Mistaken Identity (Saved By Desire 4)

He wished he could stay with her, but he couldn’t. He had work to do. Forcing himself to leave the bed, he placing a tender kiss on her brow, tugged the covers up, and left her to sleep.

Out in the corridor, he contemplated which room to search first. He had never seen anyone return to their rooms so had no idea which room belonged to whom. However, he had to take advantage of everybody being out of the house to search the place. Now that Jess was asleep, he could do so without interruption.

Taking pot luck, he decided to work his way toward his room from the opposite side of the house.

It was easy to pick out Mr. Brammall’s room. The pink silks and light blue of his clashing shirts spoke of a rather effeminate character. The powder pots, wigs, and high buckled shoes were more befitting the ballrooms of the ton from a bygone era and certainly didn’t belong in such a countrified place like Smothey. It made Marcus wonder what had driven him to pick a village like Smothey to live in because it was such a strange place for him to choose. He got no answers from the room. The papers in the drawer were personal but gave very little away about the man he truly was. A letter to an aged aunt; a few notes; a brief letter to a friend in London. All of which gave Marcus no hint that the man was up to something sinister.

It was just that the man didn’t fit the place – but did that make him suspicious? Did he have reason to suspect Brammall of anything?

“Until you get proof of his innocence, don’t discount him,” he mused as he let himself into the room next door.

“Mr Ball,” he mused as he studied the piles and piles of books littering two thirds of the floor space. He took a moment to study the spines but found nothing other than an odd mix of philosophy, nature, etiquette, and a few fiction books. Unless he took the time to shake out each book, he had no way of finding any personal papers hidden inside. There was no clue about the man’s personality in the book titles either. It was just a random selection anyone could pick up from a pawn shop. He considered that while he studied the room.

There was something niggling him only he couldn’t quite grasp what it was. It hovered in the darker recesses of his mind but was as elusive as Jess’ brother. There were hidden secrets in the room, he just knew it. He just had no hope of finding out what they were unless he turned the room over completely, and he had neither the time nor the opportunity for that. He had to wait.

It was only when he was about to leave that he glanced back into the room and realised then what it was. Closing the door, he thoughtfully made his way to the room next door.

Mr Abernathy was the man who purportedly worked studiously – well – somewhere. The room was, for all intents and purposes, just an ordinary room occupied by someone with a tidy mind.

“Too tidy,” he murmured, eyeing the spare pair of boots beside the bed positioned precisely parallel to each other.

Even the brush on the dresser was lined exactly with the edge of the top. It was almost too neat. Opening up the drawer, Marcus was unsurprised to find each of the shirts inside pristinely folded and lined up in a tidy row. All of it was almost fastidiously neat and indicated that the person who lived like this had very little else to do.

Did the man live to work?

Strangely, there were no quills or inkpots anywhere. No books either for that matter either. In fact, Mr Abernathy’s room was very much like his own. Sparsely furnished, neat and clean, but well-worn. A thorough search revealed nothing other than a few bills of moderate amounts, several notes, and a few letters to someone who lived in Swanwich.

“God, does everyone in the house have something to hide?” he grumbled as he began to search the room for hidden compartments.

Empty handed, he was quietly closing the door behind him when an ear-piercing scream shattered the silence.

Marcus lurched into motion and immediately raced down the corridor, his gun drawn in readiness.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bursting through the bedroom door, he slammed to a halt when he found Jess standing on the bed, protected by nothing more than a poorly placed sheet she clutched to her chest.

He began to smile at the delectable picture she made and lifted his brows.

“Don’t just stand there, kill it,” She ordered, pointing to the far corner of the room.

“What am I supposed to kill?” he asked.

He looked. There was nothing in the corner except for a small spider. He wasn’t interested in that. Not when Jess was displayed so brazenly for his avaricious gaze.

“Th-that spider. Kill it,” Jess demanded. “S-sh-shoot it.”

Marcus started laughing. “I can’t shoot a spider. Think of the damage to the house.”

“Think of the damage it has done to me,” she protested. “I just woke up and found that running across my hand. Get it out of this house.”

“Alright, alright,” Marcus soothed.

Still grinning, he pocketed his gun and scooped up the offending arachnid. He slid the window up and dispatched it to the wilds of the garden before he turned back around.

“I take it you don’t like spiders,” he murmured as he dropped to his knees in front of her.

“I hate the wretched things,” she replied, feeling her cheeks heat. “Sorry. I just panicked when I woke up and found it there.”