She checked lamps and candles, but the wicks were trimmed, oil topped up, ready for the next use. Several items of silver shone in the morning light, a sign of recent polishing. She moved to the hearth where there was little overspill of ash in the grate and a fresh supply of logs filled the wood box, their earthy fragrance pervading the room. Even the fire utensils were cleaned.
Serena sighed. Nothing appeared undone. Not in this room at any rate. Spotless and neat in every detail. Did every room hold such perfection in this house? She glanced at the door through which the lady had departed. Still closed.
Since there was no one to see her, Serena knelt on the floor, spreading her skirt around her. She lifted the edge of the large rug that covered the stone floor, checking for dust beneath it. Not a crumb. Determined to succeed in her search, Serena crawled over to the luxurious sofa and bent to peer beneath it. Aha. Yes. A small raised shadow against the pile of the rug. She stretched her hand as far as possible, but had to lay flat and half submerge her head beneath the couch before she reached the item.
‘Find anything interesting?’
Serena jumped with fright, banging her head on the wooden frame of the sofa. With rapid heat rising in her face, and wincing at the pain on the back of her head, she scrambled to her feet. ‘I’m so sorry, I was ...’
Her words vanished as her eyes settled on the man in front of her. Why had she thought Mr King was an older man? In the morning light, the gentleman before her seemed less than thirty. And handsome, in the manner of handsomeness that set her heart fluttering and made her face even hotter. Well, if it weren’t for that perpetual scowl anyway. And why should she even notice—he’d abandoned her in the drawing room all night?
He stood there, a little dishevelled, unshaven by the shadow on his chin, but otherwise attired to exquisite perfection. Mr King stared at her with his hands thrust in pockets. Was he still angry? Or did he laugh at her behind his stony face? She couldn’t tell.
Serena dropped her gaze and remembered the object in her hand. ‘I found this.’ She held out a key.
‘You may leave it on the card table there,’ he gestured with a jerk of his chin.
The clink of the brass key on the wooden surface echoed through the spacious room.
‘The true daughter of a thief, I see.’
Serena’s outrage increased that Mr King would judge her so. He’d never even asked her name, let alone learnt anything about her.
‘I am Serena Bellingham. And my father is no thief.’ One mistake. He’d made one mistake. Must the label of thief remain forever?
‘Then why are you here?’
Serena frowned. ‘I don’t understand. You brought me here.’
‘I brought the daughter of a thief. If your father is not a thief, then you are not the person who took his place.’
Her mind whirled in confusion. ‘Should I leave then?’
Mr King scowled at her. ‘What is the matter with you? Have you no wits about you? Your father stole my food and attempted to steal a painting. That makes him a thief.’
‘He made a mistake.’ Serena ground out her words in exasperation. ‘One he regrets terribly.’
‘Good. So you admit to your father’s crime. That is a beginning.’
‘I admit no such thing. He is not a criminal.’
‘No?’ Mr King pulled his hands from his pockets and clasped them behind his back. He then walked the length of the room. ‘I think he is. And his activities have rubbed off on you. You have not been in my house a day, Miss Bellingham, and you have already snooped where you have no business to snoop. What did you intend with that key? Find my safe and run away with my gold? Hmm?’
‘What? No.’ What excuse should she give for searching under the sofa? She couldn’t admit the truth. ‘I don’t even know what that key might unlock. I merely found it and wished to return it to its rightful owner.’
Mr King approached her then. Too close. So close she caught the scent of lavender and cinnamon and what was that—tobacco? So close she could have measured the length of his unshaven beard—not even a quarter of an inch. Serena caught her breath at his penetrating gaze. ‘I wish I believed you, Miss Bellingham. Time will tell.’ He stepped back from her. ‘One thing your father spoke true.’
‘What did he say?’ Serena’s voice wobbled with uncertainty.
‘He told me you were fair. I cannot argue it.’ His lips curved a fraction at the corners.
Was that a smile? She didn’t know how to respond.
‘Judith will show you to your room and explain everything.’ He turned to leave.
‘But what am I to do?’ Serena said to a closed door.
This time, Serena did not dare move an iota as she waited for Judith to enter, whoever she might be. The shame of discovery in a prostrate position, with her head underneath a sofa, was enough for one day. But the audacity of that man to accuse her of criminal intent was beyond endurance, and the longer she waited, the angrier she became.
Angry, and a little fascinated if she admitted it. His words at once confounded her and irritated her, and that dark, brooding face attracted her. He was both alarming and alluring.
Five minutes passed before the door re-opened, and the woman she’d met earlier stepped inside. Serena clenched her fists in her lap as she realised this must be Judith.
‘Come this way please, Miss Bellingham.’
Serena stood to her feet and collected her bag. At last the waiting was
