The longer she stayed up here, staring at the floor, the sweatier her palms became. “I’ll come down at my own pace. Now stop talking and be patient.”
She wiped her palms on her skirt one at a time before stepping down, careful to put both feet on one rung before stepping down again. Yarwood didn’t say another word, but he heaved a great sigh with every other step.
Annabel put both feet on solid ground and, ignoring her trembling knees, faced Yarwood. “Lord Ramsbury instructed me to make myself comfortable in the library.” She wasn’t quite certain of Yarwood’s place in the household, but invoking the marquess’s name was her best chance of putting him in it.
“And you took that to mean risking your neck on a ladder to see what was kept out of reach?” Yarwood arched an eyebrow.
The jibe was too close to the mark for comfort. “I was making myself familiar with the collection and wondered if the more intriguing works were kept out of reach of careless visitors.”
It wasn’t necessarily a lie, and Annabel hoped that the heat flushing her cheeks could be put down to irritation rather than embarrassment. His imperious glare was discouraging.
What’s the worst he can do, send me back to London in disgrace? It would further ruin her reputation, and it would tarnish Elizabeth’s chances. But it would serve Mr. Spencer right for concocting this foolish plot.
She stepped away and pulled the first recognizable title from the shelf. She’d read Currer Bell’s novel so often she could recite it without thinking. The weight of the book was comforting. It would be good company over the next few weeks. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Yarwood stepped forward, blocking the door. “What did you find atop the ladder?”
“Nothing but numbers.” Annabel waved the statement away. “Complete gibberish.” She hoped her gritted teeth resembled a smile. It was galling to play the role the ton demanded of her. Perhaps if she scandalized herself enough, she’d never have to play a simpleton again.
She tilted her head back to look her accuser in the eyes, refusing to be cowed by his height and his stern expression. Poor or not, she was still a baron’s daughter.
Yarwood glared back at her and refused to move.
The front door banged open and slammed shut.
“Annabel!”
Elizabeth’s wail echoed from the entry hall’s stone walls and high ceiling. Had they been home, Annabel would have thought little of it. She’d learned early that Elizabeth wailed at the slightest provocation. But they weren’t home, and the girl knew how to behave in public.
Besides that, rushing to her charge’s aid was the perfect excuse to avoid further interrogation.
Annabel stepped around Yarwood and strode to the door. “Miss Spencer needs me, sir.”
*
“Gentlemen.” Jasper thumped his whiskey tumbler on the table to interrupt the rowdy laughter around the table. “Shall we join the ladies for a respite before billiards?”
In truth, he couldn’t wait to vacate a room fogged by cigars. The smoke burned his eyes, and the scent ruined the taste of his whiskey.
“If we must,” Viscount Raines grumbled as he pushed himself upright. “Though an evening of music seems damned dull.”
“Consider it penance for being banned from the White Rose.” Wareham cackled as he stood. “You’re doomed to polite ladies, Raines. Might as well grow accustomed to the boredom.”
Jasper stood as well, signaling the end of the discussion. “We can’t very well leave them to their own devices for the month.” He ambled to the sideboard and lifted a decanter of gin. “And at least we won’t be required to dance.”
Kit opened the door, letting the fresh air in while encouraging the gentlemen into the hall.
Jasper poured a drink from the nearly full decanter, then took a refreshing sip. It was a small blessing that the ton considered gin to be beneath them.
As he sipped, he stared into the mirror. What had Raines done to be banned from a brothel, and could it be used against him? Did anyone else know? As luck would have it, the former madam of the White Rose was a recent acquaintance who, Jasper believed, saw the world the same way as he did. If she had banned Raines, she wouldn’t balk at sharing the reason.
Kit approached, his reflection grim. “Will you reconsider?”
The man was like a hound on the trail of a fox. “No.”
“Jasper, she cannot be trusted.” Kit rested his hands on the sideboard, keeping his arms stiff. “She was searching for more than something to read.”
“And all she found were my grandfather’s five-year-old accounts.” All the current ones were locked in the attic for the duration of the party.
“You know as well as I that a determined, intelligent searcher will find something if given enough time.”
Given his discussion with Annabel in the maze this morning, determined and intelligent was an apt description. When she let her guard down and spoke her mind, however, she was intriguing. “And if we march into the music room and confront her? For reading? Everyone in the house will shut their mouths and close ranks. We’ll learn nothing.” Jasper pointed his glass at Kit. “You know that.”
“Then we can bring her in here.” Kit’s chin was at an angle that reminded him of maths class at Eton.
“Two men alone with an unmarried young lady?” Jasper chuckled. “That will go well.”
His pocket watch ticked in his waistcoat. The longer they waited between dinner and billiards, the more sober the men would be. It would make for a long night.
Kit met his gaze in the mirror. “You’re going to stand there and tell me you aren’t worried?”
Jasper was more concerned about Annabel tumbling from the library ladder and breaking her neck. Those ledgers were unwieldy, even for him. “If we send her home, we’ll never know what she was hoping to find.”
“Then we keep an eye on her?” Kit stood tall and straightened his coat. “And hope her fruitless searching delivers Spencer into our hands.”
Jasper had no doubt that Annabel’s employer was behind her unladylike investigating. The challenge was to discover what Reginald Spencer wanted before she gave up looking.
He loved a good challenge.
