Page 48 of Better Off Wed

“That the Latin primer and his copy of Euclid are similarly error-prone? Quite possible, I’d say.” His hand shot out—for his notes, she thought at first. Then his fingers closed around hers. “There could be a dozen more.”

“A dozen? How would Thornton, or anyone, determine which cypher to use when a coded message arrives?”

“They’ll likely have a code for that too. A single word would be enough. Who would bat an eye at a letter that began by mentioning having enjoyed a favorite dish?”

My, but his hand was warm where it rested against her thigh. “Or playing a game of chess.”

“They cannot all be as memorable as ours,” he said and winked.

Her heart leaped, like a roe starting at danger. It was entirely too easy to want him when he looked at her that way; worse, when she herself was flushed with success. She had ferreted out another of his secrets, rather like a code breaker herself.

Her conscience prickled warningly at that notion, though she tried to ignore it. She had not let that beast trouble her for some time, at least where men were concerned.

He revealed who and what he is, whispered a quiet voice inside, because he trusts you.

Ruthlessly, she probed her heart, her mind, hoping to rouse the part of herself that earlier had found Jeremy naïve, a means to an end. But she found only softness toward him, in the place where a plate of armor ought to be.

Well, it was really no surprise that she would feel something like desire for a man who was handsome and gentle—

And brilliant, piped up that annoying voice.

Laura glanced down at the notes. Very well. Jeremy was handsome, gentle, and brilliant. Wanting such a man was understandable. Needing him was, at present, unavoidable.

More than that? Impossible.

As if he also recognized the impossibility, Jeremy squeezed her fingers once, released them, and stood. “I’ve got to get back to London. I’ll make some excuse about the house party and—”

“What about Miss Godfrey, Dora, and the others?” Laura asked quietly, to disguise a rush of panic at this sudden change of plans, at their inevitable separation.

“They’ll be safest when Thornton is gone for good.”

“But—” she protested automatically, though it was a premise with which she could not argue.

Jeremy smiled knowingly at her and plucked his notes from her fingertips. “This time, my dear, I think Lord Sterling must be the one to set the trap for the villain.”

My dear. He was teasing, yet her heart warmed to those words. When he set about filling a plate from the breakfast tray and then handed it to her, as if thinking of her needs first was the most ordinary thing in the world to him, she felt the last reserves of steel in her spine, the ones she relied upon when things were toughest, begin to melt.

She reached for the plate, but he did not immediately release it. “I’ve forgotten Mr. Phelps,” he said, his brows knit together over this fresh puzzle. “He’s sure to say you shouldn’t travel with that ankle.”

“I had wondered if perhaps you intended to leave me here.”

Annoyance twitched across his features at the suggestion. “You’re the one I was sent to find. Besides, I’ll need your help in concocting an excuse for our abrupt departure.”

It was hardly a declaration, but still her spirits lifted at the suggestion that he needed her too. “Have you seen Repent at Leisure? No?” Probably for the best. “Leave it to me, then. But I think before Mr. Phelps arrives, you should shave.”

“The part calls for boyish charm, eh?” he asked, scrubbing one hand over his jaw.

The gesture made her own fingers tingle. “Not exactly.” In fact, his present roguish appearance was more suited to the role he was about, unwittingly, to play.

But she needed to concentrate, and she was struggling to keep herself from imagining how his lips would feel against her skin now, that hint of roughness.

Oh, she was helpless. Hopeless.

How utterly foolish of her to have asked him for just one kiss.

Chapter 14

Jeremy was wiping the last traces of shaving soap from his jaw when a knock at the door heralded the arrival of Lady Thornton and Mr. Phelps. As he hurried to knot his cravat, he listened to them greet Laura in the soft, concerned tones generally reserved for the very ill. He could picture her wan smile of reply as well as the exasperated roll of her eyes that hid behind it, though the countess and the physician would never notice the deception. She was an excellent actress, just as she’d said, more than capable of charming when and whom she wished.