With an awkward stillness in the air, he cleared his throat, perused six more pages, then quickly fanned through the rest. He peeked at her and found her in something of a trance with her bottom lip between her teeth, intently watching the book he had open. She had partially leaned onto the desk, her elbows carrying her halfway across, the swell of her breasts provocatively exposed by her scooped neckline. She slowly gazed up at him.
“Well?” Anticipation exuded from her, landing on his chest like a thump.
With a nervous rub of his finger across his left arched brow, he offered simply, “So far, it looks in order.”
“I thought so too.” Her excited expression was contagious, although he couldn’t imagine where it came from. They were just books, after all.
He began to wonder what the first solicitor had done to get sacked. She pulled the ledger from under his splayed fingers, folded it closed, then stacked it to her left—presumably the site for finished work.
Heaving another tome from a large desk drawer, she slapped another leather-bound book across the polished wood and shoved it forward. This one he took into his lap. Settling it on his crossed leg, with his finger and thumb a perch for the side of his head, he turned the pages with his right hand. Eventually, he fanned through the end of that book as well.
“Bravo!” she said, then placed it atop the other finished work.
Yesterday he had seen perhaps five of these ledgers on the desk, but he had a sinking feeling there were many more. “Exactly how many of these would you care for me to approve?”
She paused, her head bent over her task, while she grabbed another book from the drawer. “It’s a bit of an iceberg, I’m afraid. There’s this drawer and one opposite, then there is a chest of them in the attic dating all the way back to 1775. But I don’t expect you to look through those.”
“Thank God,” he murmured under his breath. “Do you think it not prudent that we work a little closer to the current date?”
“Yes, of course. I was simply testing you.”
“Me?” He put a hand to his chest. “If you could finagle such a test, then why not check them all yourself?” He couldn’t help but feel a little put out. Then he reminded himself why he was really there.
“I don’t mean to offend, Mr. Cade, but the Wicked Widows’ League does deal in other matters, and you did mention…” She broke off.
“I mentioned?” He blinked with confusion.
“About an heir.”
What the devil was this League? Wicked? Widows? What had he fallen into?
“Never mind. I can see you are proficient enough not to make a mess where none exists.”
“My lady, you speak in riddles.”
“How can you blame me? You are a riddle yourself.”
“I’m a solicitor.”
“Obviously. But as I said, the mention of—”
“Yes, yes, an heir.” Then it dawned on him. She stared at him as if he were the seeder of said heir. “Oh, Lord… you. You think that I’m suggesting myself as a sacrifice?”
She looked slightly offended, her arms crossed, her bosom rising and falling in excess. “You would consider being with me a sacrifice? I’m not asking, mind you, but that does feel like an insult. Do women swoon when you enter a room?”
He shook his head. He could almost hear the marbles rattling between his ears. Who was this lady? “It was not meant as an insult. And I can’t remember the last time I saw a woman swoon. I’m simply saying I’m not in the market for a bride.”
“And I don’t believe I offered you one.”
“No, you offered yourself.” The comment came from a place of wounded pride and rejection but for what reason? He had not come to flirt or to be openly appreciated, which, if he were honest, was generally a given amongst women.
Her plump lips flattened. Her eyes were slits. She pushed the next book into his hands. “What do you think of this one?”
He cleared his throat, expecting more of the same. But what he found were several scratched entries and more than a couple of changes in handwriting. He knit his brow, following the columns with his finger. Keeping his focus on the ledger, he held out his hand, palm up, and waved his fingers toward himself. “Paper.”
She left the desk and walked across the room. He heard drawers sliding, the shuffle of parchment, and the clatter of pencils. The items appeared under his nose as he caught the scent of vanilla and honeysuckle from her hair. She leaned partially over his shoulder, while he made some scratches of his own, quickly tallying one line and then another. He tried to make out the markings under the original entries and then lost all focus when a hairpin clattered on the page.
With a side glance, he saw her hair half perched, half undone—long, blonde locks of it which she errantly twirled about her finger. And under his nose, ripe for his gaze, were perfectly soft breasts taunting him.
Her eyes met his a breath away. “What do you think?”
He licked his lips and buried his libido in his task. “I think someone has purposely altered the books. Perhaps embezzling. I cannot tell at this juncture. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this somewhere safe.
She nodded. “I’ll ask Newhouse.”
“Do you trust him?”
“More than I trust you, sir.” It wasn’t a slight, but it did put his feet back where they belonged, figuratively speaking, and his eyes back in his head.
For the next two hours, they pored over several more books, and Cade recorded questionable examples from each. He had still yet to see any entries concerning the management of property sales or cost, which as a solicitor, should be his specialty. He shoved another book aside, ready to take on more, when he noticed her position slouched over the arm of the sofa, her cheek balanced on the ball of her fist, and her eyes heavy-lidded, the twinkle lost.
“I think I’ve got this, Lady Danderly, if you’d like to rest. It wouldn’t be out of the question for you to take the air. I could order you refreshment? Or luncheon?”
She straightened, teetering a bit, an overcompensation from someone too tired to hold up. “Can you manage?”
He was on his feet already, taking her arm and leading her from the room. He pulled the bell cord before escorting her to the stairs.
“You are a dear, Mr. Cade.” She looked back at him after taking the first steps.
He gave directions to Mr. Newhouse for luncheon, then put himself to the task of the books once more. He was no longer looking out for his own interests. It was clear the old solicitor had been banking some monies. Whether the man was alone in the effort remained a mystery, but Cade suspected Henry’s siblings were behind the inconsistencies. Some were so small they might be overlooked if one were not sharply surveying the accounts.
“Excuse me, sir, but Mr. Isaac St. George is here with his sister Miss Suzanna St. George, requesting a meeting with you.”
With Mr. Cade? Or the Duke of Justamere? He couldn’t take a chance. “Did they say why?”
“I believe they are put out by the change in solicitor.”
“I see. Tell them their input is not needed, wanted, or required. Lady Danderly has said her piece, and her decision is final.” He mentally dismissed the steward out of habit, then remembered his disguise. “Also, I am not permitted to speak of the accounts with anyone, including distant family.” That ought to do it. He put his pencil down. “How far did they travel?”