His gray-green eyes drifted over her bosom for a moment before coming back to her face.
“Checking on me, my lord?”
“Perhaps. Or possibly I’m merely hungry.” He nodded to the tray Meg had brought earlier. Pushing up from the door, Bascomb passed Edwina to look out the window. Pacing before the glass, he absently pushed back a wave of inky hair from his brow, all the while giving Edwina an excellent view of his backside and the long, muscular lines of his legs. It was akin to watching a large bear prowl about.
Longing trailed over her skin. Desire the likes of which she’d never known. It was becoming incredibly problematic.
“How are the ledgers coming along?”
“Quite well, my lord.” More inconsistencies had been discovered. All varied and spread out over the ledgers of each secretary’s brief period of employment, done in such a way that one automatically would assume the person before one had merely made a mistake. Each secretary’s handwriting was different, making it impossible to tell who had made specific entries and when. And with no one person checking the ledgers, as Bascomb should, it presented the perfect opportunity.
Perhaps Edwina had far more experience in ledgers being doctored, for she’d seen her father make the same sort of “mistakes” to hide the family’s financial situation. Earlier, in reviewing the ledgers, she’d seen notations from yet another stonemason named Hodges. The ledgers indicated Hodges had been paid on a particular date, yet there were two requests for payment from the same Hodges. One very tersely worded.
Edwina walked over to the desk and picked up one of the demands from Hodges. “Do you remember a stonemason named Hodges?”
Bascomb shrugged. “I seem to recall a man by that name. Why?”
“He wasn’t compensated properly for the work he did in repairing part of the—” She held up a sheet of paper she’d taken from the desk. “—corner on the southwest side. He has written for payment. More than once.”
Bascomb came over to the desk, the scent of him and her awareness of his larger form sending a delicious pricking sensation along her arms. “An oversight on Fielding’s part? Or one of the others’?”
“The sum was noted paid during Merrywimple’s tenure.” But Edwina didn’t think the handwriting to be his. In fact, she was certain it was not.
“Spindly little nitwit. Looked like a good gust of wind might take him up into the clouds. Nervous disposition.” Bascomb stared down at the ledger, a small wrinkle forming between his brows.
“You’ve said that about all your previous secretaries.”
“Untrue. Worthless was stout.”
“I meant the nervous disposition. Not their inability to survive a strong breeze.” Edwina pursed her lips, which drew her employer’s gaze from the ledger to her mouth. That their attraction to each other was mutual was not up for debate. “How long, may I ask, did Merrywimple serve in this position?”
“Mrs. Page would know for sure. He arrived shortly after I inherited. From London.”
“Did any of them ever mention finding irregularities in the ledgers that they assumed the previous secretary had made?”
Bascomb quirked a brow. “Well, yes. Larkstub—
“Larkspur,” she corrected him. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
Bascomb waved a hand, but a tiny smile ghosted his lips. “It doesn’t matter. He did mention it to me one morning over breakfast.” He paused. “He would only eat boiled eggs for breakfast. Had I known that, I may not have hired him. Imagine, only eating lukewarm, hardened eggs each day.”
Edwina had to force her lips into a line to keep from smiling. “Boiled eggs would have been a deterrent to employment?”
“Possibly. At any rate, Larkwith—”
“Larkspur.” He was deliberately trying to provoke her, to what end she wasn’t sure. Though it was vastly amusing.
“Larkspur,” he emphasized, “thought Merrywimple had made an error in recording the proper cost of two horses I had Thomas purchase. But I never had a chance to question him further because he resigned a short time later. Said he wouldn’t spend another night here no matter how much I paid him.”
“And even after such a discussion, did you never seek to review the ledgers yourself? Surely you would find that necessary as often as you change secretaries. Perhaps even personally handle your accounts.”
Bascomb’s hawkish features froze. Ice dripped from his words as he addressed her. “If I was in charge of the ledgers, there would be no reason to hire a secretary, Collins, now would there?”
“I meant no disrespect, my lord.” Her gaze settled on the scar. Bascomb didn’t handle the accounts himself because she suspected hecouldn’t. That was the other conclusion she’d reached over the last few days. Southwell, her cousin, had once traveled to Egypt with a man who had taken a blow to the temple during a fight. Though he bore only a small scar on the forehead from the incident, his friend had trouble reading for more than an hour at a time after the fight. He claimed the words would jump about the page and cause his head to ache. Even reading a map presented a problem.
“Do the numbers cause your head to ache, my lord? Since the accident?” Edwina lifted a hand but then lowered it abruptly when he growled.
Bascomb backed away from her, snatched an apple off the tray Meg had left, and went to the window. Taking a savage bite, he ignored her.
