“Say no.” He forced the words from his lips before kissing her neck just below her choker, before inhaling the perfume of her hair. “Say no, Sybil. Say no now.” He was stroking her thigh, caressing her bare buttock. “I don’t have the strength to stop.”
“I can’t stop, either,” she panted.
“I don’t think you have the measure of the situation.” The words kicked logic from its lazy slumber. Still, as her head fell back against the bookcase, he couldn’t resist settling his mouth to the sweet spot just behind her ear.
“What was that?” Her sudden gasp startled him.
He groaned against her neck. “Loath me to point out the obvious, but I’m aroused to the point of madness.”
“Not that,” she said, pushing gently on his chest. She seemed comfortable touching him now. “That clicking sound.”
Panic forced him to snatch his hand from her thigh as his gaze shot to the door.
“It wasn’t the door, but something on the bookcase behind me.”
He almost said to hell with the damn bookcase, but she forced him to ignore his throbbing erection and examine the shelves. While numerous volumes had fallen to the floor during their amorous encounter, the ones on three shelves were all positioned at the same odd angle.
Sybil placed her finger on the headband of a red leather volume. “Confessions by Rousseau. How apt.” She attempted to push it back into position, but the whole row of books moved. “There it is again, Lucius, that odd clicking sound.”
His curiosity piqued, Lucius ran his hands over the volumes. What looked like a row of books to the naked eye was nothing more than false spines.
Placing his hands flat against them, he pressed hard and heard the click again. A quick tug on the spines resulted in the whole panel swinging forward to reveal a secret cupboard.
They both peered into the hidden compartment containing an odd assortment of objects—silk gloves, powder and rouge, a miniature portrait of a woman in a white gown, a small red box. The only items that might belong to Sir Melrose were official-looking papers and a brown leather pocketbook wallet.
“So, this is where the Cramptons hide their valuables,” Lucius said. He removed the wallet and discovered vowels to the value of five thousand pounds belonging to a Mrs Dunwoody.
“Dunwoody?” Sybil muttered, glancing at the crisp notes in his hand. “I don’t know anyone of that name.”
“No.” Lucius closed the wallet and returned it to the shelf. He took the papers and read the first few pages. “These are the deeds to a property in Dumfriesshire.” Again, it meant nothing. But then it occurred to him that the solemn man hailed from Scotland.
Coincidence perhaps?
Sybil took the portrait and studied it while Lucius fiddled with the lock on the red box. “I must say, the lady in the miniature has a rather masculine jaw.”
Lucius stole a quick look at the portrait. “That’s because it’s a man dressed in women’s clothes.” Indeed, something about the feminine objects told him they didn’t belong to Lady Crampton.
“It’s a rather odd thing to hide in a secret cupboard.”
“It’s an odd thing to own, but exactly the thing one would hide from prying eyes.”
Lucius picked the lock on the box with the thin metal implement he’d taken from his pocket. He raised the lid expecting to find pearl earrings or a diamond brooch, not pencil sketches of naked men.
Shock rendered him speechless.
Sybil gasped and clutched his arm. “Why would Sir Melrose keep sketches of naked men?”
“Why indeed?”
Lucius removed the expert sketches drawn on the back of invitation cards. On the reverse were the words Gorget’s Garrett, but no date or address. He flicked through the drawings until one large anatomical feature caught his attention.
“Devil take it. Look closely at the image.” He handed the sketch to Sybil. “Tell me what you see.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” A crimson blush stained her cheeks, and he knew she couldn’t resist scanning the entire drawing. “Well, the large chin makes him look somewhat like Mr Warner, your father’s steward, though I’m sure he would be mortified by the similarity.”
“Interesting.” Lucius took the image and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat. Then he returned the box to the cupboard and closed the door.
“You think that is Mr Warner, don’t you?”