The woman was driving him insane. He hadn’t taken a decent breath since he’d seen her in that fever-dream of a dress. Its color emphasized the smooth skin of her bare shoulders and made him want to kiss the indent at the front of her throat, where her collarbones met. The dangerously low-cut bodice invited him to cup the lush mounds of her breasts, to press his face to them.

And if the dress hadn’t been enough, while he’d been trying to concentrate on piquet, the little wretch had started fondling him. Her light, teasing touches had produced a flash of heat on his neck and an instant stiffening between his legs.

He had no idea what hand he’d played; his complete attention had been on her fingers in his hair. He imagined her closing her fists, gripping his hair as he thrust into her, and his hands trembled. The scent of her, an intriguing mix of perfume and skin that was uniquely hers, teased his senses, so delicious he wanted to lick her. Everywhere. He felt befuddled.

He needed to concentrate, to look for evidence. Not throw her up onto O’Meara’s leather-topped writing desk. With a decided effort, he strode over to the desk in question and produced his pocket knife from his waistcoat. The lock to the top drawer yielded to its pressure with only the slightest splintering of wood, and he exhaled in satisfaction. “Let’s see what the good doctor is hiding.”

He rifled through the drawers, discarding most items until he came to a roll of large papers tied with a slim blue ribbon. The size alone indicated they were maps or plans of some sort. He pulled down one corner, took a brief glance, and decided they merited a closer look. He glanced over at Georgie, who’d made her way over to one of the walls of books, and beckoned her forward. As soon as she got close, he dropped to his knees and took hold of the hem of her skirts.

She sucked in a scandalized breath. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t very well walk out of here with these stuffed in my jacket, can I? We’ll have to hide them in your skirts.”

She made a little squeaking sound, but he’d already exposed her stockinged shin. He inhaled a waft of warm, perfumed skin that made his head swim and caught a tantalizing glimpse of gartered knee before she pushed her skirts down with her hands.

“Stop being such a prude,” he scolded.

She gave huff of irritation, or perhaps embarrassment. “Get off! I’ll do it.”