Page 49 of Redemption for the Baron

The world beyond them ceased to matter, time thinning to the rapid beat of her pulse and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When at last they separated, her hands still rested on his chest.

His eyes darkened, but he did not step away. She was breathless when they pulled apart, staring at him in disbelief. His hand lingered at her waist before he pulled back entirely, his jaw tight.

“We shouldn’t—” he started.

“No,” she agreed, though the word rang hollow. The line they’d promised not to cross was already behind them.

Chapter Sixteen

Bridget and Grenvillestood before Alastair’s large oak desk, the atmosphere unnervingly still. The room had been undisturbed since his passing, yet something was amiss. The room was too pristine as if someone had meticulously erased every trace of Alastair’s presence. There was no hint of leather, tobacco, or even the faint scent of his lingering cologne.

Grenville ran a hand over the desktop as he scanned the room. “If he kept his notes close, they should be here. The question is, who got to them first?” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Or perhaps they were never meant to be found.”

Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “Alastair knew he was in danger. If the notes were here, he wouldn’t have left them exposed. He would have hidden them.”

Grenville nodded slowly. “Unless he was forced to show them as proof.”

“Or perhaps,” she quipped, “he gave them something else instead.”

His gaze darkened as he stared at the desk. “That would explain the parchment in his mouth. It wasn’t a message to others, but his punishment.”

Bridget’s thoughts raced. “Whoever took his notes must have planned this carefully. They left behind only these fragments as a grim signature.”

Bridget turned toward the bookshelves, stepping closer to inspect the volumes. Some were coated in dust while others borefresh smudges, evidence that someone had been here, sorting and searching. “What better place to hide pages of notes than between the pages of books?” she mused under her breath.

The quiet between them pulsed with purpose. Standing side by side in the hushed library, Bridget felt the remnants of last night’s closeness settle over her like a familiar, comforting shawl.

“Captain,” she said softly, breaking the silence, “I find that despite all this darkness, I’m grateful to have you by my side.”

Grenville stilled, his gaze settling on hers, the weight of her words sinking in. The past day had been filled with loss, suspicion, and uncertainty, yet here she stood, acknowledging not just their shared burdens but the quiet solace they had found in one another.

His lips curved slightly, though something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “Captain?” he echoed, stepping closer, his voice gentler now. “I think we’re beyond that. Thomas will do nicely.”

Bridget tilted her head, studying him, as if considering the shift between them. The use of his given name felt like crossing an unseen threshold, one they had been inching toward without fully acknowledging.

A smile, soft but knowing, touched the corners of her lips. “If that is the case, then you must call me Bridget.”

A subtle warmth passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the intimacy the moment carried.

“Very well… Bridget,” he murmured, her name sounding like a prayer.

They lingered in the quiet that followed, a breath between before and after. For all the uncertainty that lay ahead, this, this was certain.

The search continued as they moved to Alastair’s desk drawer. Bridget carefully pulled it open, noting the scratches along the edges, evidence of a hurried, forceful search.

Thomas ran his fingers along the bottom, brushing against something rough.

She paused, watching the crease in his brow and the way his jaw tightened in concentration, a look reminiscent of their earlier battles of wit.

Bridget lent her hand and discovered a torn piece of fabric caught in the splintered wood, dark and delicate like the lining of a coat. “Someone was in a hurry. And they were careless,” she murmured.

Thomas’s expression was grim. “If Alastair hid his notes, why leave them where anyone could find them?”

Before they could probe further, the sound of footsteps in the corridor caused them to turn. Blackwood loomed in the doorway, his expression controlled yet unreadable. With a subtle shift, Thomas stepped in front of Bridget, an instinctive move that made her heart flutter, though she masked her reaction.

“Turning over the dead man’s belongings already? How unseemly,” Blackwood remarked, eyeing the papers in Thomas’s hand. His gaze flickered briefly to the open drawer before returning to them.

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