temporary owner. A future orphanage of children were counting on her. Limping or not, she would find that damned will if it was the last thing she did.

By the time Elizabeth made her way back to the earl's study, her fresh new morning gown was streaked with dust and her never-particularly-impressive patience was wearing thin.

"What the devil have you been doing?" Mr. Lenox asked, sliding partially out from beneath a hotchpotch of planks and tubes and wires.

"What I've been hired to do," she snapped crossly. "Which shouldn't include fending for my life against your utterly unnecessary contraptions. What the double-devil are you doing?"

He launched into a lively explanation about wood grains and counterbalances and geometry.

She blocked it out. Her attractive host had changed his clothes and put his abdominal muscles away. The rest of the details were superfluous.

The gist of his situation was obvious enough: He was an inveterate tinker who had rigged the entire castle with devices designed to entrap and confound enemies… and, apparently, the bodyguard stationed to protect him. As if medieval architecture wasn't perilous enough.

The tinker was clearly spending the earl's money on materials for his inventions. Which, to be fair, was arguably a better use of Densmore's funds than losing all of the earldom's resources at the gaming table.

Elizabeth crossed her arms and glared at him. She was trying to do things that would make a difference for her client, whilst Mr. Lenox was devoting his time to… this , whatever "this" was.

"Finding the will would be easier if you showed me how to avoid bumbling into traps meant for our enemies," she groused uncharitably.

He paused with a nail in his mouth and a hammer in his fist. "You need my help?"

She lifted her chin. "I don't need anything from anyone, especially you."

He set down the hammer and craned his head to give her his full attention. "On my best day, I am dreadful at navigating interactions with other humans. But in our case, I believe you are objectively giving conflicting signals."

"I'm vexed you changed shirts," she muttered. "And that I've not solved the puzzle yet."

"It's been"—he checked his pocket watch—"three hours."

"And yet, there's been no sign of the will!" She threw her hands wide.

"All right." Mr. Lenox spat the nail out from the corner of his mouth. He slid out from under his machine and brushed off his trousers. "I'll help for a little bit. Not because you need assistance, but because two heads are more efficient, and it sounds like we both appreciate efficiency."

"And both hate other people," Elizabeth added. "That's the best thing we have in common."

"I said I can't understand other people."

She nodded. "That's exactly what I hate about them."

Living with her birth family had been awful. Everything about Elizabeth displeased them. If she asked for help, she was ridiculed as weak. If she attempted to do more than her body allowed, she would wind up on the floor gasping in pain, so she was disparaged as worthless. If she tried to explain her physical limitations, she was called a liar and assigned even more grueling tasks in retaliation. Which of course she could not complete in the short time allotted, causing the cycle to start all over again. Things only got worse when they rejected her altogether and sent her to live with even harsher guardians.

Many years later, once Elizabeth had found the kindhearted, multi-talented Wynchesters, she learned that the mere presence of a sword was often more than enough deterrent to attacks, whether physical or verbal. Was it any wonder she'd vowed never to lower her defenses to outsiders again?

Of course, she was now playing bodyguard inside a stranger's home, where the building itself was out to get her. As if that was not enough, the handsome inventor she was protecting was armed with delectable muscles and a roguish smile, proving him dangerous even without his machines.

Mr. Lenox smoothed the wrinkles from his fully buttoned waistcoat. "I must warn you that I don't believe there is any treasure hunt to follow. In order to put Densmore's affairs in order, I walked through every room in this castle. Nothing was out of place until I made it that way."

"But you weren't looking for a missing will."

"True. I was looking for a clue to finding my cousin." He held Elizabeth's gaze. "My attention is on you now."

Her cheeks heated.

Mr. Lenox was staring at her with enough heat in his eyes to warm this entire drafty castle. His pupils had dilated, his lips parted, his torso tilted forward ever so slightly… It didn't take a mathematician to read these signs. He wanted to kiss her.

And she was absolutely going to let him. Particularly if his kisses came with unfettered access to those phenomenal abdominal muscles. Elizabeth hadn't planned on a torrid temporary affaire—but she wasn't foolish enough to turn down the opportunity.

She fluttered her lashes and gave her best non-cobra, come-hither smile.

Mr. Lenox blinked and took a step backward. All hint of his previous attraction vanished.

"Well, I'm sure you're in a hurry to be done with this task," he said briskly. "It'll go faster, now that both of us are searching. Where shall we start?"

Elizabeth didn't bother to hide her disappointment, but she made no further attempt at flirtation… at least for the moment. He was, after all, correct. She was here for her client, not for kisses. Keeping their interactions professional was the most efficient choice.

If a boring one.

"Well, the countess created the clues and the testament. Why don't we try her rooms?" she suggested.

"They've been cleared of personal effects."

"No one would toss out a will."

"Not knowingly," he agreed. "But if it were stuffed inside some other item that got disposed of… Besides, we're looking for a clue to a puzzle, and we haven't a clue what the clue looks like. If such a thing was ever here, it's almost certainly been discarded by now."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Are you always this full of sunshine and light?"

"This is my standard base level, yes. Pessimism is a critical component of my work. If I assume that everything that could go wrong, will do so, then I can prepare for those eventualities before they occur."

"I'm the same way," said Elizabeth. "I assume everything will go wrong… and that my swords can put it right."

"Like the castle door?" he said wryly. "How long would it have taken you to chip through ten inches of wood?"

"That wasn't my aim," she reminded him. "I wanted inside, which I achieved, thanks to my blades. See how that works?"

He shook his head. "That's not ‘working.' That's luck. You couldn't know that would happen. The smartest path is to wait until you have calculated every variable from every angle and determined the surest course with the least variance of probability."

She placed her hands on her hips. "That's not a ‘path.' Your way sounds like standing still. Swords are faster. Making things happen is better than just ruminating about them ad infinitum."

He stepped closer. "Recklessness leads to mistakes."

She leaned in. "I like mistakes."

His nose was an inch from hers. "You're looking for four-leaf clovers by stampeding over them astride an elephant."

"And carrying a sword," she snapped. "A big one."

He snorted. "What did you say we had in common again?"

"Congenital grumpiness," she retorted.

And perhaps a fondness for pistachios. Though Elizabeth was not ready to suggest she might enjoy such an outing with Mr. Lenox.

She licked her lips despite herself.

His gaze snapped to her mouth at once, his own lips parting. The world seemed to stand still. She could feel the blood rushing in her veins, and hear every heartbeat in her ears. Was he finally about to—

Mr. Lenox straightened. "We'll have to suffer through each other's company until we find that missing will and can be rid of each other at last."

Damn it. Elizabeth inclined her head. "To the countess's chambers?"

"Very well."

They spent the next four hours going over every inch of Arminia's apartments. Fortunately, Mr. Lenox had not set up traps in this area.

As an investigator, he was even more thorough than Elizabeth could have hoped. He took down finishings and dismantled furniture and tested the mortar between every stone for tampering.

"I don't believe there's anything to find," Mr. Lenox said for the thousandth time.

"I cannot believe the earl left a wet blanket like you here in his place," Elizabeth groused.

"Can you not? Densmore says I don't do anything important anyway. Of course, a useless tinker would do any small favor for an earl."

"What poppycock!" Elizabeth was suddenly furious on Mr. Lenox's behalf. "Why didn't you stab him?"

"I can't find him," he reminded her.

She searched along the hem of a curtain. "Do you mind if I stab him?"

"You don't know where he is, either."

"My brother Graham will find him," she said with confidence. "At which point I'll behead Densmore for you, at no extra charge."

Mr. Lenox crawled inside the empty fireplace. "Could you leave him a little bit alive? I don't want to be an earl."

"I suppose," she agreed reluctantly. "But let me know if you change your mind."

He appeared to consider this. "What I would really like is some way to prevent Reddington from breathing down my neck."

"Blech." She rolled her eyes in agreement. "Rich people."

Mr. Lenox cocked his head at her from under the mantel. "Forgive me, but aren't you reasonably well off yourself?"

"Not like Reddington," she protested. "If I had his mountain of gold, I'd use it to help people, not to stage self-aggrandizing, war-themed pantomimes." She thought it over. "All right, I'd do both."

"I would expect no less." Mr. Lenox ran his hands inside the flue. "I also think we've exhausted every potential hiding spot in my aunt's private quarters. Wherever the clues to the will might be, they're not in here."

Elizabeth was forced to agree. She brushed off her skirts. "Thank you for helping me search."

He crouch-walked out of the fireplace and stretched up to his full height. "My pleasure."

"I doubt crawling around a hard stone floor on your hands and knees is anyone's pleasure."

"You might recall that I was going to be on the floor anyway," he reminded her. A hint of soot accented one of his cheekbones. "That's what I was in the midst of when you interrupted."

She stiffened. "Don't let me stop you from getting back to your precious machines."

"I shan't." He paused. "Let me know if you need me again."

He was close enough to touch. Lord, how she wanted to. Elizabeth had thought of little else from the moment he had removed his helmet and revealed those sharp cheekbones and soft brown hair. For some unfathomable reason, she didn't even care that he wasn't a sword-wielding warrior. Her unquenchable desire to reach for him had grown when she'd cut open his clothing and accidentally treated herself to the finest chiseled torso outside of the British Museum.

Thinking was different from doing, of course. Particularly when she wasn't meant to be drooling or touching. She'd left her sword stick in her room, specifically so that its sharp blade would not lead her into temptation.

Elizabeth had a will to find, and a deed to deliver. Such an important task required…

Forty percent of her focus. She smiled.

Rolling up carpets and tapping for hollow stones did not require genius-level concentration. The rest of her brain was free to concoct fully operatic fantasies in which she reprised her attack on Mr. Lenox's clothing—all of it, this time—then abducted him at sword-point, and spirited him away on a black stallion, upon which he would then make love to her with uncontrolled passion.

Unprofessional, of course. And more than a little improbable. Logistics aside, she wasn't certain her body could withstand a vigorous anything atop a galloping horse.

Then again, she and Mr. Lenox were arm's reach from a bed. Elizabeth was very good at lying on beds. Cushioned surfaces of any kind, really. Parlor sofas, chaises longues, a carpet in the middle of the floor…

He brushed her elbow briefly. "Where are you off to now?"

To the bed. With him. Where he could touch her arm again, if he promised not to stop there. Perhaps there were still a few things left to explore in this room after all.

"Er," she managed. Where was a bucket of cold water when you needed one?

"We should eat something." His gaze had not left hers. "I was going to ask you to join me for supper tonight, if that's something you—"

"Yes. I want." Her stomach growled in anticipation. Possibly unrelated to the menu.

He lifted his hand again but paused before touching her this time. "Do you mind if I—"

Do it. Push me against the wall and have your wicked way with me. Do it now.

But before she could voice her enthusiastic consent to whatever sinful pleasures Mr. Lenox wished to acquire permission for, the corridor filled with what sounded like… church bells?

"Subtle," she told him. "And a little preemptive. I prefer to dabble in sin before making permanent vows."

"It's the early warning system." Mr. Lenox dropped his hand, and his gaze flicked over her shoulder. "The perimeter has been breached."

"By whom?" Her battle-axes were back in her room. She patted her bosom for concealed knives and found two. Twice as many as she needed. "Is it Reddington?"

Mr. Lenox watched her hands with interest, then visibly collected himself. "Shall we go and find out?"