Page 27 of Lyon on the Loose

“I don’t wish to alarm you, but yes.”

“Then we should tell everyone—warn them.”

He raised a finger to her lips, its warm pressure stealing her breath. “If we tell everyone, who knows what other secrets would come to light? As I’ve said before, I would have no difficulty giving you the protection of my name if anyone were to find out what befell us on the journey here. But it would be kinder to you if no one found out. Because if they learn what Treadwell’s motives were in trying to kidnap us, they will also learn about your elopement. I won’t downplay our situation—it is a perilous one, and we must keep our heads if we want to come out of this unscathed. Both those dastardly criminals must be thrown in jail.”

He was staying in order to protect her? Lissy’s anger at him did an inconvenient thing. It wavered. She couldn’t rail at him for being protective. Nor could she be angry about the way his thumb now replaced his finger, tracing the seam of her lips and cupping her chin for the briefest moment before he stepped away. Even though he was taking an enormous liberty . . .

“Is that everything?” Her voice sounded soft—seductive, even—and she flushed deeply.

“Not exactly. There’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you—”

“I think I know.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You do?”

“Yes. Your shoulder is paining you greatly.”

He shook his head several times, like a dog shaking water from its ears. “That wasn’t exactly—”

“I can put together a comfrey and pennyroyal salve—I’ll bring it to the coach house for you. If you keep wincing and whimpering every time you move, people are going to wonder how you got the injury.”

“I do not whimper and wince!” He advanced on her, his glare thunderous.

“Oh, I’m afraid you do.” She wasn’t afraid to provoke him—she knew now that he was on her side and would do nothing to hurt her, either by word or deed.

“I’ll have you know I’m very robust. But that doesn’t mean I won’t accept the offer of salve. Now tell me, Miss Ashby—what do you mean by insulting me when I’m trying to appear heroic?”

She giggled, then wanted to kick herself. Why was she behaving like a lovesick girl? Was it simply because he was prepared to risk his life on her behalf? Because he was ready to hazard so much to preserve her honor? It was a very generous offer . . . from an exceedingly attractive man.

“I don’t aim to insult. I only speak the truth—as you will appreciate when you come to know me better.”

“That sounds like an invitation, Miss Ashby. I would, indeed, like to know you better.”

Before she realized what was happening, he took her in his arms and kissed her soundly. Her hands came up to push him away, but her willpower was looking in the opposite direction, and her fingers found themselves snaking behind his neck and into his abundant blond hair. She discovered that by holding him thus, she could increase the intensity of his kiss and prolong the pleasure that coursed through her at the feel of his mouth on hers.

“Well, Miss Ashby,” he murmured as he eased away, “I don’t think I have ever considered a rainstorm such a boon before. But I praise the heavens for sending it our way and separating us from your omnipresent brother.” For all his apparent aplomb, he looked as stunned as she felt.

Lissy brought her fingers to her lips, certain they must be hot and bruised, but they felt soft and moist and, for the first time in her life, truly appreciated. Roland Chetwynd was far better at kissing than Oscar had ever been. But now she knew that Oscar’s regard had been false. He had not kissed her with affection or even desire.

Roland’s kiss was the opposite—heady like strong wine and sweet like honey, and she knew she wanted more of it. And more of him.

He rested his hand on her elbow and brought his lips close to her cheek. She thrilled at the certainty that he was going to kiss her again, but he did not. Instead, he said, “There is still something I really must tell you—”

There was a strange flapping sound from the end of the tunnel, and the gray daylight was temporarily obscured. The next moment, Hugo emerged into the vault, brandishing an umbrella in one hand and a sickle in the other.

“Greetings, prisoners!” he announced cheerfully. “Rescue is at hand!”

Lissy had never felt less in need of rescue, and at that moment, she could have strangled her inconvenient brother.

As she trudged gloomily after him and fought her way through the encroaching bushes at the tunnel’s entrance, she recalled the dangers Roland had warned her of.

And she suddenly realized that the greatest danger she faced in the immediate future was Roland Chetwynd himself.

Chapter Fourteen

The next few days had passed in a flurry of activity as Mundlingham Castle prepared itself for the first large-scale entertainment it had put on in years. Even though the great event wasn’t until the end of the week, everyone had been distracted, thus giving Roland the opportunity to put his sleuthing skills to good use.

He’d spent some time, when certain he was unobserved, staring up at the portrait of Lady Ashby on the eve of her wedding. She had posed wearing, amongst other things, a startling sapphire-and-diamond necklace. It had to be the one she’d appropriated from Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He made sure he knew roughly how many stones were in it, their relative sizes, how they were cut, and how much the piece ought to weigh. That way, he wouldn’t accidentally take the wrong thing or, God forbid, a paste copy.