And yet he couldn’t help but slide his hand into her hair, draw her closer, steal one last kiss.
A sweet hum left her lips when they parted. “Lust is like an addiction.”
“More a delightful obsession,” he said, though he suspected their feelings were more complicated than a hunger for physical release.
He collected her glove from the floor and watched her slip her fingers inside. The fact he found the action erotic came as no surprise. Indeed, the fact he didn’t give a damn what Lucius Daventry thought was telling, too.
Once inside the dark confines of his carriage, his thoughts turned to seduction, to easing desire’s deep ache. Anyone would think he was a boy of fifteen, not a mature man who should have a handle on his passions.
“I know you’ve been preoccupied of late,” he said, attempting to focus on something other than the alluring smell of roses, “but if you could arrange for your footman to deliver the documents you mentioned, that would be helpful.” Besides, he had to get his mind back on the case.
The lady sat forward and frowned. “But Henry brought them to you this morning. I gave him samples of Howard’s and Mr Hemming’s writing along with the blackmail note. He assured me he handed them to you in person. Indeed, I meant to mention it before our … our interlude.”
Such alarming news forced him to push memories of their kiss aside. “If Henry came to Hart Street this morning, he did not hand the documents to me.” And Mrs Gunning would have mentioned taking receipt of important information.
“Oh.” She sat back. “That is odd. Henry was adamant.”
It seemed the lady was surrounded by deceitful scamps.
“Is this where you tell me Henry is a good person?”
She shrugged. “I’ve had no cause to doubt his word before.”
No, because when her brother was too busy gambling away his inheritance, he had no reason to corrupt her staff.
“Perhaps your brother had other reasons for wanting Henry as his valet. Perhaps they had an arrangement, colluded together to extort money. Why else would the servant tell such a blatant lie?”
That said, they had worked for Mr Becker. When one’s master indulged his cravings for wine and women, the servants were prone to lapses of morality, too.
A weary sigh escaped her. “The staff have been acting strangely. They’re more attentive. I assumed it had something to do with Howard taking the money, and their guilt over the intruder entering the house while they enjoyed supper.”
Guilt undoubtedly formed the basis of their actions. “Then let us deal with the matter now. Tonight.” He didn’t like leaving her alone with servants who caused mischief. “Let me challenge Henry’s account.”
Miss Dunn fell silent before saying with some determination, “You may join me inside, Mr Ashwood, but I will be the one to challenge Henry’s account.”
Noah was unused to letting someone else take control. But he sensed her frustration, knew she had a point to prove.
“If that is what you want,” he said, his tone conveying confidence in her ability.
“And I must ask that you do not intervene or overrule me.”
“Madam, I shall be as quiet as a mouse.” He didn’t need to speak to be intimidating.
The carriage turned into Brownlow Street and rumbled to a halt outside Number 11. Noah became aware of Bower’s presence long before he opened the carriage door and vaulted to the pavement.
Indeed, he glanced at the hulking figure sitting atop the box of a carriage parked further down from the hospital. Bower recognised him and tipped his hat, as did his companion. Daventry would hear about the late-night visit and make obvious assumptions.
But Lucius Daventry could go to hell.
Noah would help Miss Dunn with her problems and woe betide anyone who tried to stop him.
Chapter 11
There was a fundamental difference between men and women, Eva noted as she escorted Noah Ashwood into the drawing room and told him to help himself to a drink, though she only had port.
Indeed, having asked Bardsley to summon Henry from his room, she returned to find Mr Ashwood relaxing on the sofa like he hadn’t a care in the world. One wondered if the man might close his eyes and take a nap. He offered a smile and gestured to the glass of port on the side table, the drink he had poured for her.
Was his mind not consumed with thoughts of their passionate kiss? Was his body not burning to strip away their clothes and indulge their desires? No? Was he not alarmed, disturbed by Henry’s blatant lie? Apparently not.