Page 56 of Rakes & Reticules
Through half-lowered lashes, Siobhan observed the viscountess and Chandler. Both appeared peculiarly at ease given the perilous circumstances. On the other hand, the brutes Lady Huxley employed glanced around like a nervous mother dog with newborn pups.
Fletcher lay insensate upon the sofa where Lady Huxley’s thugs had unceremoniously dumped him. Pulse racing in anticipation of what he had planned, Siobhan had sat on the sofa and slipped his head onto her lap, only too happy to aide in his deception.
Why he pretended unconsciousness, she couldn’t guess. And how the two of them could ward off the four menaces in his office also eluded her. Nevertheless, she trusted Fletcher implicitly.
The realization gave her an internal start.
She caressed his beloved face with her gaze.
She did trust him.
Wholly and without reservation.
When had her wariness and distrust changed?
Probably when she’d acknowledged to herself that she cared for him—no, not just cared for him.
Siobhan loved Fletcher.
She wasn’t supposed to. She knew better. She’d tried not to. She really had.
Nonetheless, the emotion had proved too potent and intoxicating to resist.
She loved him so completely, unreservedly, irrefutably, and irreversibly that her heart could scarcely contain the emotion, and her mind could hardly comprehend the truth. Surely, her love must be apparent to everyone, for how could she hide something so powerful?
“Where is my useless, mincing fop of a husband?” Her ladyship sent a seething glower toward the door. It was a wonder the panel didn’t burst into flames. “I swear. The man’s incapable of even the simplest of feats. I must explain every detail to him, thrice over.”
“Never fear, my love. You shall be rid of him soon enough,” Chandler soothed before kissing her forehead.
Siobhan hadn’t a doubt now that Lady Huxley had been the mastermind behind the crimes perpetuated against Fletcher and his clubs with her husband’s and Chandler’s assistance.
Did Huxley know his wife and Chandler were having an affair?
Had Fletcher ever suspected his head of security’s disloyalty?
“Why are you doing this?” Siobhan asked.
What could motivate a person to be this evil?
The viscountess stalked across the carpet until she stood directly before Siobhan and Fletcher. “Revenge, of course.”
“Revenge?” Siobhan puzzled her forehead. “For what?”
With a convincing groan, Fletcher stirred and fluttered his eyelashes before slowly opening his beautiful green eyes. His gaze meshed with hers as he silently begged her to trust him.
And she did. Without hesitation.
Groaning again and holding a hand to his head, he slowly angled upward until he slumped upright on the sofa.
Siobhan prayed he only acted and wasn’t in as much pain as he appeared.
“I’m sure Fletcher can answer that question,” the viscountess purred as she leaned over him. “Why don’t you enlighten the skinny waif? She’s obviously in love with you.”
She practically spat the last words.
A flush heated Siobhan’s cheeks, but she refused to refute the accusation. If she were about to die, she would do so with Fletcher knowing the truth.
He grasped Siobhan’s hand in his much larger palm. He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze, and she gripped his in return. Somehow, and as irrational as it seemed, his big, warm hand encompassing hers made her feel as protected and invincible as a wall of armored soldiers with shields raised.
