Earls Just Want to Have Fun by Shana Galen Page B

Maybe he felt guilty when he considered what he’d do to her when he’d gained her trust. Would he sell her to a bawdy house? Have her transported? Whatever his plan, she would not wait for it to take shape. Kindness was manipulation, and those who trusted it were the worst sorts of fools.
    She looked behind her, at the door he’d gone through after he’d tied her. She had no glim-stick, so she carefully made her way to it and opened the door. It was dark, but she could smell the scent of wool and linen. This was where he stored his clothing. An entire room to store clothes! How would she ever find his coat in here? It was dark, and there were probably dozens of coats.
    She bit the pad of her thumb, thinking. It was an old habit and one she felt slightly guilty about, even though neither Satin nor any of the cubs ever said anything. Their bad habits were far worse than hers, at any rate—picking their teeth, farting, blowing snot from their nose. The swell was right that if she’d had a choice, she wouldn’t have minded staying here for a few days.
    But she didn’t have a choice.
    She bit her thumb again and then looked back at the bed. If he’d locked the door, he’d want the key close to him. He’d probably stuffed it in the pocket of his…he’d been wearing breeches and a flowing lawn shirt. He wouldn’t have pockets. So then he’d put it down on the table beside the bed. She crossed to the table and felt the surface carefully. A book, a glass that had once held what smelled like spirits, and a cold lamp sat there.
    Perhaps he held it in his hand or had looped it about his neck. She didn’t remember seeing it dangling from his neck, but she hadn’t been thinking very clearly when he’d knelt before her.
    She’d been thinking about kissing him. Now she bit her thumb hard in punishment. What was wrong with her? She was becoming the sort of silly tib all the cubs made fun of. Of course, she’d noticed bang-up coves before, just as the cubs noticed a rum-duchess. She’d even thought about kissing one or two of the handsome coves. Some of those thoughts had led to her kissing Gideon. But that had been nothing more than idle fantasy, something to pass the time while she waited for a dive or a racket. She hadn’t really been near to any of the men she imagined kissing. But this man was different. She’d been very close to him, kissing distance close. And he’d smelled so clean. She’d thought nothing could smell as wonderful as meat and ale, but he came close.
    If she kissed him, would they have the spark Gideon had talked about? She feared they would, but she would not ever find out. She would pilfer that key and hide so Sir Brook never found her again. Satin could send her to Bath for a few months. They’d never look for her there.
    But if she were to open his hand or remove something from about his neck, she’d better be prepared to defend herself should he wake up. She could pick a pocket, but this was something else entirely. She bent and reached into her boot, extracting her dagger. The familiar weight of it seemed to right the world, and she felt calm again and ready for anything. She’d try his hand first. Clamping the dagger between her teeth, she leaned over the bed. It was a tall bed, and the mattresses had been piled high. She could not manage to achieve a good vantage point for opening his fingers. And those were the fingers beside his head. What if he’d hidden it in the hand beneath the bedclothes?
    Clenching her teeth on the blade of the dagger, she gingerly placed her hands on the bedclothes. Instantly, she lifted her hand again. The gold-and-red material was soft and plush. She touched it again, running her hand over it in amazement. She didn’t have time to gawk at the finery, so she pushed down, then eased one knee onto the mattress, and carefully hoisted herself up. She brought her other knee