Guilt undoubtedly formed the basis of their actions. “Then let us deal with the matter now. Tonight.” He didn’t like leaving her alone with servants who caused mischief. “Let me challenge Henry’s account.”
Miss Dunn fell silent before saying with some determination, “You may join me inside, Mr Ashwood, but I will be the one to challenge Henry’s account.”
Noah was unused to letting someone else take control. But he sensed her frustration, knew she had a point to prove.
“If that is what you want,” he said, his tone conveying confidence in her ability.
“And I must ask that you do not intervene or overrule me.”
“Madam, I shall be as quiet as a mouse.” He didn’t need to speak to be intimidating.
The carriage turned into Brownlow Street and rumbled to a halt outside Number 11. Noah became aware of Bower’s presence long before he opened the carriage door and vaulted to the pavement.
Indeed, he glanced at the hulking figure sitting atop the box of a carriage parked further down from the hospital. Bower recognised him and tipped his hat, as did his companion. Daventry would hear about the late-night visit and make obvious assumptions.
But Lucius Daventry could go to hell.
Noah would help Miss Dunn with her problems and woe betide anyone who tried to stop him.
Chapter 11
There was a fundamental difference between men and women, Eva noted as she escorted Noah Ashwood into the drawing room and told him to help himself to a drink, though she only had port.
Indeed, having asked Bardsley to summon Henry from his room, she returned to find Mr Ashwood relaxing on the sofa like he hadn’t a care in the world. One wondered if the man might close his eyes and take a nap. He offered a smile and gestured to the glass of port on the side table, the drink he had poured for her.
Was his mind not consumed with thoughts of their passionate kiss? Was his body not burning to strip away their clothes and indulge their desires? No? Was he not alarmed, disturbed by Henry’s blatant lie? Apparently not.
“I didn’t know you were a connoisseur of port wine,” he said, raising his glass in salute.
“I’m not. Howard insists on the best. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve wanted to pull the stopper from the decanter and empty the contents over his head.”
Mr Ashwood laughed. “What, and waste an extremely good vintage?”
Eva laughed, too. She liked having him in her private space. It didn’t feel strange or awkward. Few men cared to hear a woman’s opinion. Noah Ashwood was different. He possessed the rare quality of being so remarkably masculine without the arrogance and the desperate need to take control.
She liked that.
She liked him—more than she should.
The memory of his fingers threading into her hair, the memory of his hot mouth moving so expertly, sent tingles to her toes. Oh, lust was a dangerous devil, indeed.
Thankfully, a knock on the door brought an end to her amorous musings, banished all notions of her raising her skirts and sitting astride Mr Ashwood’s solid thighs.
“Come,” she called, though her voice revealed something of her torment.
Henry entered. He had dressed in a hurry and appeared a little dishevelled. “You sent for me, ma’am.”
“Come in and close the door.”
From her sharp tone, the servant knew something was amiss. He did as she bade him and then waited, hands clasped behind his back, for instruction.
Eva glanced at Mr Ashwood, who settled back into the plush cushions as if about to watch an entertaining drama at the playhouse.
“This morning I asked you to take important documents to Mr Ashwood’s office in Hart Street,” she said, focusing her attention on the footman.
“Yes, ma’am.” Henry’s pale complexion was a sure sign of his guilt.
“When I questioned you later, you explained that you handed the documents to him personally. That is what you said?”
The footman nodded and glanced at the gentleman lounging on the sofa.
“And yet you lied. You did not see Mr Ashwood this morning. And so I must conclude one of two things. Either you thought the letters had value and so kept them, or—”
“No, ma’am. As God is my witness, I didn’t steal the letters.” A green vein in Henry’s temple bulged as he pleaded his case. “I didn’t take them, I swear. I can’t lose this position, ma’am.”
Eva’s foolish heart softened. She knew Henry supported an ailing mother, and three siblings who still lived at home. But perhaps her compassionate nature was the cause of her mounting problems.
“It’s either that,” she continued, forcing an air of authority into her tone, “or someone prevented you from taking the documents to Mr Ashwood.”
Indeed, perhaps Henry knew the note would lead Mr Ashwood to the blackmailer. Perhaps Howard was to blame, and he controlled matters from the shadows. She would kill the coward herself if that proved the case.
“So, which is it, Henry?” Eva pressed. “Did you steal the documents? Did someone else force you to part with crucial evidence? My brother was desperate to have you serve as his valet. Perhaps that’s where your loyalty lies.”
“No, ma’am. Mr Dunn wanted me for his valet so I could run his errands. I took money to a place in Rosemary Lane. A terrible place full of cutthroats and vicious thugs.”
“The Compass Inn,” Mr Ashwood offered from his seat. “You gave money to the Turners? How much?”
“Three hundred pounds, sir, though Mr Turner said he’d cut off my b—” Henry swallowed and took a quick breath. “Mr Turner will do me an injury if I don’t return with the full amount.”
Shame burned Eva’s cheeks. While living in her house, Howard had been secretly manipulating her staff. Just because he was the older brother, that did not give him the right to do as he pleased.
“As I'm the mistress of this house, you should have told me.”
“The master said I’d lose my position if I didn’t do as he said.”
“The master!” Anger flared. “My
