Lady Rosabella's Ruse. Ann Lethbridge

of the floor and she had done the same with the walls. She’d even looked up the chimney, which was an old-fashioned one, probably built when the first house occupied the estate.

      Her shoulders slumped as defeat washed through her. ‘You are right. There is nothing here.’ And disaster loomed closer.

      He shot her a considering look.

      She forced a careless shrug. ‘He must have put it somewhere else. Perhaps his second wife has it.’

      His mouth tightened. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Me, too. There is no point in searching any longer. It is time we went home to our beds.’

      The hot look he sent her way seared her skin everywhere it touched and it roamed her at will. As if he’d like to eat her up. Or kiss her.

      The thought of comfort in a pair of strong arms was very tempting right at this moment. It seemed like years since she’d had anyone to lean on. She forced her gaze away. ‘Let us go.’

      Outside, she locked the door and put the key in her pocket. ‘I will return it to the servant tomorrow.’ In an oppressive silence they walked across the lawn and into the woods, with only the light of the lantern to guide their steps.

      ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ she said. ‘About the miniature?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because it doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t the owner give you permission to look?’

      ‘He took the furnishings in lieu of rent,’ she said. ‘He would say the miniature also belonged to him.’

      ‘In that case, I’m afraid it does.’

      She halted. ‘Have you no compassion at all?’

      His gaze searched her face, the light from the lantern emphasising the starkness of his features, the high cheekbones, the angular jaw. The bleakness in his eyes. ‘None.’

      ‘Heaven help you, then.’

      He gave that short laugh of his. ‘It won’t.’

      She wanted to shake him. Then realisation flooded through her. ‘You are going to contact the owner, aren’t you?’

      ‘I’m afraid so.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because you are lying.’

      ‘How can you say that?’

      His lips twisted. ‘Do you want to know how I can tell when a woman is lying?’

      She stared at him. ‘How?’

      ‘Her lips are moving.’

      She recoiled. ‘What cynicism, my lord. Perhaps you have been mixing with the wrong kind of women.’

      He inclined his head a fraction. ‘Perhaps.’ He took her arm firmly and urged her forwards. ‘But you are lying, nonetheless.’

      Blast the man, she was, but not about what was important in this matter. ‘What I seek is rightfully mine.’

      ‘If so, you would not be sneaking around in the dark.’

      Implacable. She jerked her arm free of his hand. ‘If I had any other choice, do you think I wouldn’t take it?’

      Oh, dash it all, were those tears she heard in her voice? She despised tears. She swallowed the hot lump in her throat. ‘Fine. Tell whoever you wish.’ She broke into a run, slipping and sliding on the sodden ground, hearing his heavy steps behind her. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

      ‘Mrs Travenor,’ he said in low impatient tones. ‘Stop. You will fall and hurt yourself.’

      She broke through the trees and saw the light of the house ahead. She lifted her skirts higher, ran faster.

      A hand caught her arm. Swung her around. Held her upright. And then she was pressed against a hard wall of male chest. It rose and fell from running. As did hers. Heat invaded her breasts and thighs. She struggled to free her arms. He drew her closer, using only one hand, and lifted the lantern. Grim-faced he glared down at her. ‘What in hell’s name do you think you are doing?’

      ‘Let go of me.’

      If anything he tightened his grip. The heat of the day before swirled around them. She stared at his mouth. At the lips that once more tempted. She could not tear her gaze away.

      ‘Rose,’ he whispered.

      He bent his head and took her mouth.

      She grabbed his lapels, stood on tiptoes and pressed against him, kissed him back. It seemed the only way to quench the fire in her blood.

      A groan rumbled up from his chest. Her breasts tingled and tightened. She put her arms around his neck.

      On a gasp, he broke the kiss.

      A sense of loss engulfed her. Longing.

      Retaining his grip on her shoulders, he blew out the lantern and set it down. ‘Now,’ he murmured, ‘where were we?’ Both arms went around her, one hand at her nape, the other around her waist, and once more their lips melded.

      She felt as if she was flying ten feet off the ground. A dizzying, exciting sensation. Her body hummed with a longing to burrow against him. His tongue slipped through her parted lips and into her mouth. Her limbs became heavy and languid, her mind empty of all but the heat and the hunger. When his tongue retreated, she followed it with her own, tasting the darkness of his mouth, the brandy and pleasure.