My Fallen Angel Read Free Page B

lace-embellished
toilette
located near a window to his left. The bed loomed large to his right. He told himself he’d get over his instant attraction. He told himself a multitude of things, none of which he believed.
    There were only three drawers to examine, thankfully, for the sooner he was out of the bedroom, the better. He set the candelabra down and began to search. There was only an odd assortment of ribbons, bows, and brushes. He closed the last drawer muttering, “Damn,” and stepped back, bumping into Miss Lucy who, he realized, was stuck to him like a fly on sap.
    “Beg your pardon,” she said sweetly.
    The contact was too much. “Get away from me,” he warned through gritted teeth, feeling as if he’d been scorched by the flames of hell.
    As her eyes grew startled, he realized his words may have been a bit too harsh, but dammit, he needed her to stop looking at him as if he were a present under her Christmas tree.
    She turned away from him, and Garrick thought he saw a glimmer of anger in her eyes. Good. Maybe if she was vexed with him, she’d stop mooning. He crossed his arms and watched as she grabbed a candle from the candelabra, then flounced back the way they’d come, her boots tapping militantly as she headed for the wardrobe closet near the doorway and the chest of drawers next to it.
    She opened one, rummaged through it, then closed it with a snap. She did the same thing to the next drawer, only closed it a little harder. By the fourth drawer she was closing them with a full-fledged slam.
    He turned away, content to let her wallow in her anger. As it turned out he didn’t have a chance.
    “Mr. Wolf?” he heard her call out only seconds later.
    So used was he to being addressed as “Wolf” or “my lord,” he almost didn’t realize she was calling him. He turned toward her, noting the piece of paper she held in her hands.
    “What do you make of this?”
    He walked forward and took the slip from her. “‘Tis the address of a solicitor.”
    “Yes, I can see that,” she said impatiently, “but it was hidden in a drawer.”
    When he said nothing, she said, “It
must
be important. Why else would she hide it?”
    Garrick had a hard time believing they’d stumbled upon a clue so easily, but for the life of him he couldn’t squelch the feeling that they had. Not only that, but there was the oddest sensation as he held the paper, a tingling, very much like the feeling he got when he touched Lucy.
    Where had that thought come from?
    They both heard the footsteps at the same time. Lucy groaned at the exact moment Garrick stuffed the paper in his pocket, then extinguished the candles, secretly glad for the interruption. Darkness swallowed them.
    “Phibbs, you’re a dodderin’ old fool draggin’ me out of bed like this,” they heard a man mutter.
    Lucy felt Mr. Wolf tug her toward the wardrobe closet. Next thing she knew, he pushed her into it. In amazement, she felt him cram his big body in next to hers, somehow wedging in between what felt like ball gowns. The smell of cedar nearly overpowered her, and so did her fear, so she grabbed his hand and held it next to her pounding heart.
    He tried to pull it away.
    She wouldn’t let him.
    The wood creaked ominously, and she envisioned them dropping out of the bottom of the wardrobe like potatoes through a rotted sack. Miraculously, the closet held, though she felt as if she were a contortionist she’d once seen at a fair. She shifted. He grunted. Then they both stilled when they heard the bedroom door open and a voice with a Cockney accent just like Tom’s say, “See? Nothing here,” in disgruntlement.
    “I tell you I heard thumping.”
    “Probably the sound of your brainbox trying to function,” the other man grumbled in exasperation.
    “Very amusing,” a voice retorted. There was silence, and the obvious sound of a person rustling about. “Do you smell that?”
    “Smell what?”
    “It smells like a candle.”
    “You’re holding