Chapter Seventeen

Ellie's mouth dropped open in shock.

How on earth did Ambrose know about the book?

"Your reputation for omnipotence is as impressive as ever." Harry grinned. "And yes, you're right. I'm just surprised you're not after it yourself."

"I want nothing to do with it," Ambrose said. "Willingham's working for Bonaparte's brother, Joseph—the one who went over to America. When I paid Willingham a little social visit last week, he actually tried to hire me to travel all the way to Saint Helena and deliver it, in person, to Bonaparte himself!"

"But why?" Ellie asked.

"The emperor thinks it's his lucky charm, apparently. Joseph's sure that if the book's returned, his brother will escape his imprisonment and return to conquer Europe again, just as he did from Elba two years ago."

Harry sent Ellie a look that clearly said I told you so .

"That's extraordinary," she muttered.

Ambrose shrugged. "People have the strangest fancies. I told Willingham I wasn't interested. Do you know how far Saint Helena is? Four thousand, seven hundred miles, give or take. I looked it up on a map. If old Boney was still on Elba, I might consider a nice trip around the Mediterranean, but I've no wish to spend weeks at sea, getting tossed around like dice in a cup."

"So the book is still here?" Harry asked.

"As far as I know. Unless Willingham's managed to find someone else to deliver it."

"We're being paid to return it to the owner, William Bullock."

Ambrose swept his arm in a gesture for Harry to precede him into the study. "Have at it. Annoying Willingham and thwarting old Boney will combine revenge and patriotism very neatly. I'll let you discover the safe yourself."

Harry stepped into the study and peered around while Ellie wished she'd brought her spectacles so she could see better in the dark. It wouldn't do to light a candle in case someone saw the light beneath the door and came to investigate.

Harry crossed to the glazed bookcases and studied the contents, presumably to see if Willingham had concealed a safe behind a row of books or a wooden panel.

Ellie, however, stopped in front of one of the paintings, a rather indifferent seascape, and inspected it closely. The frame was dusty.

"Willingham clearly doesn't let the servants come in here often to clean," she said. "Presumably because he values his privacy. But that's a mistake, because it means he's left his finger marks in the dust here, on the frame."

She pointed at the telltale marks, then reached out and lifted the picture from the wall. A small iron safe was set into the paneling behind it, and her heart gave a triumphant leap. Her father had something very similar in his office at home.

Harry came to stand beside her. "Impressive."

"Is rule number seven always carry a set of lockpicks ?" she whispered.

His lips twitched. "No. Rule number seven is, If it looks too good to be true —"

" —it probably is ," Ambrose finished succinctly, and the two men shared an amused, conspiratorial smile.

"Besides," Harry said, "no need to go to all the bother of picking the lock when I have the key right here." He reached into his waistcoat and held up a small, iron key.

"Where did you get that?" Ellie sighed.

"Willingham had it in his pocket when we met him earlier. I assumed anything he had on his person was something he probably wanted to keep safe. Like the key to his wife's jewelry box. Or this safe."

Ambrose snorted. "Good lad."

"I'm going to pretend you haven't told me that," Ellie said sternly.

The lock opened with a smooth click, and the door swung open to reveal a small, rectangular object wrapped in cloth. Harry took it, and Ellie couldn't hold back her gasp as the tiny, jewel-encrusted gold cover was revealed.

Even in the partial moonlight from the bedroom it looked impossibly opulent.

"How lovely!"

Harry nodded in satisfaction. "Time to go. We can look at it more closely when we're away. Ellie, put it in your pocket. Your skirts will conceal it."

Ellie took the book with reverent hands. It was even smaller than she'd expected, perhaps only six inches high, and the gold metal cover studded with precious stones felt cold and bumpy against her fingers. She slipped it through the slit in her skirts and into the pocket she wore underneath, secured with a ribbon around her waist.

A heady thrill of excitement made her blood pound.

Harry closed the safe and replaced the painting, then turned to Ambrose. "I'm staying at Cobham House."

The other man smiled. "Oh, I know. I'll pay you a visit in a day or two." He patted his pockets. "As soon as I've dealt with tonight's little windfall. Miss Law, it has been a pleasure. I hope to see you again soon."

Ellie smiled, unsure whether she ought to return the sentiment or not.

Harry put his ear to the door, and when he judged the coast was clear, he turned the knob and ushered her out into the corridor.

She glanced back, to see if Ambrose was following them, but he tilted his head toward the bedroom window.

"I'll make my own way out," he whispered with a wink. "The same way I came in. Over the rooftops."

Harry closed the door, and together they hurried to the top of the stairs. A peek over the bannisters confirmed there were no guests below, so he took her hand again and drew her down the steps.

Her skirts clung to her legs, and the book bumped against her thigh with every step. Ellie was sure her face was pink with guilt, but she followed Harry's lead as they turned the corner.

Another couple was there, clearly sneaking off for a little amour ; the woman's giggles and the man's staggering gait indicated neither was particularly sober. They disappeared into a side room just as a larger group could be heard approaching.

Ellie panicked; she pulled on Harry's hand and tugged him into an alcove partly hidden by an enormous flower arrangement.

His big body followed hers, and she let out a wheeze as his solid chest came into contact with her own. He ducked his head, enclosing her with his body, shielding her from view, and Ellie inhaled the magical scent of him; a heady mixture of skin and his unique cologne that made her senses swim.

She wanted to press her nose into his cravat and fill her lungs with the smell.

The excitement of the evening was clearly addling her brain.

The men grew closer, their voices loud and obnoxious, and to her dismay she recognized Willingham's nasal tones.

"The billiard room's this way, Larkin," he brayed. "Ten pounds says I beat you."

"Done," another replied.

She shot a desperate glance up at Harry. She could barely see his face in the semidarkness, but she could sense his amusement at her panic.

"Shhh!" His soft whisper tickled the hair by her ear, more vibration than sound. "Let them pass. Keep looking at me."

The buttons on the front of his jacket pressed into the bare skin of her d é colletage every time she sucked in a rapid breath, and the warmth of him heated her blood. His left leg was pressed between her own, and the intimate sensation, with him almost full-length against her, made her stomach somersault with more than just nerves.

"Pretend to kiss me!" she hissed. "Quickly!"

"With pleasure," he grinned. " Si, mio caro. Baciami ." He raised his voice and groaned the words, loud enough for those approaching to hear. " Voglio scoparti contro questo muro finché non urli il mio nome ."

A cacophony of jeers and ribald comments ensued as the men caught sight of them and unanimously assumed they were interrupting a tryst.

"Looks like the Italians have a new way of waltzing," one man chuckled. "One that involves tongues!"

"She's an opera singer, isn't she?" another guffawed. "Maybe he's checking her tonsils are in good working order?"

Harry brought his arms up on either side of her head, his elbows resting against the wall to shield her face. His breath tickled her temple and his nose brushed hers as he bent lower.

"Breathe," he commanded softly.

Ellie's heart was pounding with a heady mix of fear and desire. Harry's lips hovered so close to hers that his warm exhales mingled with her own shallow breaths.

There was scarcely an inch between them.

And then there wasn't any space at all.

She wasn't sure which one of them moved, but Harry's lips touched hers, and she almost swooned in delight.

The kiss was tentative, almost a question. He paused, as if to gauge her reaction, and without thought she pushed herself up on tiptoe, closer, silently encouraging him to do it again.

He muttered something under his breath, possibly in Italian, then leaned in and kissed her again, harder this time, tracing the seam of her lips with his tongue.

Ellie opened her mouth instinctively, and when she did, he took full advantage. He slanted his head and his tongue swept inside to tangle with her own, and she gave a soft, incredulous groan at the delicious sensation.

It was possession, pure and simple. A hot, lush exploration, and she closed her eyes, kissing him back, surrendering completely. She'd dreamed of this—who cared whether he was just playing a part?

The world around them dissolved, narrowed to his touch, his lips. As she slid her hands up to squeeze his shoulders, his hand came round to cradle the back of her head, tilting it back, holding her in place as if he never wanted to let her go.

Ellie whimpered. In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware of Willingham and the other men passing by, but that knowledge was of little import when Harry's breath was in her mouth and the taste of him was making her brain swim.

More. Harder. Please.

Time ceased to exist. Every wicked lick, every slow delve of his tongue, caused a corresponding tug in her belly, an ache between her legs. Her blood felt thick, like treacle.

And then it was over. With one last playful tug of her lower lip, Harry raised his head, breaking the contact.

Ellie sucked in a cool lungful of air as he moved back, and the loss of his body as a support almost made her stagger. Heat swept over her skin as embarrassment replaced desire, and the reality of their situation reasserted itself.

Harry cleared his throat and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His eyes appeared almost black, but a dimple creased his left cheek as he sent her a lopsided smile.

"Excellent distraction, Miss Law. First rate."

Ellie took some comfort from the fact that his voice sounded far more gravelly than usual, and that his chest was rising and falling almost as rapidly as her own. She felt hot, and restless, but managed a brisk, businesslike nod, as if kissing men senseless against walls was all in the line of duty.

She reached up and wiped her finger over the corner of his mouth. His questioning gaze met hers, and she sent him a rueful smile. "You had a smudge of red. From my lip rouge."

His lips quirked. "Time to go."

They stepped fully apart. Harry straightened his cuffs and smoothed his still-impeccable coat, and she patted the prayer book in her pocket to make sure it was still there. A servant appeared at the far end of the hallway, and Ellie realized with a start that it was Daisy, carrying two bottles of wine.

Daisy's delighted expression clearly indicated that she'd witnessed at least some of their interaction, and she sent Ellie a wide-eyed smile.

Ellie pointed to her pocket to indicate they'd found the book, and Daisy nodded her understanding before she turned left and disappeared into the billiard room.

Ellie gave an inward groan. She would have some explaining to do when she got back to King & Co.