My Wicked Little Lies. Victoria Alexander

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      Chapter 6

      What was she up to?

      Adrian narrowed his eyes and watched his wife leave the ballroom. He’d finished his discussion sooner than he’d expected and obviously sooner than Evie had planned as well. She appeared unhurried, calm, even serene. To an unsuspecting observer, it would look as though Evie were simply off to view the rare orchids Lord Dunwell had in his conservatory. Or perhaps she was curious about the new portrait of Lady Dunwell painted by Mr. Sargent hanging in the gallery. Adrian had been thinking about having his wife’s portrait painted, and he did like the American’s work, even if some of it was scandalous.

      Or she could be off to an assignation with a lover.

      Ridiculous, of course. Why, no more than a half an hour ago, Adrian was convinced he was making a great deal out of nothing. Yes, she had not been herself in recent days. But while it was not unheard of for long winters to create a certain amount of melancholy, that answer didn’t seem right. Not for her. He wasn’t sure why but he knew it. He had realized in recent days, much to his surprise, that the only part of his life in which he was not completely confident was in regards to his wife. He did trust her. Still ...

      His jaw tightened and he started around the perimeter of the room. He was being a fool and he well knew it. But he was also aware he had become, well, boring in the past two years. He’d thought he was a bit staid even when they’d married. But Richard had just died and Adrian was abruptly faced with unplanned responsibilities and the realization one had to take life more seriously when one’s duties changed. Now dull seemed more accurate than staid. He couldn’t blame Evie for wanting a bit of adventure. She’d lived a most adventurous life before their marriage. And he’d already acknowledged a certain restlessness in himself. Not that his eye had turned in search of amorous adventures. Evie was the only one he wanted now or ever.

      Not, he reminded himself, that she wanted someone else. She’d done nothing and he was little more than a jealous idiot. That, too, had surprised him. Nonetheless only a fool would fail to make absolutely certain his suspicions—absurd though they may be—were wrong.

      He made his way toward the door. After all, he, too, would like to see the new portrait. His progress was continually impeded by one person or another wishing to have a word with him, and his impatience grew. When one was faced with unfounded suspicions, one was eager to prove oneself wrong. At last he reached the entry. Across a wide foyer, steps led down to the ground floor. Corridors flanked either side of the ballroom doors. He paused and considered the options.

      “May I be of some assistance, my lord?” A footman stepped up to him. Dunwell’s servants were exceptionally well trained.

      “Yes, thank you.” The most successful fabrications tended to be those closest to the truth. “I seem to have misplaced my wife. I believe she went to look at Lady Dunwell’s portrait.”

      “The gallery is down the corridor to the right, my lord. The family’s private quarters are to the left,” the servant said. “All else including the gallery, the ladies’ receiving room, the conservatory, the billiards room, Lord Dunwell’s library, and assorted drawing rooms are to the right.”

      Adrian nodded his thanks and started down the hall.

      No, he could understand his wife’s succumbing to the lure of adventure, the temptation of the unknown. He could understand a certain restlessness after two years of proper living. Indeed, he was feeling much the same himself.

      What he wouldn’t do was allow it.

      Evelyn studied Lord Dunwell’s desk with a practiced eye. It was obviously expensive and beautifully aged if one liked fine wood insulted by an abundance of decorative bronze garlands and flourishes as well as corner fittings depicting some sort of mythical sea creature. A sea dragon perhaps. Carved wooden waves reached up from the legs to meet the beast. Evelyn wasn’t sure if it was the most amazing work of craftsmanship she had ever seen or simply the ugliest. Nonetheless, it would have been most mesmerizing and fascinating to study had she not had more pressing concerns.

      Four drawers on either side flanked a center drawer over the kneehole. Often desks of this nature had one lock on the top drawer of each column of drawers that locked all the drawers beneath it at the same time. Unfortunately, each of the nine drawers on this desk had its own separate keyhole. Lord Dunwell was certainly a cautious man or a man with a great deal to hide.

      She felt among the pins in her hair for the thin, flexible pick Celeste had given her. Amazing that something very nearly indistinguishable from a hairpin could be used to easily open locks. Evelyn had once had a similar tool of her own but had tossed it away with the rest of her past. Or so she’d thought. Amazing as well that a man who had a lock on every drawer wouldn’t go to some effort to make them a bit more complicated. She snorted with disdain. Unless she was sorely mistaken, this would be fairly easy.

      It was logical to assume that the file, if indeed it was here, would not be in the center drawer or the top two on either side as they were not as deep as the others. Still, one never knew. She knelt before the desk, inserted the pick into the center drawer keyhole, and maneuvered it until it caught on the mechanism. One careful turn and the lock clicked. She opened the drawer and quickly looked at the contents.

      Dunwell was surprisingly tidy and there was nothing here save neatly arranged pen nibs, a sharpening knife, an ivory page cutter, and his lordship’s crested stationery. She’d thought, on occasions similar to this in the past, that one could learn a great deal about a man from looking in his private spaces. Dunwell was organized, precise. Anything he undertook would be well thought out. This was not the drawer of a man of impulse.

      Regardless of the nobility of the purpose, there was something unseemly about perusing a man’s private belongings. One never knew what sorts of things a man might wish to keep locked away from prying eyes. Why, even Adrian kept his desk drawers locked although she was certain he would show her their contents should she ever ask. Not that she cared to. Adrian had nothing to hide. Her husband was very much an open book.

      She made certain everything was exactly as she had found it, closed the drawer, locked it, then started on the drawers to the right. Given that Dunwell favored his right hand, he might well be inclined to store papers of importance on that side. But by the time she reached the bottom drawer, she had not found the file nor had she seen anything out of the ordinary whatsoever. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but Lord Dunwell was apparently far duller than she had imagined.

      She grit her teeth with annoyance. There were still four drawers left but an instinct she thought was long dead told her this СКАЧАТЬ