Jackson reached for a pastry as well, and Gwendolyn poured him a cup of tea and held it out. He almost didn’t take it. If he did, their hands would touch, and he was finding leaving her alone to be a trickier business than he’d imagined. One could not merely snuff out attraction or other deeper emotions like fingers pinching a candle wick. He managed to take the cup without even coming close to her fingers. He grasped the edge of the cup on his side and slipped it out of her grasp.
He’d never let an opportunity to accidently caress her pass.Never. His muscles jerked to try again, make it right this time by sliding his skin against hers, an intimacy his body screamed for. He grit his teeth instead and poured the scalding beverage down his throat. An excellent reminder—she did not want him.
She refilled her cup and lifted it to her lips. “You’ve only searched this desk so far.”
He nodded, slumped in his chair.
She took a sip of her tea. “Then we’ve an entire manor of possibilities.”
Lord Eaden stood, paced, and chewed his scone at the same time. “True.”
“Do you have your notebook and pencil with you?” she asked Jackson.
“No. But I found one in the desk.” He nodded toward the pile of documents he’d tossed onto the center of the desk. “Somewhere in there.”
“Ah. I see it.” She swept to the desk and opened the notebook to a new page. “I’ll make a list of all the rooms from most to least likely. The kitchen, for instance, would not be a room Mr. Cavendish would have frequented, I assume.”
Lord Eaden bellowed a laugh. “You’d assume wrong. Carlisle loved kitchens. Said they were the heart of home, kept everyone fed. Put the kitchen at the top of the list.”
“No.” Jackson popped to his feet and strode to her side. “Put his bedroom at the top. Then his private study adjacent to the bedroom. I remember he liked to write in different places, and those were two he preferred over all others.” He gave a small chuckle. He’d forgotten about all this for so long. Had wanted to forget. “He insisted on having a writing desk in every room.”
Gwendolyn pressed the pencil tip to the rough paper and added rooms as the two men called them out.
“What about the old castle?” Lord Eaden asked.
Jackson shook his head. “No. He often went there, but he did so to think, not write. Hmm.” He stood and paced. “He did outfit the old banquet hall, near the fireplace where the roof was still intact, with a rug and chair. He liked his comfort while thinking. We could check there, but I doubt he’d hide it where moisture and mildew could destroy it.” He wrinkled his nose. “If the rug’s still there, no doubt it’s succumbed to those very ills.”
Lord Eaden wagged his finger. “Excellent point.”
Gwendolyn pressed her pen into the paper, and Jackson looked over her shoulder, tried not to breathe her in. But he couldn’t very well hold his breath. Man needed air to live. Mint and flowers anddamn.Focus.
She’d writtenchair and rug, banquet hall,andcastledown on the page, at the very bottom of her list.
“Best to be thorough,” she explained. “Do either of you know if he completed it? The manuscript.”
“Unlikely.” Lord Eaden yawned and stretched his arms behind his head. “If he had, he would have shared it with me. Speaking of the castle, I promised Sarah and the children to walk with them to it today. Will the two of you join us? It’s a glorious day, and you should both be out and about, not cooped up inside.”
Jackson plopped into the chair behind his father’s desk. “No. I’ll search this room in its entirety and then a few more rooms as well.”
Gwendolyn peered at the tea cart across the room. “And I’d like to find some more tea and then the library.”
“Very well.” Lord Eaden strode for the door, hovered, giving them a final opportunity to join him. “Suit yourselves.”
She waved his uncle away. “Have fun, Lord Eaden.”
Uncle Henry pointed at them. “Do not tear one another to pieces, children. Behave.”
“I never do anything but, Lord Eaden,” Gwendolyn said.
“I absolutely make no promises,” Jackson assured him.
Uncle Henry’s chuckle echoed down the hallway as he left them alone.
Gwendolyn cocked her head at Jackson, all business. “Show me the library, Mr. Cavendish.”
“This way.” He turned to the bookshelf, pulled a latch, and opened a door in the wall. An entire door-shaped wedge of the bookcase swung inward.
She followed him through into the other room and gasped.
