She firmed her lips and flipped open the packet. A list of names marked the first sheet. Scanning them, she realized it was a prospective-brides list. Nineteen girls, including herself, listed in one handwriting, another three in a different scrawl that she recognized as Josslyn Wentworth’s.
Lifting the page, she found copious notes about each of the girls. Dowry of ￡50,000 or Niece to the Duke of Clarendon or Atrocious table manners, but her mother bore five sons. There were stars by Lady Jane’s name, of course. Notes the countess would make, yet the handwriting was not the one Liliana was looking for. She released the breath she’d been holding. Another dead end.
She scanned to see what the countess had written about her. Orphan, upstart, completely unsuitable!!! Liliana smiled. All true.
She made a cursory search of the rest of the room but, as expected, found nothing. She placed everything back where she found it and let herself into the passage.
Now to find the room that housed the late earl’s belongings. She’d just have to try each door until she reached the right one.
Placing her ear at the first, she heard murmurs of female conversation. Likely the countess’ room, as it was next to her parlor. Liliana moved to the next. Hearing nothing, she entered.
The moment she stepped into the room, she knew it belonged to Geoffrey. It was as if he lingered in the air. His spicy scent, always overlaid with mint, tickled her nose, bringing a sensual memory of him on the chaise, of her bringing him pleasure. Her body flooded with warmth, the now familiar moisture gathering between her legs. My goodness, is that all it took to make her hunger for him, now that her body knew what to crave?
Liliana forced her focus on the room. The walls were covered in a rich tan silk, the large poster bed and furnishings simple but sturdy. Spartan, yet elegant, like the man who lived here.
The bed coverings were plush, a solid color that brought to mind steaming cups of chocolate. And rumpled. The counterpane was pulled back and the indention of a large body dimpled the sheets. It seemed Geoffrey had taken her advice and returned to sleeping in his bed rather than on the floor. Liliana couldn’t resist bringing her head close to the pillow and breathing in…Spice and mint permeated the linen, filling her senses. What would it be like to awaken with that scent in her nose every day?
Fool. Why did she torture herself with things that could never be?
Curious, she bent down on hand and knee to see if he had reinforced the mattress with slats as she’d suggested.
A black leather volume caught her eye immediately. Her heart sped up as she reached under the bed to retrieve it. Pulling it into the light, she realized it was the same black book she’d nearly broken her neck to reach that very first night. She’d scoured the place for it since then, and it had been here in Geoffrey’s room all along.
Had he been hiding something after all? She couldn’t fathom it, not after the way he’d kissed and stroked her—Liliana rolled her eyes. She’d done all that to him as well, and she’d been hiding much.
She brought the book up, laying it on the bed. Did the evidence she’d been seeking lie here? She flipped the cover open, anxious to finally discover what Geoffrey had taken such pains for her not to see.
At first, Liliana did not believe her eyes. She flipped a page, then another. Sir Isaac’s ghost…
A bleating laugh gurgled from her lips. She was unable to control it. Really, how could she?
It was a book of etchings. Highly erotic etchings, quite well-done in her limited opinion, of couples in flagrante delecto.
No wonder Geoffrey had been so desperate to retrieve the book from her, given that he’d just accused her of trying to trap him. He must have—
Liliana gasped as mortification swept over her, remembering how she’d tried to scoot out of the library, book in tow. Did he think she’d known what was in it? He must have thought her rather fast. A reluctant smile curved her lips…She’d proven him right on that, she supposed.
Liliana closed the book, sliding it back where she found it, then sat upon her bottom, pulling her knees up and resting her folded arms atop them.
Everything she’d suspected when she’d arrived at Somerton Park had turned out to be something else altogether. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe this absurd moment was a sign that she should end this and move on with her life.
If she gave up on her search, she’d never have to tell Geoffrey that she’d deceived him. Yes. She could let him remember her as a pleasant diversion, a lovely memory. She felt herself nodding. She must divulge what Witherspoon had shared about his father, of course—having lost a father to nefarious means, she couldn’t leave Geoffrey in the dark about that. But Witherspoon had practically volunteered that information. Liliana wouldn’t have to explain a thing, and then perhaps she and Geoffrey could—
Could what? Go on as they were now? She dropped her head down onto her folded arms. Of course not. No, in two more days this house party would be over. She would leave as she’d come, without answers and destined to a life alone. Geoffrey would likely go on to marry Lady Jane, or someone like her. Someone well connected, who would dedicate herself to being a perfect wife.
He would be happy, and he would do great things in the world. And so would she, albeit on a much lesser scale.
That’s what she should do, she decided as she unfolded herself and rose.
After she looked at that one last place. She’d never be able to live with herself if she left the stone unturned. She’d find Edmund Wentworth’s belongings, and if they, too, turned out to lead nowhere, she’d put the matter to rest for good and cherish her last two days in Geoffrey’s arms.
Chapter Twenty-one
G
eoffrey stepped past a group of men who’d stopped to chat after the early hunt. He was anxious to return to the manor and find Liliana. He couldn’t wait to tell her how well the negotiations had gone with some of the more influential men in English politics. And he had her to thank for it, as he’d used several of her more persuasive arguments to sway them to his side.
“Enjoyable morning, Stratford,” the Earl of Manchester called out.
Damn. Geoffrey stopped and turned back.
The older man waved him over and clapped him on the back as he joined them. “Though had I known that we were the fox and you the hunter, I may have kept to my bed.”
A raucous laugh followed the earl’s remark. Geoffrey stiffened. Perhaps things hadn’t gone as well as he’d thought.
Manchester harrumphed, the wispy tips of his graying mustache moving upward on the exhalation. “That’s not saying I don’t respect your tactics. You military men and your strategies. Wellington is forever vexing me with his maneuverings.”
“Indeed,” answered another man, a viscount whom Geoffrey had been targeting for quite some time as a potential ally. “But there are many things about your plans that I, for one, approve of.”
“Same here,” said a third.
“But you know, of course, Northumb is the key, my boy,” Manchester said, as the others murmured their agreement. “He and that brother-in-law of his in the Commons. If I were you, I’d cement his promise now while the arguments are fresh in his mind. Northumb isn’t one to go back once he’s given his word, but his attention can be fleeting.” Manchester tipped his head toward Northumb and Wakefield, who were walking ahead, deep in conversation. “I understand Northumb is fond of brandy after an invigorating hunt. French, preferably. Missed it sorely during the war.”