For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📕

on the panels herself, but stopped after a few tries. She didn’t know what she was doing, and was probably just making it harder for him to hear whatever he was listening for. Again she retreated to the window and waited, with nothing to do but watch as he systematically rapped at every square inch of wall. Intent on his task, he said nothing, which unfortunately only left her mind free to wander to inappropriate subjects.

The shape of his hands, for instance.

When he laid his palm flat against the wall and spread his fingers wide, Cressida couldn’t help noticing how strong and capable his hands were. He paused and ran his fingertips lightly over the edge of one panel, his cheek laid right against the wall as he scrutinized every stroke of his fingers. A funny feeling stirred in her belly as she watched him caress the old wooden panel, stained dark from age and smoke. A cavalryman’s hands, she thought, ought not to be capable of such delicate motion.

“Ah,” he sighed in satisfaction. A slow smile curved his mouth and Cressida’s breath stopped in her chest for just a moment. She had better go scrub floors or pick vegetables or—

“I was about to suggest we look in the bedchamber,” he said, “but I think there’s no need.”

It took her brain a moment to function again. “Oh,” she said, then: “Oh!” Under those strong, capable fingers, a panel in the wall was sliding inward. He pressed harder, until the wood squealed a little and then gave way, revealing a dark space about a foot square behind the wall just to the left of the fireplace.

“It’s warped,” the major said, pushing it fully open. “There’s a tiny nail hole here, as if someone tried to seal it shut. That may have alerted your father to its presence.”

“Oh,” she said for the third time. She never would have noticed such a thing. Was the major this observant about everything? “Of course.”

He grinned at her and reached into the space to pull out two books, one the ledger Cressida had seen her father write in, and another, smaller one. He brought them to the window, beside her. “Let’s see what we have here,” he muttered, opening the larger book in a ray of sunshine.

“That’s the ledger,” she said stupidly. Of course it was a ledger, the pages lined with long columns of neat numbers; a man who would notice a pinprick of a nail hole in the wall didn’t need to be told that.

“Indeed it is.” His eyes were flitting rapidly over the page, and he turned through a few more before closing it and setting it on the desk. “And what is this?” He flipped open the smaller book.

“I have no idea,” she said after a moment. “It looks like Papa’s hand, but…”

“It looks like a journal.” He touched one page. “Dates.”

It was. But aside from the dates, everything was nonsense. The words looked like ordinary words from a distance, but were composed of random assortments of letters that didn’t spell anything in English. “It’s a code,” she said in amazement.

He glanced at her in surprise, then paged through the rest of the book. Everything was the same odd jumble of letters. “I believe you’re right. Did your father tell you he used codes?”

She shook her head. “He’s always been fond of puzzles and secrets. I—I suppose that’s what led him to hide the books. I never saw this one, though.”

“It’s old. The dates go back over ten years, although they end only six months past.” He looked up, meeting her gaze. “Then you probably don’t know the key.”

Cressida pursed her lips. “No, but…I should like to take a turn at deciphering it.”

“You like codes?” His eyes lit up, and she felt absurdly pleased at having delighted him. “By all means. I’ll take this”—he tapped the ledger—“and you have a go at this.”

She took the journal. The leather was stiff and creased, and the pages crackled when she turned them. But it smelled of Papa’s tobacco, and she held it close to her heart. “I will.”

He turned away and began stacking the sorted bills on top of the ledger. “I’ll go through this and match up the bills with the payments, to see if he owes anyone. He might have made a quiet trip to discuss a debt. It will be quite tedious, I’m afraid, or we could do it here. I know you wish to stay informed of all I do.”

Cressida blushed at his matter-of-fact statement. “I do, but I don’t wish to interfere.” He gave her a wry look that indicated he knew exactly how much she wanted to interfere, and she blushed harder. He would think her face permanently red, the way things were going. “I hope you find something helpful.”

“And I you.” He placed one hand on the ledger and the other on his hip. With the window at his back, in his dazzling white shirtsleeves, he seemed large and powerful and very male. “How shall we go on?”

“Go…” She cleared her throat—difficult to do with her head tipped back to see him. “Go on?”

“Yes. You did say you wanted to remain involved. Shall I work until I discover something, or shall I call every day even if I have no news?”

Every day. She cleared her throat again. “As often as you see fit, Major.”

He looked at her. “Alec,” he said. “Please.”

“Oh.” She tried to laugh and ended up making a strange coughing sound. They were very close together here by the window and the desk. Cressida didn’t remember the last time she had been so close to a man who was not Tom or her father, let alone one who looked at her like this. “I don’t think…That is…If you wish.”

“We’ll be thrown together a fair amount, I expect.” Finally he looked away. “I’m not in the army any longer. I haven’t used the rank in some time.” He raised one brow and cast a significant glance