Free A Secret Love by Stephanie Laurens

fascinated anticipation than resistance. He pressed a firmer kiss in the hollow beneath her ear, and heard her shivery breath. A tremor shook her, followed by a shaky gasp.
    â€œI’m going to drop these boxes.”
    He raised his head and looked, and stifled a sigh. Her arms were quivering. He straightened—instantly, she did, too. She drew in a breath and held it. He eased back. Very carefully, she shifted her hands and gripped the lower two boxes, allowing him to lift the upper three away.
    Lowering her arms, she stepped sideways, then turned and, spine poker straight, unmistakable resolution in every line, carried the two boxes back to the desk.
    Leaving him with three tin boxes and a definite ache.
    Jaw setting, Gabriel carried the boxes to the desk, stacking them atop hers. She’d already opened one box. Without glancing at him, she lifted the papers from it and started flicking through them. Eyes narrowing, he considered simply hauling her into his arms; the stiff, abrupt way in which she was turning pages argued against it.
    Gritting his teeth, he picked up the pile of papers he’d been searching. He sent her a hard-edged glance. If she saw it, she gave no sign.
    They continued to search in silence.
    Just as he was wondering if, perhaps, he’d been wrong, and the Central East Africa Gold Company for some unknown reason had not merited a box, the countess straightened.
    â€œThis is it.”
    Gabriel glanced at the box; it was labeled “Swales.”
    Holding a stack of papers to the lamplight, the countess swiftly studied each in turn. He shifted to stand behind her so he could read over her shoulder. “Those are documents the company would need for registration to conduct business in the City of London.” He scanned the sheet she held. “And the company is a formal client of Thurlow and Brown.”
    â€œBecause all these list Thurlow and Brown as the contact?”
    â€œYes. The firm must have been hired when the company first entered the City. That means there’ll be very few pieces of legal paper listing the company’s address.”
    â€œThere must be one, surely?” She looked up at him over her shoulder; her lips were outlined by her veil. His gaze locked on them and she froze, then a fragile shiver shook her. She looked away and breathlessly asked, “Or will we need to search some government office to find it?”
    She didn’t see the subtle smile that curved his lips. “There should be at least two documents listing the company’s address. One is the main registration of the company, but that will in all likelihood be with the company. The other, however, is a document all solicitors prepare, but which many clients don’t know about.”
    Reaching out, he tugged at the last sheet in the stack; she let him draw it free. He held it up, and smiled. “Here we are—the internal instructions for the firm on how to make contact with the client.”
    â€œMr. Joshua Swales,” she read. “Agent of the Central East Africa Gold Company, in the care of Mr. Henry Feaggins, 142 Fulham Road.”
    They reread the names and address, then Gabriel returned the sheet to the box. Taking the sheaf from the countess’s hands, he rifled through it.
    â€œWhat are you looking for?”
    â€œI wondered if we’d be lucky enough to find a list of investors . . . or a list of promissory notes the firm’s prepared . . . but no.” Frowning, he restacked the papers. “Whoever they are, the company are certainly careful.”
    She held the box as he set the papers back in, then he closed and relocked it. Carrying the other boxes, she followed him back to the shelf. He restacked the boxes in the right order, then turned to discover her already back at the desk, setting it to rights, straightening the blotter, realigning the inkstand.
    Completing a last visual scan of the room, he lifted the lamp.