“Hello, imp.”
Mirabelle dropped her book and spun around with a gasp to find Whit leaning casually against the library door—watching her with an intensity that sent tingles up her spine.
“What the devil are you doing here?” she snapped in an attempt to hide her discomfort.
Whit shrugged and moved toward her with a careless grace. “Same as you, I imagine, just came in search of a little light bedtime reading.”
He bent down and scooped up the book at her feet. “Amphibian Wildlife in the New World? Obviously we differ in our definition of ‘light.’”
“Among other things,” Mirabelle pointed out, snatching the book away. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I think you know what I want,” Whit drawled, giving her a smile that held no warmth. “Answers.”
Mirabelle didn’t see any reason to pretend she didn’t understand. With another man, she might have feigned innocence, or at least made an attempt to be reasonably civil. But this was Whit, he would never buy the former, and he wasn’t worth the bother of the latter.
“Well, you’ll not get them from me. Now leave before someone walks in here and—”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me where Sophie has gone.”
“Why don’t you ask Evie and Kate?” she asked scathingly. She could tell by his scowl that he had already explored that avenue and had met with similar reticence and she sent him a small mocking smile. “I see. Fine. I’ll go.”
Brushing past him, Mirabelle stalked to the door and grabbed the handle. It didn’t turn. She tried again. Locked. She wheeled back to face Whit.
He dangled the key mockingly in front of her. “Perhaps I should have been a little more specific. We’re not leaving until you tell me where Sophie has gone.”
“You’re mad! Any number of people may have keys to the library. You’ll ruin me!”
Whit shrugged again. She stomped toward him.
“Give me that blasted key!” she hissed.
“Start talking, or we stay here till someone else lets us out. Your decision, imp.”
“You bloody arrogant, heartless ass!”
“You have a rather colorful vocabulary, I dare say you don’t limit your literary pursuits to the topic of zoology.”
“For the last time, cretin. Give. Me. The. Key.”
“Where. Is. Sophie?” Whit stepped closer to her with every syllable until six feet of glowering male towered over her. It was a blatant attempt at intimidation, and another woman would have instinctually stumbled back in fright. Mirabelle didn’t budge an inch. Instead, she gripped her book with both hands and smashed it squarely into Whit’s face. The result was a thoroughly satisfying smack and a long colorful stream of expletives.
Whit stumbled back, howling and holding his nose. “What the devil is the matter with you?” he bellowed. At least, she thought that’s what he bellowed. His voice was starting to sound a little funny. No question of the volume, unfortunately.
“Hush!” she whispered furiously. “Someone will hear you!”
“I thud bwoody well hope tho!”
“Quiet! You spoiled little…” A scrapping in the hallway cut her off. Dear God, someone had heard the noise. She glanced frantically around the room. Whit still held the key. He had it pressed against his face which he now held up toward the ceiling in an effort to stanch the flow of blood from his nose.
“Are you going to give me the key or not?”
“No!”
More noise from the hall. Voices. Mirabelle panicked. Fighting back wasn’t an option this time. There was no place to hide in the library. The tables were too high, the chairs too low, and the lighting too good. Dropping her book, she ran to one of the windows and threw it open. It was a good drop down and there was some sort of shrubbery at the bottom.
“Whad are you doing, imp?” Whit still had his head tilted up and he was eyeing her down the length of what would normally be his nose, but was now two bloody hands and a key.
A rattle sounded at the door. “What the…It’s locked. Simmons, give me your key.”
Mirabelle sincerely hoped the hedge below wasn’t rose-bushes. She sat down on the sill and swung her legs over the edge.
“Miwabelle, no!”
With a whoosh she was gone.
Twenty-one
Alex was having difficulty with the staff. He was certain several of them were hiding something, but no amount of bribing, threatening, or cajoling could break their silence. He was grumbling about the disadvantages of staff becoming too secure in their positions when he caught sight of a bedraggled-looking Mirabelle entering the downstairs servants’ hall. She, in turn, was mumbling something about the advantages of staying in bed some mornings.
“Mirabelle!” he called to her back.
He thought perhaps she groaned, but couldn’t be certain.
“Where is she?” he demanded immediately. There was a chance Whit had already spoken with her, or that he already knew, but—