Olivia tapped her daughter’s foot with her own. “Don’t you think?”
“Yes, of course. I agree with you.” That was usually the safe answer when her mother tapped her one time. Two taps was for no. Thankfully she had been paying attention enough to notice that. “I’m so sorry, mother. I’m afraid I have to freshen up.”
With a graceful curtsy, she left the room in search of the duke’s study. And, perchance she was stopped, she would obviously just say that she had gotten lost on her way to freshen up.
Bridget stealthily wandered the hallway, as stealthily as one who had never stealthed before could stealth, that is. After opening a few doors, luckily with no one behind them, she finally stumbled upon what she was sure of was his study.
Her eyes scanned the room. She walked over to the large desk with a front cover. Ducking her head underneath, she saw nothing in the darkness. It appeared that there was no bag in the room. Although, now that she thought of it, he was at the symposium again. He had probably taken his bag with him. No matter. She would return tonight. When everyone was asleep, she would come back and find it. She needed those papers. She could not lose months, perhaps a years’ worth of work.
Determined to come back, she moved toward the window and flipped the latch for the lock open. Hopefully no one would notice before she had a chance to return.
She took a deep breath to seal her resolve. The room reminded her of him. She hadn’t told her mother a few trifling details or her earlier encounter, such as the faint scent of sandalwood on his lapels, or the way his dark blonde or light brown–she couldn’t decide–hair had danced across his forehead, begging to be whisked away. By her hands of course. By his hands, she meant. She shook her head. His hands on his body. Her hands on his body. Yes, that was right, wasn’t it? She couldn’t think straight being in his study knowing that he probably read here all the time. Alone at night. In just an unbuttoned shirt and–Bah!
He was a nuisance. And now that he had one of her treasured inventions, he was even more vexing.
Her eyes caught sight of a few miniatures over the fireplace. Him and his vexing values for family. She would do nicely after never having to see him again. Starting now.
She left the study and traipsed back to her tea. Not to even think about the duke again. Not even once. Or at least, not more than a handful of times.
Chapter 4
WITHANEWFOUND,ANDaltogether unwarranted, confidence in her stealth abilities, Bridget snuck out of her house, hired a hack, and crept around the grounds until she found the window to the duke’s study. Fortunately the curtains were drawn, and she could see it was empty. She pushed on the window, and, stars above, it was still unlocked.
Bridget opened the window as slowly and noiselessly as she could. Then she heaved herself through its entrance and collapsed on the floor. Her blue frock billowed around her. She would have worn her pants-dress-suit thing, except it had torn in the collision. She really did need a new one. Perhaps a couple of them.
The room was dark save one small candle and a small fire still burning. That alerted Bridget to the fact that someone might be returning soon. That someone might be the duke who might return to continue their work. Or that someone might be a servant intent on banking the fire for the evening. Either option was not much better than a terrible outcome. She had to hurry.
Taking a few quick paces around to survey the room, then moving toward the desk, Bridget found a bag sitting atop a black leather horseshoe chair. Surely that was the bag.
In her excitement Bridget rushed over and flung open the bag. Papers went flying. Drat! She quickened her movements to collect the ones on the floor, racing to stuff them back into the bag for now. If she had to take the whole bag with her, she would. She did not want to lose track of one single paper.
All the adrenaline pounding in her ears made her deaf to the click of the door and the footsteps that followed.
Only when the body who took those steps cleared his throat, did she whirl around and face her best nightmare.
“What are you doing here, Blue?” the ducal nightmare asked.
“Must you call me that?”
“It fits, doesn’t it?” He watched as she crossed her arms. “As enraptured as I am by your ingenuity to sneak in here, I’d still like an answer to my original question. That is, if you would deign to give me an honest reply.”
There was no hiding it. No point in doing so. She would to tell him the truth and simply request her papers be returned to her. Come to think of it, why hadn’t she implemented that plan to begin with? She could have sent a note to him with the request instead of sneaking into his house? Though it was scandalous for a single lady to send a missive to an unmarried man, surely it was significantly less scandalous than secretly entering his abode. She ignored to give credence to the niggling part of her that suggested it was because she wanted to see him again.
“I’m here for my papers.”
“Oh? What papers would those be?” She followed his gaze to the bag clutched in her hand. Had he already seen her papers? Read them? What did he think of them? Had he known they were hers?
Why did she care? She didn’t. She simply did not care. His thoughts on her thoughts were a trifling thought indeed.
And then the trifling-thought-thinking duke was walking toward her. She moved behind the desk, thus placing it between them. It was no good. He went behind the desk and reached for the bag.
“I believe that’s mine.”
“Perhaps, but what’s inside is mine.”
“Doubtful, as–”
“Don’t ‘Doubtful’ me. You think I would sneak into your house just to see you again?” She could feel her neck warming and prayed that no color gave her away.
