He stiffened, but she didn’t care. She squeezed him as hard as she could. “What’s this for?” he said, voice muffled.
“The tea. You knew I was curious.”
“Right.” He disentangled himself and set her apart from him. “Try any tea you like. Try all of them if you wish. One of these letters is from Baron. I’ll need a little time to decode it.”
She didn’t know what he meant by decode, but then she doubted he would tell her either. “Who is the other one from?”
“My mother,” he said and moved to a cream-colored chair in front of a polished wooden desk. His mother. For some reason Belle hadn’t imagined Arundel had a mother.
“Who is your mother?” she asked, looking about the opulent chamber. “A duchess?” Thick rugs covered the floor so that her thin shoes sunk with every step she took. Large windows overlooked the busy street below, their heavy curtains drawn back to allow daylight to bathe the room. A grouping of chairs and a couch had been placed near the hearth, and on the other side of the room was a small table and two chairs. Behind her, Arundel sat at the desk. A door behind the table was closed but must have led to the bed chamber. She could only imagine how the bed chamber looked. Perhaps it held one of those enormous beds with curtains—the sort of bed a duchess would sleep in.
“My mother is not a duchess,” Arundel said from the desk. Then more quietly, “Her mother was the late Duchess of Ely, though.”
If his mother was the daughter of a duke and duchess... “Your grandfather is a duke!” She whirled on him. “I didn’t think people like you so much as spoke to people like me.”
He turned in his chair. “People like you?”
“Lowly shopkeepers.”
“There’s little difference between us,” he said, turning back to his letter. “I work and you work. I am not titled; you are not titled.”
Oh, there was an ocean of difference between them, Belle thought, and it wasn’t only the fact that he could afford a room like this. Belle went to the window and stared down at the people and coaches moving along Brook Street. Her little corner of Fenchurch Street seemed small, but she need only venture a few blocks away to remember that London was enormous and filled with people. Somewhere, out in the warren of streets and shadow of buildings, was her father. Was he safe? Warm? Hungry? What if Pennywhistle’s men had beaten him? What if he was dead, and the meeting in Hyde Park was an ambush? What if she never saw her dear Papa again?
A hand touched her shoulder, and she turned her head from the window to see Arundel behind her. “You were banging your fist on the glass,” he said.
She looked at her hand, which was indeed curled into a fist and resting on the glass. “Sorry.”
“Is it your father? Are you worried about him?”
“I...” Her throat seemed to close, and to her horror, tears welled in her eyes. She never cried, especially not in front of men. Now she was doing it again. What was the matter with her?
“Come here,” he said and gathered her into his arms. And to her amazement, she went willingly, pressing her wet cheek against his soft coat and feeling his solid chest beneath the layers of fabric. “I will find him,” Arundel said. “You’ll be together again, and all of this will be a bad dream. You can go back to the way things were before I was dropped into your life.”
No doubt his words were intended to soothe her, but they were having the opposite effect. Of course, she wanted her father returned safely, but she didn’t want Arundel to go away. She should hate him after all the upheaval he had caused the past few days. And she did think she would come to hate him because once he was gone, her life would go back to the way it had been, and she hadn’t realized how small it had been. It was as though Arundel’s arrival had swept back the heavy curtain of her life, and the light showed her there was more to existence than dusting tea shelves and dreaming about sneaking another cup of the special Pan Long Yin Hao.
Not that she didn’t still dream about the Pan Long Yin Hao. She had a little of what she’d taken from the safe in the shop left, and it was secure in her pocket.
But like Arundel, soon it would be gone, and the curtain would close again, leaving her in the shadows. Funny how with her scarred face, she’d always preferred those shadows. But she hadn’t even thought about her scars the past day. Arundel made her forget to be self-conscious about them.
“Do you think they’ve hurt him?” she asked Arundel when she had control of herself again. He handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped her nose and eyes. He was probably used to ladies who delicately dabbed at their tears, but when she peeked at him, the expression on his face only reflected concern.
“They have no reason to hurt him.”
“No, but...” She swallowed. “They have no reason to keep him alive. What if they’ve killed him? If they only plan to kill you, why bother with exchanging my father? Once you are in the park, they’ll kill you.”
“First of all, I don’t give these men much credit, but the most basic tenet of a prisoner swap is that you produce the prisoner. They must know I’ll want to see him before agreeing to anything. Secondly, I’m not so easy to kill. They haven’t managed it yet, and I won’t be an easy target.”
“But—”
“Belle, you will drive yourself mad if you imagine every possible scenario and every small thing that might go wrong. Let me handle that. It’s my job.”
“Oh, yes.” She scowled at him. “As though I can simply stop worrying at the snap of your fingers.”
“You’re right,” he said. “You need a distraction.”
She might have asked him what sort of distraction, but he chose that moment to drag a hand from her waist to trace her backbone. His light touch sent shivers through her, and she realized he was still holding her.
The realization sent a shock through her—Arundel was holding her. They were alone in this beautiful chamber.
And she was very much not his sister.
Her eyes met his, and those lovely eyes of his had turned the shade of velvet blue she found fascinating. She couldn’t help but drag her gaze down his slightly crooked nose and to his lips. She liked his lips too. They were full and soft, and when he smiled, his mouth curved in the most adorable way.
She didn’t know how to play games of seduction, didn’t know what to do next, but she knew what she wanted to do. She knew she wanted him to kiss her. She slid a hand up his chest and behind his head, tugging on his neck to lower it so she might reach it. Then, instead of kissing his lips, she brushed a quick kiss over his nose.
He laughed. “Why did you do that?”
“Did I surprise you?”
“Always.” He was smiling, and she was drawn by that curve at the corners of his mouth. That was where she wanted to kiss.
“How did you break your nose?” she asked.
“That’s a long story.”
“And you have a letter to decode.”
“And I want to do this.” He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her lightly. Belle’s heart immediately began to pound, and she felt a sense of dizziness sweep over her. It was the good kind of dizziness. The kind she felt when she tasted a new tea that was unlike any she’d tasted before.