“Kit, I’m not going to get lost going to my room,” Jasper grumbled. His voice was muted by the door and the long hallway.
“Lost is the last thing that worries me,” Yarwood grumbled back.
Annabel dithered, staring at the letter and the map, knowing they might be the proof Spencer needed, and that Jasper would go to ground if he found them missing. He’d also know who took them. There would be no hiding from him.
The floorboards creaked under their steps, growing louder with each word.
She put everything back the way she’d found them, shoved the box under the bed, and stood facing the door. She locked her trembling knees and straightened her spine as the latch turned.
“Given yesterday’s incident, you should have locked your door,” Yarwood said.
“I’m not locking my door in my own house.” Jasper’s voice grew clearer as the door opened. He glanced inside, and the eye she could see widened. “And I don’t need you anymore tonight.” He looked back for a moment, giving her a glimpse of his tense jaw and the way his hair curled around his ear. “Thank you, Kit.”
Annabel held her breath as he entered the room and the latch snicked behind him.
“There’s a rumor downstairs that a young lady is waiting in my room.” He stepped forward. “You aren’t who I expected.”
Annabel stepped back and gulped as the back of her knees struck the mattress. “I heard the same rumor.” She cleared her throat to rid it of the tremor. “I came to make sure Elizabeth wasn’t here.”
Jasper sipped his drink but kept his eyes on her. “That’s the only reason?”
Annabel refused to blink as she held his stare. Her neck ached from looking up at him. “What other reason would there be?”
He set the empty glass on the table near the door before stepping toward her. “Every other young lady in London wants something from me. Why would you be any different?”
He removed his tailcoat and loosened his cravat, his muscles moving under his shirt in a way that warmed her insides as much as the fire in the hearth warmed her skin. “Why are you undressing?” she asked.
A lazy smile spread across his face. “I always undress in my rooms, especially after an evening of being trussed up like a Christmas goose.” He removed his cuff links. “But you didn’t answer my question. What makes you different than any other lady in London?”
After two weeks of bantering and baiting, he’s learned nothing about me. He tormented me for nothing more than sport, and I’ve received nothing but empty words from a self-important rogue who believes himself special because of a title. Annabel shoved her disappointment and anger aside. Neither would do her any good. They never had. “I’m smart enough to know better.”
“Are you?” He loomed over her now, one hand on the bedpost, close enough she could see the shadowy stubble on his jaw and smell the spice of his cologne. For a man who’d had a drink in his hand all evening, his eyes were unusually sharp. His stare pricked her skin.
Or her conscience.
“I’m taking Elizabeth back to London tomorrow.” She stepped past him and walked to the door, willing herself not to run.
“That would be wise,” he murmured.
The latch gave easily under Annabel’s fingers, and the door opened without a sound. She had one foot in the shadows and the other still in the warmth of the room when he caught her from behind and ran his hands from her shoulders to her hips.
She wriggled for freedom, but it was futile. “What are you doing?”
“Making certain my things are still mine.” He pushed his fingers through the folds of her skirts.
She spun on him, put her boot in his foot the way her father had taught her, and put her hands flat against his solid, warm chest. “Get your bloody hands off me.”
Though he winced in pain, he didn’t budge. “Every young lady has a place to hide a handkerchief.” He lowered his head until they were nose to nose. “Turn out your pocket.”
She did as he asked and glared at him. “Empty as when I arrived, your lordship.”
“I believe I saw someone walking this way.” Charlotte’s sly words were accompanied by the glow of candles at the head of the hallway.
Annabel pushed herself free but lost her footing when her boot tangled in the carpet. Jasper’s hold on her arm, and then her waist, kept her from crashing to the floor.
“Miss Pearce?” called Madame Theodore in a squeal that was too practiced to be shocked. “Is that you?”
“Blast,” Annabel whispered as she fought to stand upright.
“Double blast,” Jasper muttered as he stepped between her and their audience.
Chapter Seven
“You were such a loving child. I cannot understand when, or why, you grew to be so vexing.”
“Don’t shout so, Mum.” Jasper leaned against the back of the chair he’d been occupying for the last half-hour. “You’ll give yourself a megrim.”
“It would serve you right if my head caved in.” The Countess of Lambourn put her fingers to her temples, careful to keep them out of her perfectly arranged hair. “A chaperone, Jasper?”
“Baron Chilworth’s oldest daughter.” It was a wonder that it took less than one Season for Society to forget a family that had been on everyone’s invitation lists. If Chilworth’s speculation had been successful, the ton would have been lining up at his door.
“Who has no dowry and, if rumor is to be believed, may soon have no home.” Mother leaned back against lace pillows that matched her silver-white hair. “They will be an albatross around your neck.”
“You are assuming a great deal.” Not the least of which was that Annabel Pearce would allow her family to be homeless. “She isn’t one to trap a man into marriage.”
“Yet she was in your room. In your arms. And you were half undressed.” She closed her eyes and heaved a weary sigh. “What possessed you? No, wait, don’t answer that.”
