For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

His own nieces had first looked at him as if he were an ogre come to eat them, until he offered the plate of sweets. At least Miss Turner wasn’t afraid of him.

“I am still considering,” was her pert reply.

Alec clasped his hands behind him and hid a smile. He definitely liked this woman—beyond reason, most likely. “I see. Tonight you have me at your mercy. What are your reservations?”

Her eyes darted past him to the bright windows of the drawing room. The murmur of conversation and laughter spilled into the dark night. “You are not at my mercy. You don’t have to speak to me at all.”

“Perhaps I would like to speak to you.” More than she might guess, and far more than he would ever let on.

She rolled that lower lip between her teeth. Alec, who had watched her do it again and again when he drove her into town, almost held his breath as he watched. “Perhaps you’re just hiding here to avoid the other guests.”

“As you are?” As hoped, her lips parted at the counterattack, rosy pink and glistening. Perfect. He moved a step closer.

“Well…yes.”

He grinned. He liked her all the more for admitting it. “Then we are bound together in secrecy by our guilty consciences.”

She pressed her lips into a line, then stopped fighting it and gave him a sheepish smile. “I suppose we are.”

Alec turned to face the garden and put his head back to look at the night sky—anything to keep from staring at her mouth. “What makes you dread the guests inside?” He could almost hear her stiffen. “I dislike being watched so closely, as if people expect a violent outburst at any moment. The curate’s wife looked as though she was making a list of sins I might commit this very evening.”

There was only silence beside him. Alec didn’t glance her way, so he had no idea of her expression, but perhaps that ploy hadn’t worked. He did want Miss Turner’s cooperation. He wanted to be done with this assignment as soon as possible, and her assistance would make things much easier. And if she came to like him a little better…Alec couldn’t deny an unwarranted desire for that. So instead of just asking questions, he volunteered information. Nothing she couldn’t guess on her own, but a peace offering of sorts, after the way he had quizzed her the other day.

But she didn’t reply. Alec gave a silent sigh. “I had forgotten how beautiful these gardens are at night,” he murmured. “My mother always let it run a bit wild, and as a boy I imagined it an enchanted forest.” The silence endured. He started to leave. “I shan’t disturb your enjoyment of them.”

“An enchanted forest?” she said softly, stepping up beside him. “Enchanted by whom?”

He smiled ruefully. “An evil witch, I’m afraid. The vines there”—he gestured toward a towering wisteria, silver-spangled in the moonlight—“I imagined an angry monster, like a hydra. The roses in the center were a Scylla, and in the pond lurked a Leviathan, ready to slither out and drag me down if I went too close. I, of course, was a valiant hero come to battle them all.”

She darted a guarded glance at him. “That was very good of you, to protect the household from such dangers.”

“I always thought so. Once I went fishing for the Leviathan. I pictured myself hauling it into the house like a hunting trophy. But just as I lowered my line into the water, a frog jumped in, right where I had cast the hook and was leaning over to check my progress. I fell headfirst into the pond, then bolted into the house dripping wet and covered with moss.” This time she did laugh, though quietly and stifled.

“The poor frog.” She was definitely entertained by this. Alec caught the beginnings of a smile on her lips.

“Perhaps, but those roses truly are a Scylla. I fell into their vicious grasp many times, and was thoroughly scratched.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Rather like the guests inside.”

“I suppose one could look at it that way,” he replied in the same easy tone. “Though the scratches run somewhat deeper.”

For another several minutes they stood in silence. “I hate that everyone knows we’ve fallen into debt,” she finally said, very softly. “I hate being poor, and I hate everyone pitying us because Papa’s disappeared. I know some think he’s just abandoned us.”

Alec pictured the curate’s wife, with her primly pursed mouth and sanctimonious eyes. “You don’t believe he has.”

She shook her head. “No. Whatever failings Papa has, he wouldn’t abandon us. I don’t believe so, at any rate.” She paused. “What do you think has happened to him?”

It was a thorny question. “I was not told much,” he said carefully. “Only what you wrote Hastings, in fact. You and your sister told me more than he did, and even with that…I shouldn’t like to form an idea that may prove wrong. I can only assure you that I have no other object than to discover the truth, and I would not have agreed to that if I didn’t fully intend to succeed.”

Cressida studied him, tall and imposing despite his neutral expression and even tone of voice. He had a way of holding so still, he seemed a shadow himself. If not for the white of his cravat and waistcoat, he would be entirely dark. He was still an enigma, but she couldn’t shake the image of him swinging his young nieces and smiling so openly. She wet her lips again. “What do you plan to do? I cannot think how you will proceed when we, who know Papa and his habits, have been unable to get word of him.”

His mouth curled again. “So it is my abilities you doubt.”

She blushed, damn it all. Hopefully he couldn’t notice in the dark. “No! Not at all. I am sure you are very able, I just…that is…”

He watched her, his head cocked to one side and that curious