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

light in his eyes. As if he had seen her blush and liked it. As if he was thinking of something other than finding Papa. As if he found her intriguing. “Hastings must have thought my talents well-suited to the job.”

Cressida closed her mouth to avoid making a fool of herself. She was being very foolish tonight, spurred on by her sister’s ridiculous suggestion that he…She looked at her feet. The major hadn’t moved or done anything that might justify her leaping pulse; he’d walked out with her, told a few amusing stories about his youth, and been perfectly polite. Poor man. If he ever knew what she was attributing to him, he’d be horrified.

She took a fortifying breath and faced him, squaring her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, “for offering to help. We would be very grateful for your assistance.”

He bowed his head. “I shall do my best not to disappoint.”

The man had a dangerous smile, dark and knowing, as if they shared some secret. Cressida felt again that he would tease all her secrets out of her, if given enough time. And she shuddered to think how little time that might be, given that just standing in the dark with him had made her mind run wild and her knees wobble. “I shall do my best to help.”

His smile grew. “I look forward to it,” he murmured. “Shall we begin tomorrow?”

“I…” She swallowed. What abilities, she wondered inanely, were well-suited to this task? Did he just corner people against a wall and look at them until they burst out in confession? It would bloody well work on her. “Yes.”

He held her gaze a moment longer. “Excellent. Until the morrow, Miss Turner.”

He turned and walked away. Cressida pressed a hand to her bosom, wondering exactly what she had just agreed to. And why she felt such a hot surge of anticipation for his visit.

Chapter 11

He took her at her word, and arrived early the next morning.

“How shall we begin?” Cressida wanted to be involved in whatever he did. What was he going to do that would miraculously locate Papa? Or was there some obvious thing she ought to have done weeks ago? She was still wildly curious to know why he of all people had been sent to them, but like many other things, that seemed to be something he kept to himself.

“Tell me everything about your father’s trip. Even the smallest detail may have significance.”

She sighed, but related everything she could remember regarding Papa’s journey to London. The major listened closely, asking only a few questions. Cressida waited to hear something insightful, but instead he appeared to abandon the topic altogether.

“Where would your father keep his private papers?”

She frowned. “Why? What has that got to do with anything?”

“It might reveal another destination, or another interest he might have had in London,” Alec explained. This, he had to admit, was easier when there was no subterfuge. Being able to ask a question openly was far quicker than his usual methods. He could see Miss Turner still wasn’t completely won over, but she was cooperating, and somehow her sharp, watchful gaze was even more attractive than her suspicious gaze.

For a moment she didn’t reply, folding her arms. With her chin tipped down and her head cocked, she regarded him with unmistakable doubt. It also exposed the lovely long line of her neck, wreathed as ever with escaping wisps of hair. For some reason Alec always wanted to sweep his hand up the curve of her shoulder and smooth those loose hairs back into the heavy mass pinned atop her head. It was annoying that he was so distracted by her neck, and he clasped his hands behind his back to stifle the urge to touch any part of her.

“What do you expect to find?” she said at last.

“Anything that offers an avenue of possibility.” At her continued silence, he added, “I regret the invasion of your family’s privacy, but I am doing my duty. If you have any other suggestions, by all means share them, and I shall endeavor to follow them.”

She drew breath as if to argue, then let it out. She unfolded her arms and held out one hand. “Of course. You are right. I apologize, sir.”

Alec hesitated just a moment before clasping her hand in his. Like the rest of her, her fingers were long and slender, but she returned his grip as firmly as any man might. He let go at once, calling himself a fool for finding this woman so intriguing.

“Papa made his study down here,” she said, turning to lead the way from the room. As she moved past the parlor windows, the sunlight streamed across the nape of her neck, turning her skin to glowing ivory and setting those tempting wisps of hair agleam with hidden highlights, not just brown but gold and chestnut and honey. Alec blinked, disoriented at his inexplicable fascination.

“What do you hope to find?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Er…a diary, indicating private plans, bills from merchants he might have gone to see, even letters from acquaintances indicating plans to call. Anything that might give some idea where to turn next.” He gave himself a mental shake and followed her, scrupulously keeping his gaze away from her neck.

She led the way down a narrow hallway into a small room at the back of the house. Bookshelves lined two walls, but they were mostly bare. A scarred wooden desk stood beneath the room’s only window and a narrow wooden bench sat opposite it. The walls were faded, and the tiny fireplace was cold. Overall it was a sad, dingy little room, and Alec’s instincts pricked up.

“Why did he choose this room?”

Miss Turner opened the wooden shutters, letting in more light. Even so, it was still dark in the room on a sunny day. Alec could see a corner of the stable through the