How Not To Marry An Earl. Christine Merrill
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to the truth that she could not let a little weather prevent her from finishing what she’d begun when he’d interrupted her. Of course, she needed an umbrella more than a ladder. She had been able to feel the edge of the niche when she had stood on the grate, but had not been able to reach the depth of it.
But with the arrival of an auditor, the day of reckoning had come and there was not a minute to spare for further preparation. She would find a stool in the kitchen of the other house and make do. Either the box was there, or it was not. She had to know.
She pushed through the dower-house door and slammed it behind her, allowing herself a moment of unfeminine pique now that there was no one around to hear. Then, she hurried to the sitting room, where the chimney was.
‘I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.’
Charity gasped and clutched the door frame, startled out of her breath at the words. Mr Potts had removed the holland covers from one of the chairs by the hearth and was sitting comfortably, his long legs stretched out before him.
It took a moment to think of an appropriate response. The cold, rational part of her brain, the part that she could not seem to keep silent, commented that it was rare to be at a loss for words. Or at a loss for breath. It was rare that she was surprised at all. She was accustomed to outthinking the people around her with ease. Yet this stranger had bested her on her home turf.
‘You seem to be winded.’ He leaned forward and pulled the cover off the chair opposite him with a flick of his wrist. ‘Why don’t you sit, as well.’ Then, he smiled. ‘Perhaps I should light a fire for us to chase away the damp of the room.’
He was expecting her to cry out No! and confirm his suspicions that there was something up the chimney. She had no intention of obliging him. ‘How did you know I would come here? And how did you arrive before I did?’
‘What other reason would you have for putting me in a room that faced the back of the house and not the drive?’ He held up a hand. ‘Do not tell me it is because I am an honoured guest. I got the distinct impression before that you wished I would go to perdition.’
‘Not to hell. Just back to America. Or London, at least. Even after much preparation, the house is in a frightful state and not ready to be inventoried.’ She smiled and fiddled with her glasses, doing her best to appear young and out of her depth. ‘My sisters are both just married and Grandmama is travelling on the Continent. It is only just me now.’
‘But none of that explains why you would put me in the best room in the house,’ he said. ‘I assumed you wanted to finish what you were doing without my noticing your departure from the house. You did not come all the way here to close a flue. You were searching for something.’
She touched her hand to her chest, feigning outrage. ‘What reason would I have to lie about such a thing?’
‘I have no idea,’ he replied. ‘But I wanted to find out. It would have been impolite to ask you. It is one thing to accuse a woman you’ve just met of lying and quite another to catch her in said lie.’ He stretched his arms, lacing his fingers and cracking his knuckles. ‘So I shimmied down the drainpipe running beside the window of my room and came back here to see if you would return.’
‘If I hadn’t?’
‘Then I’d have said nothing more of my suspicions.’
Her heart was still beating faster than normal, probably from the shock he had given her when she’d come into the room. And once again, the rational voice spoke in her mind. Or rather, it laughed derisively. Now she was unsure what she should say next. It was a new feeling to be unsure of herself. She did not think she liked it.
But he seemed to be enjoying it immensely. ‘It will save us both some time if you simply admit that I am right. Then I will help you look for whatever it is you are hunting for and we can return to the main house.’
‘I might not be searching for anything,’ she said. ‘I might have been hiding something.’
‘I interrupted you before you could complete what you were doing. You had nothing in your hand when you came out of the chimney and I felt no bulges in your skirt that might indicate you’d concealed an item in your pocket. And the minute you could get rid of me, you came back to finish your search. It is far more likely you were looking for something than leaving something.’
His logic was not perfect, but it was better than she usually encountered. And he had let slip something far more important than a demonstration of deductive reasoning. He had all but announced that, while they had been riding, he had not just been supporting her to keep her from falling. He had held her tight enough to discern the contents of her pockets. Her heart was thumping in her chest, both from the memory of his hands on her and the subtlety of his reason for it.
He had searched her. And she had let him to it, behaving like a foolish school girl, excited to be in the arms of a handsome man. If she was not careful, he would run her like a greyhound after a hare, destroying her plans for an independent future. She must be much more careful.
‘Suppose you are correct in your assumptions,’ she said. ‘Why would you offer to help me?’ She watched for a slight change in expression that might tell her what he was really thinking.
‘I assume that what you are seeking is a part of the estate. We both want it to be found and returned. Don’t we?’ He steepled his fingers and stared at her as though daring her to deny it.
She should lie and tell him that, of course, that was what she’d been doing. To tell the truth was to surrender before he had a chance to attack. If he had the slightest inkling of what was in the chimney, he’d have the whole works under lock and key before she could save even the smallest portion for herself.
‘If there is something missing from the entail, it is only right that it should be returned,’ she said, choosing the hypothetical middle ground, watching for his reaction.
‘Or, I could help you find the thing you are looking for and look the other way,’ he added, his expression pleasant but opaque. ‘I could decide that it was none of my business.’ Now he was the one waiting for her response.
She gave the one that most suited the situation and pretended to be shocked. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’
‘For compensation, of course. It is time for us to lay our cards on the table, Miss Strickland. Whatever you are doing here, I suspect it is something you shouldn’t. I will keep your secret, if you pay me to do so.’
‘You will keep my secret for now,’ she corrected. ‘Until you decide I have not paid you enough and come back for more. That is how blackmail works, is it not?’
He laughed. ‘Very true.’ Then he said, in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘I am new at it and have not had the time to think through all the ramifications.’
‘Then how about this one,’ she said. ‘I run back to the house and announce that the auditor is threatening me and I do not think he is an honest man. The servants believe me and contact the Earl. Since he barely knows you, he takes the word of family over anything you might say and fires you immediately.’
Mr Potts gave a brief start of surprise, then clapped his hands. ‘Bravo, Miss Charity. Bravo.’
He should be calling her Miss Strickland. Though as he had been patting her hips before, he probably thought he was entitled to some familiarity. ‘I did not give you permission to use my Christian name, Potts,’ she said, dropping the honorific from his to remind him he was little better than a servant.
He gave an apologetic incline of his head. ‘My apologies, Miss Strickland. But my rudeness aside, we seem to have arrived at an impasse. What are we to do?’ Then he looked at her for the answer.
She considered. It did not really matter if he was a paragon of virtue, or a total villain. The typical masculine response to a situation like this was usually much the same: to go to the chimney and take what was in it. She was smaller and weaker, and she could not stop him. But Potts was confusing