Damnable shame he was not fated to be with her. Soon, he would have to leave. He’d return to his existence. And she…she’d go on with her life.
He knew that. In the long run, it would be for the best…
But that didn’t change one immutable fact.
He loved her.
Chapter Twenty
The morning sky was a deep gray, tinged with shades of pink and gold. Peering from the bay window in her study, Alex took it all in. Somehow, everything seemed different, though she knew nothing had changed. Nothing, that is, other than her relationship with Benedict.
He’d loved her so tenderly the night before. Every touch. Every kiss. Every word he’d murmured in her ear had seemed designed to bring her to a level of bliss unlike any she’d ever known.
She hugged her arms to her chest, sighing as a little shiver of memory swept over her. Even now, she felt the tiny aftershocks of sensation, the embers of a passion more powerful than she’d imagined possible. Her hunger for him seemed a flame that might never be extinguished.
There had been no promises nor vows. No declarations of love. Somehow, no words had been necessary. She’d cherished the tenderness in every press of his lips to hers.
He loved her. Just as she loved him.
But she was not a fool. She knew better than to believe that love would be enough. She must content herself with the here and now. A future with Benedict was by no means guaranteed. A demanding restlessness filled him, a drive to achieve more than his competitors, to accumulate a fortune that might rival an industrialist’s wealth. Would that unflagging ambition come between them…again?
He’d left her bed in the wee hours of the night. As it was, they’d likely created quite a stir. The guards prided themselves on their discretion, but they would feel a duty to report the hour at which Benedict had arrived as well as the time when he’d departed. With any luck, the security detail would believe that they were simply discussing the details of the investigation.
She smiled to herself. Not likely, especially given the flush she’d no doubt borne on her face upon exiting Benedict’s carriage. It would not have taken a brilliant detective to deduce they’d enjoyed more than a rigorous debate on the way home from Mr. Stockwell’s blasted ball.
As she stood at the window, relishing the new day and the peace that filled her heart, she spotted one of the guards, a tall, lean fellow with a shock of blond hair, eyeing her in return. She tugged her dressing gown around her, snugging up the sash.
Turning from the window, she walked to her desk. Was it possible that she might proceed through the day with this feeling of lingering contentment? It almost seemed a shame to get down to work.
But she had tasks to complete. They would not wait. She had to begin the search for the map.
Glancing through the journal Professor Stockwell had left in her care, she skimmed over his notes. Had she missed a vital clue? If he’d entrusted her with something so crucial as the map, the professor would have found a way to let her know.
A sigh escaped as she set the notebook aside. Earlier, she’d tested the pages for a heat-responsive ink. Perhaps further examination was in order. She was certain the Colton Agency would possess more sophisticated means to detect some sign of a hidden message.
“Will you be having tea this morning?” Mrs. Thomas asked, peeping into the room.
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
“I’ve brewed a pleasant blend this morning. Would you care for lemon?”
“Why, yes,” Alex replied as she reached into her top drawer for the last letter she’d received from the professor.
Yet again, she read the missive. Was there a word she’d overlooked that might have been a hint? A clue? Anything that might set her on the right path?
The housekeeper returned with a silver tray bearing her tea. To the left of a china cup decorated with blue and pink flowers, she’d placed two slices of lemon. A buttery scone sat to the right of the beverage.
“Thank you,” Alex said, taking a bite of the biscuit. The flavor melted in her mouth. Heavenly. Almost as delectable as Benedict’s kisses.
She reached for the tea and took a sip, then squeezed a bit of lemon juice into the cup. She tasted the hot beverage, savoring the earthy flavor.
Her gaze lit on the lemons. An image of Jennie as a girl flitted into her thoughts—her sister, composing a message with a mixture she’d concocted from lemon juice.
The letter.
Good heavens, she had not thought to test it.
Taking care to protect the missive, she exposed the stationery to the heat of the teapot.
