The de Valery Code (14 page)

He looked at her fully, then. “I told you I didn’t want it for its monetary value. Its historical and academic importance is what matters to me.”

Yes, his books were paramount. His library might be worth a fortune, but she couldn’t envision him ever liquidating it.

“Well, the monetary value is very important to
me
. How will I be rewarded for my portion of the treasure when we find it?” She didn’t even mention the half that would belong to Lord Nash as owner of the other manuscript.

He moved toward her and braced his hands on the back of one of the chairs. “I will still pay you whatever you ask for the book—and I can make it enough to compensate for the treasure.”

She could take his money and return to Gloucester as the independent woman she wanted to be. However, that meant abandoning her quest
and
yielding the book, two things she’d developed a surprising passion for. “I’ll consider it.”

His eyes widened, drawing her attention to his darkly lush lashes. She could get lost in his eyes—or worse, she could find something.

“You will?” he asked, disbelieving.

“I’ll decide when we get to Westerly Cross.
After
we see the other book.” She at least wanted to go that far. And she suspected that once she saw the code and key in their entirety, she’d be too excited about deciphering what it meant to walk away.

He looked back to the fire. “We needn’t pretend to be married at Westerly Cross.”

She suspected he didn’t like making the concession, but appreciated him for it. “Thank you.”

He went to the bed and rolled the blanket, placing it in the middle as a divider. It was a well-intentioned thought, but the barrier was meager at best. Either one of them could easily breach it and touch. Or kiss.

She fought to keep the heat from rising in her body and flushing her face. He couldn’t know how his kiss had affected her. And
she
couldn’t allow herself to succumb to another.

Picking up the coverlet, she laid it back atop the bed. Then she climbed into the far side and turned her back toward him. Though they’d reached some sort of mild accord, she purposely refrained from saying good night. She was still annoyed with his cavalier behavior.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but the sounds of him moving around—probably undressing—were too distracting. Instead, her mind turned over the events of the day and every time they landed on the kiss, she forced herself to think of the book, what the code might be, and how close they were to finding it.

The situation only worsened when the bed dipped as he climbed in beside her. She scooted as far away him as possible without tumbling over the edge. It seemed to take an eternity, but his deep, even breathing filled her ears and reminded her, as if she needed reminding, of his proximity. She contemplated what it would be like to be married. Sharing this bed with him, being so . . .
intimate,
made it seem . . . possible.

And that made her want to run screaming from the room.

Chapter Eight

“I’m so sorry, but Lord Nash is not currently at home.”

The declaration, uttered by Lord Nash’s butler, Godfrey, nearly caused Rhys to swear. What on earth had happened to his even temper? He slid a look at Miss Derrington standing beside him and had his answer.

“When will he return?” she asked, her shoulders dipping with disappointment.

“Tomorrow. I received Lady Stratton’s note yesterday, and I’ve prepared a room.” Godfrey looked at Rhys. “I apologize that I didn’t know you were coming.”

In spite of his annoyance at finding Lord Nash absent, Rhys offered a congenial smile. “Nonsense, you can’t be expected to read minds.”

Godfrey nodded deferentially. “Of course. Let me alert our housekeeper, Mrs. Oliver, and she’ll prepare your room. In the meantime, allow me to provide refreshment.”

He led them into a sitting room with dark oaken beams stretching at intervals across the ceiling. A large painting of what had to be Lady Stratton with her parents hung above the fireplace. A housemaid entered with a tray and arranged tea and cakes on a table near the center of the room.

Rhys watched as Miss Derrington set her book on the table and helped herself to a plate of cakes and a cup of tea.

She looked up from stirring sugar into her tea. “Do you suppose the book is here somewhere?”

“In his office, perhaps?”

“Not that it matters. We have to wait for him to return.” She shot Rhys an inquiring glance as if she
wasn’t
certain they had to wait.

But no, they couldn’t go looking for it. Could they? He’d sensed her dismay at finding Lord Nash absent, and now he could feel her desperation to see the book. It matched his own.

After sharing tea, they were shown to their rooms, which were, coincidentally, right across the corridor from each other. They exchanged glances, and Rhys was curious to know what she thought of that. He found it bloody tempting.

Though he’d told her there would be no more kissing, last night’s sleeping arrangements had sorely enticed him. He’d managed to keep his hands to himself, but only because she’d made it clear she was more than happy to forget the kiss had ever happened. A shame, since he was fairly certain she’d enjoyed it. He knew he had.

He went into his chamber and closed the door. His luggage had been brought up and his clothes put away. The room wasn’t as large as the Knight’s Lounge at Stratton Hall, but it was well-appointed and lacked the disturbing presence of a secret door. Or so he presumed. After his experience at Stratton Hall, he might take it upon himself to thoroughly investigate any room he stayed in from now on.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Half-five. Dinner was to be at seven. Should he change for dinner? It wasn’t likely necessary, but he wanted to tidy up after the trip anyway.
 

After removing his boots and stockings and stripping to his waist, he filled the bowl on the washstand and washed. As he was drying his face, a rap on the door startled him.

Tossing the towel aside, he drew a fresh shirt over his head and padded to the door in his bare feet.

Miss Derrington’s fair countenance blinked at him. “Pardon me for disturbing you, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to take dinner in my room.”

He wasn’t surprised. No, what surprised him was that she’d come to tell him personally. “I see. An excellent idea. I shall do the same.”

She nodded, then turned to go back to her room, the door of which was ajar.
 

He noticed her feet were also bare, as he saw her toes peeking out from the edge of her gown. Turning, he closed the door before he could follow the mental vision of where those bare feet led . . . bare ankles . . . bare knees . . . bare thighs.

He went back to the washbasin and splashed more cold water onto his face. He rang for the footman and informed him that he would also take dinner in his room. In the meantime, he went to the bed and lay down, crossing his ankles and folding his hands behind his head.

The canopy that stretched over his bed was a dark blue. He stared at it for a long time and tried very hard not to think about Miss Derrington’s bare anything.

Think about the book.

Both of de Valery’s manuscripts were about to be in his presence, if not his possession. How he wished even one of them belonged to him, but he didn’t see how that would be possible. At this juncture, he couldn’t see how even the treasure would belong to him.

What would it be? One of the thirteen treasures like the Heart of Llanllwch, which sat in the Ashmolean Museum? Some other Arthurian item that would prove the hero king’s existence? Or something else entirely?

Or maybe nothing at all.

No, there had to be something. De Valery wouldn’t be that cruel, would he? But Rhys was getting ahead of himself. Putting the books side by side was only the beginning. Then came the hard part: discerning the key so they could use it to decipher the code.

The urge to find Nash’s library or office to search for the book nearly overwhelmed him, but he would wait. Besides, the baron would likely keep the book locked up, wouldn’t he?

Rhys thought of the men who’d accosted Miss Derrington the day before. Upon returning to Leominster, he’d alerted the constable, who’d taken care of dealing with the wounded brigands. Rhys had never shot a man before and was surprised at the ease with which he’d done it. But upon seeing Miss Derrington in danger, he hadn’t hesitated. Did that mean she meant something to him? Given how badly she upset his equilibrium, he had to consider that she did.

He sat up, frustrated with the direction of his thoughts.
Book. Think about the book.

He got up and dressed and let himself out of his room. He stopped short, as Miss Derrington was doing the same.

They stared at each other a moment before closing the doors and meeting in the center of the corridor.

“Where are you off to?” he asked, taking in the fact that she’d donned a fresh gown, the only one she had that was appropriate for dinner. Had she changed her mind about where she planned to dine? The book was tucked beneath her arm. With a jolt, he realized he could try to take it from her while she slept, but what would be the point? He took their partnership, however untenable it might be, seriously.

She glanced to the side. “I’m just taking a short walk.”

He didn’t believe that for a moment. “To find a book perhaps?”

The corner of her mouth inched up briefly, but she worked to keep her face straight. “Perhaps.”

“I was going to try the library.”

Her gaze sparked with mutual understanding. “Yes, let’s.”

Side by side, they made their way downstairs with haste and quickly found the library. It was quite large, and Rhys decided he could giddily spend the next month here perusing Nash’s collection. Rhys went to the nearest bank of shelves and ran his forefinger along the spines. He loved the feel of the leather and the smells of old vellum and new paper.

He recognized a title and pulled it down to look at its interior.

“Did you find something?” Miss Derrington came toward him, her voice laced with excitement.

He sent her an amused look. “Not
the
book. This is an Old Welsh manuscript. I have a copy myself.”

She nodded, her mouth turning down with mild disappointment, and went to investigate another bookshelf.

They spent the next hour searching the library and though he’d been entertained, he could feel her rising frustration like a living thing. He strolled toward where she stood frowning at the last shelf. “You didn’t really expect to find it, did you?”

She exhaled and turned to face him. “No. I suppose we should go back up for dinner.”

“We should.”

They climbed the stairs with none of the enthusiasm with which they’d descended them earlier. Outside their rooms, he paused, wondering if he should suggest they eat together.

She made the decision for him by saying, “Well, good night then.” Then she turned and went into her room.

Rhys stared at her closed door for a long moment. He ought to retreat to his room and forget about her and the damned book, at least for tonight. After dinner, he could go back down to the library and lose himself. Yes, that’s precisely what he would do.

Determined, he went into his chamber and closed the door. And promptly went back to thinking of Miss Derrington and the bloody de Valery manuscript.

Margery pushed her plate away, unfinished. She’d thought Mr. Bowen had perfected the art of brooding, but she was currently in direct competition and might actually demonstrate a superior ability.

She’d been crushed to find Lord Nash wasn’t in residence. Working up the courage to search for his de Valery text had taken some time, and when she’d found Mr. Bowen doing the same, she’d nearly laughed.

Perhaps they had more in common than she wanted to admit.

What
did
they have in common besides wanting to decipher the code and find the treasure? She leaned back in her chair and studied the ceiling with its ornate ivory painted scrollwork in the corners.

They were both intelligent, capable, and unmarried by choice, which for him was fine while it cast her as peculiar. What else? They were driven, as evidenced by their jaunt to the library. They were also cunning, as evidenced by his attempt to keep the true value of the book from her and her deception to keep him from searching for the treasure.