“I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me,” he insisted darkly.
“I don’t need your help.” She shook her head, confused. She sniffed discreetly. He didn’t smell like he’d been drinking.
“You need my help more than you know.” His mouth was so close to hers. His breath was warm against her cheek. She swallowed. He half-smiled. She wanted to ease back but there was nowhere to go.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back. “But I intend to enjoy it.”
Her mind whirled; every part of her pulsed with awareness from her blood to her skin to the tips of her toes. His lips brushed the side of her mouth. His hands flattened against the wall on either side of her and his body pressed closer, closer. He was all heat and hard muscles. Her breath caught on an embarrassing gasp when he dragged his lips in an open-mouthed kiss along her cheekbone to her ear. His tongue lightly traced her earlobe, followed by a nip of with his teeth. Someone moaned. Worse and worse. She was gasping and moaning and in great danger of burning up from the inside.
And Conall wasn’t.
He was methodical, determined, resolute.
She wanted him to feel what she was feeling. The craving, the rush of heat and disregard for anything but the feel of him under her palms. Was that the faintest inhalation, nearly a groan? He touched her as though it was the most important thing in the world. He nuzzled below her ear, along her throat. “Tell me who you’re working with.”
He wasn’t the least bit overcome.
She was an idiot.
She shoved at his chest for all the good it did her. To wit: none at all. He didn’t release her, didn’t suddenly apologize for his rakish behavior. Although she wasn’t sure if she wanted an apology for the kiss or for the fact that he didn’t seem to mean it. It was clearly in service of some other purpose. Honestly, she was a reasonably intelligent woman. Why was she surprised? Or a trifle hurt, even.
Conall made a sound of frustration and pushed her more firmly against the wall. His hand closed lightly around her throat, pinning her in place. The game had changed again. And she was equally lost. “Do you know what trouble you’ve got yourself into? Do you have any idea what they do traitors? Even earl’s daughters? Do you know what you’ve done?”
She sucked in an offended breath. “I would never—.” She cut herself off abruptly. Not her. Henry. This was about Henry.
She should have known. Handsome earls didn’t dally with girls like her because they were interested.
Oh, honestly, Percy. Focus.
If he knew about treason, what else did he know? Was he searching for the letters? Was he hoping to condemn Henry for crimes he didn’t commit? Would he even believe her if she told him? She had to get to the canopic jar first. Before he even thought to look for it. Her entire view was taken up by a frustrated male, all bare throat, linen shirt, muscular shoulders. If she squirmed just so she could see the corner of the cabinet where she had set up the jar. It ought to be on display, with a little handwritten note detailing its provenance. She hadn’t mentioned it was a forgery, of course.
Conall stilled. Goosebumps prickled on her arms. He turned his head.
No, no, no.
She gripped his arm tightly with some vague notion of distracting him, of holding him back. Even though she knew perfectly well nothing could distract him. Certainly, not her.
“You seem rather preoccupied with this cabinet,” he said softly.
“I’m not.” She’d meant to say it calmly, like a sane person who didn’t give a fig for the cabinet. Instead, she blurted it out so violently her words ran together.
“Did you know that peoples’ gazes naturally find the thing most important to them? Particularly if they are trying to assure themselves that it is still where it ought to be.”
Persephone swallowed. “Interesting. I’m sure I don’t know why it would pertain to me.”
“Let’s test that theory, shall we?”
“Wouldn’t you rather keep trying to seduce me?” There she was, blurting things out again. Honestly, you’d never guess that both her mother and her grandmothers had been the toasts of the ton, and not only as debutantes but also as married ladies.
Conall’s eyes pinned her in place again. “More than you know,” he said quietly. Something fluttered low in her belly. “But alas.”
He let her go abruptly and crossed the floor in long, determined strides. She darted after him. She had to get to the letter before he did. Conall perused the shelf of artifacts, the scarab beetles, the blue faience statue. She made a tiny, tiny sound in the back of her throat when his hand closed around the canopic jar. She tried not to, and it was barely loud enough to rival a mouse. But of course, he heard her, infuriating man. He quirked an eyebrow at her. She refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting any further.
Until he lifted the jackal-headed lid of the sandstone container.
And there was nothing inside.