Page 44 of Better Off Wed

Upon reflection, however, she wondered whether his reservation stemmed from the same source as his pain. Not from her, but from something in his past, something inside himself. What might have happened to make an attractive, intelligent young gentleman decide never to…?

An ironic laugh rose her lips. Was not she an attractive, intelligent lady who had reached much the same decision? True, she had always considered the marital state as offering considerably more benefit to gentlemen than to ladies. Unless of course the lady was desperate, which she, thank God, was not.

Certainly not desperate enough to be thinking with any organ other than her brain. When had she ever let her desires dictate her behavior—other than a desire for vengeance, of course? Now, more than ever, she needed to be Lady Sterling, not Laura. She needed to put her investigative skills to use.

Even if it meant spending more time than she liked thinking of Jeremy.

Right, then. Captain Addison had the same commanding officer as her brother. A coincidence? Unlikely. She’d always considered Fitz to be something of an idler. But Jeremy certainly did not strike her as such. Had she misjudged? Really, what sort of officers were allowed to hang about London, popping in for tea with their aunt or taking their sister to the theater? Or gallivanting off to Kent for a fortnight…?

No ordinary soldiers, that was certain. Would it be entirely too egotistical to think the British army really was after her?

Did they hope Lady Sterling would lead them to something important, something valuable?

Or had she done so already?

In the darkness, the memory of Jeremy’s voice came to her: You were telling me about…a book. Did you say your brother was involved somehow?

She screwed shut her eyes and tried to remember everything Fitz had said and done the day he’d called unexpectedly on Aunt Mildred, who had been from home, and spotted an old book lying on the table by the window—the one she’d taken from Lord Thornton, with Mrs. Croft’s help. He’d lifted the green cover, trying to pass off his nosiness as idle curiosity. Had he reacted somehow to what he’d seen when the title page was laid bare? Had he thumbed through the pages? Made a noise in his throat? Or was she embellishing the memory?

She couldn’t be certain. She could remember her own surprise at his interest; Fitz had never been much of one for books. Even greater had been her astonishment at his subsequent offer to see what could be got for it, after she’d lied about both its provenance and its purpose. She had assumed he’d intended to perform a kindness for their aunt, nothing more. But what if his motives had been…well, not selfish, exactly? Not altruistic, either.

Jeremy’s interest in books struck her as more in keeping with his character, though she hardly knew him well enough to make any such claim. But he had a scholar’s pallor, and he remembered not just the plots of plays, but scenes and lines and actors. Fitz might have squired his sister to every performance at Covent Garden for a season and still been immune to such knowledge.

Of course, what was truly striking was Jeremy’s interest in the story of one particular book, and in Lord Thornton’s prior possession of it. Jeremy might have been sent to follow her, but he did not regret the fact that she’d led him here.

She recalled the way he had scanned the shelves downstairs, the principles guiding his search still unclear to her. Once she had told him about the cookbook, he clearly expected there would be something more in Thornton’s library—but more of what? What did the earl have that Jeremy—and the British army—wanted? Her fingertips crept down to test the small tender place behind her knee left by The Noble Game of Chess. Why had he secreted the little book out of the study? Had he found what he sought?

Had she?

Slowly, she drew her fingers up the inside of her leg. The ache at the joining of her thighs had quieted to an occasional throb of heightened awareness. Like the chess queen, she had only to lift the hem of her shift to silence that second pulse—for the time being, anyway. With her first finger, she stirred the sensitive hairs through the thin cotton; the lightest brush, and still it made her breath quicken.

Whether it was wrong to touch herself was not a question she ever entertained. It harmed no one and cleared her head for more important things. But would it be wrong to touch herself and think of Jeremy? Disrespectful, somehow, to imagine his blunt-tipped fingers in place of her own, raising her shift and parting her crisp curls?

If he came back at just that moment and caught her, glimpsed her flushed cheeks by the light of his candle, heard the telltale slickness and saw the busy rhythm of her hand beneath the linens—oh—he would blush too, at first, and look away. She could almost picture him, there by the door. But then… then—ooh—the man who had kissed her with such hunger would surely step closer, his eyes dark with understanding and, yes, desire. Would he be content to watch or would he set aside the candlestick and join her in the bed? Would he touch himself? Touch her—?

“Aaaah.” Her climax shuddered from her, unmuffled and unrepentant.

The door to the bedchamber remained closed.

After a few moments, as her breath and pulse returned to their normal, steady pace, her tangled thoughts began to smooth and order themselves, like ruffled waters after a storm.

She had been moved by Jeremy’s affection for his sister and his grief over the loss of his father. She had been intrigued by the idea that he knew her brother, knew her, knew things about her, like her fear of the rain, that she doubted even Fitz understood.

She should never have let herself lose sight of the fact that this man was interested not in Laura Hopkins, but in Lady Sterling.

Well, he had found her. Accompanied her to Thornton Hall. And now, thanks to her injured ankle and a spur-of-the-moment decision to claim he was her husband, she required his help. But if he found something in the study that brought the earl down, it would be worth it.

Needing Jeremy was only a temporary arrangement.

And wanting him, she thought as she tugged her shift back down to her knees where it belonged, was a problem that could be easily and efficiently addressed.

Chapter 13

“Were you ill, milady?”

In the dressing table mirror, Laura saw Dinah’s reflection tilt her head to the side and watch with uneasy fascination as Laura dampened her fingers and twisted sections of her hair, each time leaving behind a springy curl. The early morning sunlight had given Laura’s golden locks a reddish hue.

“Pardon?”