What an Earl Wants Read Online Free PDF Page B

investments, rather than your household. Johnson had access to your entire fortune, did he not?”
    Sinclair stopped. He glared at Quincy.
    She stared back. “You need me.”
    He shook his head. “How much is missing?”
    “So far? I can prove at least ten thousand pounds is gone.”
    “Ten…thou—?”
    “At least. Probably more.”
    Sinclair rubbed his hands over his eyes. This was not happening. Not to him. Not now. Not when he needed his money for…Sinclair lowered his hands. The brazen miss was still staring at him. From across the room, and with her spectacles in the way, it was hard to discern the emotion reflected in her eyes. Pity? No. Desperation? Probably. Determination, certainly.
    “You need me,” she said again. “It will take time to go through the rest of Johnson’s records and determine the extent of the damage.”
    Sinclair shook his head. Again.
    “How long did he work for you?”
    “Five years. He worked for my father before that.” Sinclair suddenly felt drained. His physical reserves were still low to begin with, and after today—changes in Mama, the old secretary had stolen from him, the new secretary had tricked him—he just wasn’t up to it. He slumped on the sofa and lifted his right leg onto the ottoman. “A man can do a lot of stealing in that much time.”
    “Don’t enact a Cheltenham tragedy for my benefit,” Quincy said, her tone aloof.
    Sinclair almost laughed, despite himself. She had bottom, right up to the end.
    End?
    Absently rubbing his thigh, Sinclair watched her pick up the various piles from the floor and stack them crisscross on his desk, then reach for her coat and hat. She was leaving.
    That’s what he wanted, right? Quincy gone. He’d told her to go. Not just once, but three times. His life was chaotic enough without having to deal with a female secretary. And if word got out, it would be disastrous.
    A loose paper fluttered to the floor as she pulled on her coat, and Quincy bent over to retrieve it. Her coattails separated, revealing her very feminine backside. Again.
    Sinclair raised his gaze to the ceiling, exasperated with himself. He had no business staring at her derrière. Regardless of how shapely it was.
    To be fair, Sinclair conceded that she was good at what she did. Bookkeeping, that is. How long might the embezzlement have gone unnoticed, if not for Quincy? He certainly hadn’t figured it out in the three weeks since Johnson had left. And the changes in Mama, those had occurred in just one day. If the two women were to, say, have tea together once a week or so, what other changes might come about?
    Quincy buttoned her coat. Pulled threadbare gloves out of a pocket and tugged them on. Started walking for the door, her spine rigid.
    “How much time to go through all of Johnson’s records?” Sinclair said, calling himself a thousand kinds of fool even as the words left his mouth.
    Quincy stopped, her hand on the knob. “I don’t know. Days. Weeks, possibly.”
    Sinclair turned on the sofa toward Quincy, making sure her attention was centered on him before he spoke. “Then that is your top priority. You can begin first thing in the morning.”
    “Morning?” For the first time, she looked truly startled.
    There was a knock on the door, and Quincy jumped back.
    Mrs. Hammond poked her head in. “I was just taking some tea up to her ladyship, my lord, and wanted to know if you’d care for a spot as well?”
    Changes, indeed. “Yes, Mrs. Hammond, thank you.”
    The housekeeper nodded, smiled at Quincy, and spun on her heel, leaving the door open.
    Quincy cleared her throat.
    He interrupted before she could speak. “You’ve earned the right to solve the rest of the puzzle. After that,” he rose from the sofa, drawing himself to his full height, “you’re done.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Do we understand one another, Mister Quincy?”
    She raised her chin, eyes narrowed. Footsteps sounded in the hall, coming closer. For a moment he thought