Vivienne’s cheeks burned. Merciful Lord! Like a serpent tempting her to sin, desire slithered through her veins, coiled heavy and low in her loins. The need to grab Mr Sloane’s cravat again and devour his wicked mouth left her breathless. Oh, she was out of her depth with this gentleman. So out of her depth, she would likely drown.
“Thank heavens you agreed to marry.” Mr Golding seemed rather embarrassed. “Now, I suggest we hasten to the next part.”
How could she proceed when lust held her in a tight grip? “I presume we’re allowed to open the letter bearing the heart emblem?” The huskiness in her voice spoke of barely suppressed desire. Drat. She was related to a great explorer, surely she was equipped to navigate uncharted territory.
Mr Golding consulted his notes. “Yes, now you may break the seal and read the message.” The lawyer gestured for her to proceed.
“Please, you open it, Mr Sloane.” With trembling fingers, she would struggle to break the seal. “I believe I have had enough excitement for one day.”
Mr Sloane’s arrogant smirk did little to calm her racing pulse, for he looked every bit the confident seducer. He took the letter, tore the parchment around the seal to keep the wax stamp intact, then he peeled back the folds.
The slight arch of his brow spoke of confusion. “Here we have another clue, or riddle, though I have no notion what it means.” He studied the words on the page before reciting, “What the eyes do not see, the heart cannot follow.”
While Vivienne repeated the sentence silently, Mr Golding took to mumbling it aloud.
“Perhaps it speaks of what I have just witnessed,” the lawyer mused. “A physical attraction is the first step to any affair of
the heart. If one notes the potential before them, love will blossom.”
Mr Sloane snorted his dismissal. “I’m inclined to think it has something to do with the painting of Livingston Sloane. When I examined the book on the table, it was impossible to determine the author’s name, yet you were instructed to give us that information.”
Vivienne agreed. “Yes, the clue is the book. We couldn’t follow it before because we were scrambling around in the dark. Now we have clarity we must look closely at the poems of Thomas Gray.”
Mr Sloane cast her a sidelong glance and nodded in agreement. “Let us move to the matter of our wedding.” He motioned to the parchment in his hand. “As this is potentially a clue to finding our legacy, I trust I can keep it.”
“Yes, as you’ve agreed to abide by the contract, you may keep it.” Mr Golding handed Mr Sloane a final letter. “You’re to present this at Doctors’ Commons. It’s addressed to the archbishop, though his proctor will probably deal with the matter. There should be no trouble securing a special licence.”
Vivienne’s stomach roiled. She knew she had to marry Evan Sloane, but it suddenly seemed so real, so unnerving. Would he seek to solve the case quickly so they might go their separate ways? Would he expect more heated kisses?
“And once you’ve witnessed the ceremony,” she said, “what then?”
“Then I am instructed to present you with your wedding gifts.”
The slam of the front door followed the sudden thud of footsteps on the stairs. Mr Golding’s eyes widened, and his bottom lip trembled. “Pay it no mind. It is just my nephew going about his errands.”
If it was just his nephew, why did his complexion turn ashen? Why did the green vein in his temple bulge? Why did he jump up from his chair like a sprightly lad and dart to the door?
“Are you sure it’s your nephew?” Mr Sloane suspected something was dreadfully amiss, too.
Mr Golding opened the door a fraction and peered out into the hall. He muttered to himself and hurried back to his desk. “In the coming days, you’ll not know who to trust. I fear someone knows of your legacy and wishes to rob you of your inheritance.”
The swift change in the lawyer’s countenance proved alarming.
“Take this note.” Mr Golding dipped his nib into the inkwell. He wrote a few hasty lines, sprinkled pounce from a pot over the wet ink, and shook off the excess. “Should I meet my end before I’m able to see this task through, you’re to give this to Mr Howarth.” He mouthed the man’s name.
“Mr Howarth?” Vivienne had never heard of the gentleman.
“Hush. Yes, he’s an optician and an instrument maker.” Mr Golding lit the candle in the brass stick on the desk. He melted red wax over the folds and stamped his seal. “You’ll find him on the corner of Newman Street and Oxford Street. He will only see you if the seal is intact. And place any information relating to the wedding ceremony in my hand, not my nephew’s.”
Then, before they could question the lawyer’s reasoning, he thrust the note into Vivienne’s hand and ushered them out of the door.
Chapter 9
Evan left Mr Golding’s office feeling perplexed. Despite his refusal to marry, he had accepted Miss Hart’s proposal, had agreed to abide by the ridiculous contract. Even more ridiculous were the questions and rhymes written in the tatty black notebook. Beyond the grave, their grandfathers must be laughing at their expense.
But more bewildering than the fact Evan would soon be married, was his reaction to kissing Miss Hart. Oh, he had kissed plenty of women. Never had he felt such an intense ache, such a desperation to cover a woman’s body and thrust deep. Never had innocence been so damnably appealing. Indeed, he was still dazed by the experience, still compelled by the incessant thrum of lust.
“Are you in shock, sir?” Miss Hart said as they navigated the boisterous crowd gathered in Long Lane. “You’ve not said a word since Mr Golding shoved us out onto the landing.”