Read Online The Lady Chosen by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
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abutting on both left and right.
“Your house shares walls, presumably basement walls, too, with the houses on either side.”
She followed his gaze, glancing at the house, not that she needed to to verify that fact. “Yes.” She frowned. Followed his logic.
When he said nothing more, but simply stood by her side, she set her lips and, eyes narrowing, glanced up at him.
He was waiting to catch that glance. Their gazes met, locked. Not quite in a battle of wills, more a recognition of resolutions and strengths.
“What’s happened?” She knew something had, or that he’d discovered some new clue. “What have you learned?”
Despite its apparent mobility, his face was difficult to read. A heartbeat passed, then he drew one hand free of his greatcoat pocket.
And reached for hers.
Slid his fingers around her wrist, slid his hand around her much smaller one. Closed it. Took possession of that much.
She didn’t stop him; couldn’t have. Everything within her stilled at his touch. Then quivered in response. The heat of his hand engulfed hers. Once again, she couldn’t breathe.
But she was growing used to the reaction, enough to pretend to ignore it. Lifting her head, she raised a brow in distinctly haughty question.
His lips curved; she knew absolutely that the expression was not a smile.
“Come—walk with me. And I’ll tell you.”
A challenge; his hazel eyes held hers, then he drew her to him, laid her hand on his sleeve as he stepped closer, beside her.
Dragging in a tight breath, she inclined her head, fell into step beside him. They strolled across the lawn, backtoward the parlor, her skirts brushing his boots, his hand over hers on his arm.
She was screamingly aware of his strength, sheer masculine power close, so close, by her side. There was heat there, too, the beckoning presence of flame. The arm beneath her fingers felt like steel, yet warm, alive. Her fingertips itched, her palm burned. By an effort of will, she forced her wits to work. “So?” She slanted him a glance, as chill as she could make it. “What have you discovered?”
His hazel eyes hardened. “There’s been a curious incident next door. Someone broke in, but carefully. They tried to leave as little as possible to alert anyone, and nothing was taken.” He paused, then added, “Nothing bar an impression of the key to a side door.”
She digested that, felt her eyes widen. “They’re coming back.”
He nodded, his lips a thin line. He looked at Number 12, then glanced at her. “I’ll be keeping watch.”
She halted. “Tonight?”
“Tonight, tomorrow. I doubt they’ll wait long. The house is nearly ready for occupation. Whatever they’re after—”
“It would be best to strike now, before you have servants installed.” She swung to face him, tried to use the movement to slip her hand free of his.
He lowered his arm, but closed his hand more firmly about hers.
She pretended to be oblivious. “You’ll keep me—us—informed of what transpires?”
“Of course.” His voice was subtly lower, more resonant, the sound sliding through her. “Who knows? We might even learn the reason behind…all that’s gone before.”
She kept her eyes wide. “Indeed. That would be a blessing.”
Something—some hint not of laughter, but of wry acceptance—showed in his face. His eyes remained locked with hers. Then, with blatant deliberation, he shifted his fingers and stroked the fine skin over her inner wrist.
Her lungs seized. Hard. She actually felt giddy.
She would never have believed such a simple touch could so affect her. She had to look down and watch the mesmerizing caress. Realized in that instant that this would never do; she forced herself to swallow, to diguise her reaction, to turn her locked attention to good effect.
Continuing to look at his hand holding hers, she stated, “I realize you have only recently returned to society, but this really is not the done thing.”
She’d intended the
“Your house shares walls, presumably basement walls, too, with the houses on either side.”
She followed his gaze, glancing at the house, not that she needed to to verify that fact. “Yes.” She frowned. Followed his logic.
When he said nothing more, but simply stood by her side, she set her lips and, eyes narrowing, glanced up at him.
He was waiting to catch that glance. Their gazes met, locked. Not quite in a battle of wills, more a recognition of resolutions and strengths.
“What’s happened?” She knew something had, or that he’d discovered some new clue. “What have you learned?”
Despite its apparent mobility, his face was difficult to read. A heartbeat passed, then he drew one hand free of his greatcoat pocket.
And reached for hers.
Slid his fingers around her wrist, slid his hand around her much smaller one. Closed it. Took possession of that much.
She didn’t stop him; couldn’t have. Everything within her stilled at his touch. Then quivered in response. The heat of his hand engulfed hers. Once again, she couldn’t breathe.
But she was growing used to the reaction, enough to pretend to ignore it. Lifting her head, she raised a brow in distinctly haughty question.
His lips curved; she knew absolutely that the expression was not a smile.
“Come—walk with me. And I’ll tell you.”
A challenge; his hazel eyes held hers, then he drew her to him, laid her hand on his sleeve as he stepped closer, beside her.
Dragging in a tight breath, she inclined her head, fell into step beside him. They strolled across the lawn, backtoward the parlor, her skirts brushing his boots, his hand over hers on his arm.
She was screamingly aware of his strength, sheer masculine power close, so close, by her side. There was heat there, too, the beckoning presence of flame. The arm beneath her fingers felt like steel, yet warm, alive. Her fingertips itched, her palm burned. By an effort of will, she forced her wits to work. “So?” She slanted him a glance, as chill as she could make it. “What have you discovered?”
His hazel eyes hardened. “There’s been a curious incident next door. Someone broke in, but carefully. They tried to leave as little as possible to alert anyone, and nothing was taken.” He paused, then added, “Nothing bar an impression of the key to a side door.”
She digested that, felt her eyes widen. “They’re coming back.”
He nodded, his lips a thin line. He looked at Number 12, then glanced at her. “I’ll be keeping watch.”
She halted. “Tonight?”
“Tonight, tomorrow. I doubt they’ll wait long. The house is nearly ready for occupation. Whatever they’re after—”
“It would be best to strike now, before you have servants installed.” She swung to face him, tried to use the movement to slip her hand free of his.
He lowered his arm, but closed his hand more firmly about hers.
She pretended to be oblivious. “You’ll keep me—us—informed of what transpires?”
“Of course.” His voice was subtly lower, more resonant, the sound sliding through her. “Who knows? We might even learn the reason behind…all that’s gone before.”
She kept her eyes wide. “Indeed. That would be a blessing.”
Something—some hint not of laughter, but of wry acceptance—showed in his face. His eyes remained locked with hers. Then, with blatant deliberation, he shifted his fingers and stroked the fine skin over her inner wrist.
Her lungs seized. Hard. She actually felt giddy.
She would never have believed such a simple touch could so affect her. She had to look down and watch the mesmerizing caress. Realized in that instant that this would never do; she forced herself to swallow, to diguise her reaction, to turn her locked attention to good effect.
Continuing to look at his hand holding hers, she stated, “I realize you have only recently returned to society, but this really is not the done thing.”
She’d intended the
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