Mistress - Amanda Quick [85]
“Yes, it does.”
Marcus eased open the unlocked window, moved the curtain aside, and peered into the interior of the shop.
Iphiginia crowded close behind him. “Can you see anything?”
“Not much. The room is rather dark. The curtains are drawn shut. Hold on a minute.” He opened the window all the way and then stepped back to study the situation. “Damn. I do not think that I will be able to fit through that opening.”
Iphiginia studied the situation. “I can fit through it.”
Marcus looked at her. “If you think that I am going to allow you to go through that window—”
“Marcus, be reasonable. I shall simply slip through the opening and immediately unlock the door for you. You will be inside with me in no time.”
“Hmm.” He hesitated, clearly torn. “Very well. But don’t waste a moment once you’re inside. Go right to the door.”
“I will.” Iphiginia went to stand in front of the open window. It was too far off the ground for her to be able to simply step through it. “You’ll have to help me.”
“I can see that.” Marcus fitted his hands to her waist and lifted her effortlessly off the ground.
Iphiginia shivered, remembering the feel of his hands on her bare skin two nights ago. He was so strong and yet she felt so safe when she was in his embrace.
“Hurry, Iphiginia.”
“Yes, of course.” She shook off the hot memories and concentrated on the matter at hand.
Scrambling through the window proved unexpectedly awkward. Iphiginia was hampered by the long, ruffled skirts of her white muslin walking dress and matching spencer.
“Good God,” Marcus muttered somewhere behind her. “How many petticoats do you have on under your gown? I am about to drown in them.”
“It was rather chilly today.” Iphiginia was intensely aware of his hand on the calf of her leg.
A few seconds later she landed on her feet inside the shadowed room. She reached out to steady herself. Her fingers brushed against a sheaf of papers that were lying on a nearby table. Several sheets of foolscap drifted to the floor at her feet.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured.
“What’s wrong?” Marcus demanded instantly.
“Nothing serious. I knocked some papers to the floor.” Iphiginia stooped to retrieve them. She stared in amazement as her eyes began to adjust to the gloom. “Good grief. Marcus, there are papers and ledgers and such scattered about everywhere. The place looks as though a whirlwind went through it.”
“Open the door. Quickly.”
Iphiginia straightened and went to the back door. She unlocked it. Marcus strode into the shop and shut the door behind himself. He stood still for a moment, gazing into the shadows.
“Bloody hell,” he said softly. “The place has been ransacked.”
Iphiginia stared at the chaos around them. “What do you think happened here?”
“I don’t know.” Marcus moved toward the narrow staircase that led to the private rooms above the shop. “Wait here. I want to take a quick look around upstairs.”
Iphiginia ignored him. She followed him up the stairs and came to a halt beside him in a doorway that opened onto a tiny parlor.
Here everything was in order. The folding table of the secretary desk was neatly closed. The furnishings were not tumbled about. The carpet was not littered with papers.
“This room does not appear to have been disturbed,” Iphiginia said.
“No.” Marcus turned and walked down the hall.
Iphiginia followed.
Together they looked into one small, comfortably furnished room after another and then they climbed the stairs to the top floor.
It was not until Marcus put his hand on the knob of the bedchamber door that Iphiginia was suddenly struck by a deep sense of dread.
“Marcus?”
“I’ll go in first.”
He opened the door of the last bedchamber and stood very still in the opening.
Iphiginia tried to peer around Marcus’s broad shoulders. She could see what appeared to be gray skirts and a pair of high laced shoes lying on the floor. “Oh, my God. Is that …?”
“No doubt. Stay right here.”
This time Iphiginia obeyed. She watched Marcus walk toward the body.