by Amanda Quick
“Where the devil have you been, Graystone? I’ve gone to every damn ball and soiree in town tonight looking for you. You’ve got a bloody disaster on your hands and here you sit, calm as you please, drinking claret at your club.” Peter Sheldrake dropped into the chair across from Harry and continued to mutter darkly as he reached for the bottle. “I should have tried here first.”
“Yes, you should have.” Harry looked up from the notes he was making for a book on Caesar’s military campaigns. “I decided to come here for a few hands of cards before retiring for the evening. What seems to be the problem, Sheldrake? I have not seen you this agitated since the night you nearly got caught with that French officer’s wife.”
“The problem is not mine.” Peter’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “It is yours.”
Harry groaned, sensing the worst. “Are we by any chance about to discuss Augusta?”
“I fear so. Sally sent me to find you when it transpired that you were not conveniently at home. Your lady has taken up a new profession, Graystone. She is about to become a cracksman.”
Harry went cold. “The devil she is. What are you talking about, Sheldrake?”
“According to Sally, your fiancée is even now on her way to break into the house Lovejoy has leased for The Season. It seems she tried to repay her debt but Lovejoy refused to take the money. Nor would he return her marker unless she collected it in person. At his place. At eleven o’clock tomorrow evening, to be precise. She was instructed to come alone. One can imagine what he had in mind.”
“That son of a bitch.”
“Yes, I fear he is playing some rather dangerous games with your Miss Ballinger. However, never fear. Your intrepid and ever resourceful fiancée has decided to take matters into her own hands. She has gone to fetch her marker herself tonight while Lovejoy is out on the town.”
“This time I really will beat her.” Harry got to his feet, ignoring Peter’s wicked grin as he headed for the door. Ana afterward I will deal with Lovejoy.
Dressed for the occasion in a pair of trousers and a shirt that had once belonged to her brother, Augusta crouched beneath Lovejoy’s garden window and surveyed the situation.
The window of Lovejoy’s small library had opened easily enough. She had been afraid she might have to smash one of the small panes of glass in order to force her way inside. But one of the servants had apparently failed to lock the window earlier in the day.
Augusta breathed a sigh of relief and took one more look around the little garden to make certain she was still unobserved. All was quiet and the windows of the floor above were still dark. Lovejoy’s small staff was either abed or out for the evening. Lovejoy himself, Sally had managed to ascertain, was at the Beltons’ soiree and would no doubt stay out until dawn.
Convinced the entire business was going to be very simple and straightforward, Augusta hopped up onto the windowsill, swung her legs over the edge, and dropped soundlessly to the carpeted floor.
She stood still for a moment, attempting to get her bearings in the dark room. The silence was oppressive. There was no sound at all from anywhere in the house. She could hear the distant clatter of carriages out in the street and the whisper of rustling leaves through the open window, but nothing else.
There was enough moonlight filtering in through the window to reveal Lovejoy’s desk and some of the furniture. A large wing chair was placed near the hearth. Two bookcases loomed in the shadows, but there was only a handful of volumes on the shelves. A large globe on a heavy wooden base stood in the corner.
Augusta glanced across the small chamber and assured herself the door was closed.
Her observations of the male sex had informed her years ago that gentlemen were strongly inclined to keep their most valuable papers locked in their library desks. Her father, brother, and uncle had all followed that policy. It was that observation that had enabled her to guess the location of Rosalind Morrissey’s stolen journal. Augusta was certain she would find her marker in Lovejoy’s desk tonight.
It was unfortunate that she had been unable to ask Harry to come along on this venture, she thought as she went over the desk and crouched behind it. His knowledge of how to use a bit of wire to open locks would have come in handy. She wondered where he had picked up the skill.
Augusta gently tugged on the drawer, which was most definitely locked shut. She wrinkled her nose as she studied the desk. She could just imagine Harry’s reaction if she had requested his help tonight. The man had no sense of adventure.
The lock of Lovejoy’s desk was difficult to see in the shadows. Augusta toyed with the notion of lighting the taper. If she closed the drapes no one would be likely to spot the light coming from the library window.
She rose to her feet and started to search for a light source. Her back was to the open window and she was just reaching for what appeared to be a candle holder on a high shelf when she sensed a presence. Someone else is in the library. I have been discovered.
Shock and fear vibrated through Augusta. A cry of raw panic rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. But before she could whirl around or even utter a scream, a strong hand closed forcefully over her mouth.
“This is getting to be a most unpleasant habit,” Harry growled in her ear.
“Graystone.” Augusta went limp with relief as his hand dropped away from her lips. “Dear God, you gave me an awful start. I thought it was Lovejoy.”
“You little fool. It easily could have been. Indeed, you may wish it had been by the time I have finished with you.”
She turned to face him and found him looming tall and dark in the shadows. He was dressed entirely in black, including black leather boots and a long, black greatcoat which concealed his clothing. He carried his ebony cane, she noticed, but saw that for once he was not wearing a crisp white cravat. It was the first time she had ever seen him without one. Dressed in this fashion the earl blended perfectly into the darkness.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she demanded softly.
“I would have thought it obvious. I am attempting to keep my future wife out of Newgate Prison. Have you found what you came for?”
“No, I just got here. The desk is locked. I was searching for a taper when you snuck up behind me.” Augusta scowled as a thought occurred to her. “How did you know I was here?”
“That is not important at the moment.”
“Sir, you have the most unsettling way of always knowing what I am about. One would almost believe you can read minds.”
“No great feat, I assure you. Why, if you try very hard, I’ll wager you could even read mine tonight. For example, what do you believe I am thinking at this very moment, Augusta?” Harry went back to the window and closed it softly. Then he moved to the desk.
“I suspect you are rather annoyed with me, my lord,” Augusta ventured as she followed him across the room. “But I can explain everything.”
“Your explanations can come later, although I doubt that I will find them much of an excuse for this nonsense.” Harry went down on one knee behind the desk and fished a familiar-looking length of wire out of his pocket. “But first let us finish this business and be gone.”
“Excellent notion, my lord.” Augusta crouched beside him, peering intently at what he was doing. “Do you not need a taper to see what you are doing?”
“No. This is not the first desk I have opened by touch. If you will recall I had some practice on Enfield’s.”
“Yes, so you did. Which reminds me, Harry, wherever did you learn—”
There was a faint click from the small keyhole. The desk was unlocked.
“Ah,” said Harry very softly.
Augusta was filled with admiration. “Where did you learn how to do this so efficiently, my lord? I vow it is a most remarkable skill. I practiced on Uncle Thomas’s desk with one of my hairpins, but I never acquired this degree of talent.”
Harry slanted her a repressive glance as he pulled open the desk drawer. “The ability to
pry open someone else’s desk is not an admirable skill. I do not consider it the sort of accomplishment a young lady should learn.”
“No, you would not, would you, Graystone? You think it is only men who should get to do the exciting things in this world.” Augusta peered into the desk drawer. She saw nothing that even remotely resembled her IOU among the neatly arranged papers. She reached out to sift through the small assortment of items in the drawer.
Harry’s hand closed over hers. “Wait. I will do the searching.”
Augusta sighed. “I assume this means you know what I am searching for, my lord?”
“Your note to Lovejoy for the thousand pounds you owe him.” Harry was sorting rapidly through the contents of the center drawer. When he found nothing, he closed it and started opening other drawers in the desk.
It was obvious Harry knew everything. Augusta decided to get an early start on her explanations. “The thing is, Graystone, it was all a mistake.”
“On that we agree. A very stupid mistake.” He finished going through the last of the drawers and straightened, frowning intently. “But we now have an even larger problem on our hands. I see no sign of your vowels.”
“Oh, no. I was certain he would keep them in here. Every man I have ever known keeps his valuable papers in his library desk.”
“You have either not known a great many men or you were not privy to all of their secrets. Many men keep their valuables in a safe.” Harry started around the desk toward the bookcases.
“A safe. Yes, of course. Why didn’t I think of that? Do you suppose Lovejoy has one?”
“No doubt.” Harry shifted some volumes on the shelves of the bookcases. He hauled out a few of the larger ones and opened them. When they proved to contain only pages, he put them back on the shelves in exactly the same positions in which he had found them.
Seeing what he was doing, Augusta started working on another row of books. She found nothing. Alarmed that they might not find her vowels after all, she swung around in agitation and nearly stumbled into the globe. She reached out hastily to brace herself.
“Good grief, this is heavy,” she muttered.
Harry turned, his gaze riveted on the globe. “Of course. It is just the right size.”
“What are you talking about?” Augusta watched in amazement as he moved over to the globe and knelt beside it. She suddenly realized what he was thinking. “How very clever of you, my lord. Do you think this is Lovejoy’s safe?”
“I think it is a possibility.” Harry was already working on the mechanism that held the globe in its wooden frame. His fingers slid over the wood with a lover’s touch, testing and probing. Then he paused. “Ah, yes. There we are.”
A moment later some hidden spring gave way and the top half of the globe opened to reveal a hollow interior. A shaft of moonlight revealed a few papers and a small jeweler’s box inside.
“Harry. There it is. There’s my note.” Augusta reached inside to pluck out her IOU. “I have it.”
“Right. Let’s be off, then.” Harry closed the globe. “Damnation.”
He went absolutely still at the faint sound of the front door of the house opening and closing. There were booted footsteps in the hall.
“Lovejoy has come home.” Augusta’s eyes met Harry’s as she spoke. “Quick. The window.”
“No time. He is coming this way.”
Harry was on his feet. He grabbed his cane and her wrist and yanked Augusta toward the sofa at the far end of the room. Pushing her down behind it, he hunkered beside her, the cane in his hand.
She swallowed heavily and did not move so much as a fraction of an inch.
The footsteps paused outside the door of the library. Augusta held her breath, fiercely glad that Harry was here beside her.
The door opened and someone came into the library. Augusta stopped breathing altogether. Dear God, what a mess. And it is all my fault. I might very well succeed in plunging that paragon of propriety, the Earl of Graystone, into a scandal broth tonight. He would never forgive me.
Next to her, Harry did not stir. If he was unduly alarmed about the prospect of impending humiliation and social disaster, he did not show it. He seemed unnaturally calm, even detached as the situation reached a crisis point.
The footsteps crossed the carpet. Glass clinked as someone picked up the brandy decanter near the wing chair. Whoever it was would turn and light a lamp now, Augusta thought in horror.
But a moment later the footsteps retreated back to the door. The door closed softly and the footsteps went on down the hall.
Augusta and Harry were once more alone in the library.
Harry waited a few heartbeats and then surged to his feet, tugging Augusta up beside him. He gave her a small shove. “The window. Hurry.”
Augusta hastened to the window and opened it. Harry grasped her around the waist and lifted her up onto the sill.
“Where the devil did you get yourself a pair of trousers?” he muttered.
“They belonged to my brother.”
“Have you no notion of propriety at all?”
“Very little, my lord.” Augusta dropped down onto the grass and turned to watch him come through the window.
“There is a carriage waiting in a lane down the street.”
Harry closed the window behind him and took her arm. “Move.”
Augusta glanced back over her shoulder and saw a light appear in the upstairs window. Lovejoy was preparing for bed. It had been a near thing and it was not over yet. If he chanced to glance out of his window and look down into the small garden, he might easily see two shadowy figures racing toward the gate.
But there was no angry shout or cry of alarm as Harry and Augusta let themselves out of the garden.
Augusta could feel Harry’s fingers clenched like a manacle around her upper arm as he led her quickly down the street.
A hackney carriage went past and then a gig carrying two obviously inebriated young dandies clattered down the street. But no one paid any attention to the man in the black greatcoat or his companion.
Halfway along the street, Harry jerked Augusta to a halt and turned into a lane that was not much more than an alley. The path was almost completely blocked by a handsome closed carriage that bore a familiar crest.
“That is Lady Arbuthnott’s carriage, is it not?” Augusta turned startled eyes toward Harry. “What is she doing here? I know she is your friend, but surely you have not made her come out at such an hour. She is too ill for travel.”
“She is not here. She was kind enough to loan me the carriage so that my own crest would not be noticed in this part of town. Get inside. Quickly.”
Augusta started to obey and then paused to glance up at the familiar-looking figure who sat on the box. He was draped in a many-tiered cape and a hat was pulled low over his bushy brows, but Augusta recognized him instantly.
“Scruggs, is that you?”
“Yes, Miss Ballinger, I fear it is,” Scruggs growled in an aggrieved tone. “Summoned from a warm bed, I was, without so much as a by-your-leave. I pride myself on being a first-class butler but I am not paid to handle the ribbons. I was ordered to ape John Coachman tonight, however, and I’ll do my best, though I don’t imagine I’ll get much of a tip.”
“You should not be out in the night air,” Augusta said with a frown. “Tis not good for your rheumatism.”
“Aye, that’s true enough,” Scruggs agreed dourly. “But try telling that to the high and mighty sort who like to run around in the middle of the night.”
Harry jerked open the carriage door. “Pray do not concern yourself with Scruggs’s rheumatism, Augusta.” He seized her lightly around the waist. “It is your own person you need worry about.”
“But, Harry—I mean, my lord—ooof.” Augusta landed with a thud against the green velvet cushions as Harry tossed her rather negligently inside the dark carriage. She heard him speak to Scruggs as she righted herself.
“Drive until I tell you to return to L
ady Arbuthnott’s.”
“Drive where, man?” Muffled by the carriage, Scruggs’s voice sounded different now. The hoarse, rasping tone was gone.
“I do not particularly care,” Harry snapped. “Around one of the parks or toward the outskirts of town. It makes no difference. Just see that you do not attract any attention. I have a few things to say to Miss Ballinger and I can think of no other place where I shall have the privacy and leisure in which to say them except inside this carriage.”
Scruggs cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice still sounded different yet oddly familiar. “Uh, Graystone, perhaps you ought to reconsider this notion of driving aimlessly about tonight. You are not in the best of tempers at the moment.”
“When I want your advice, Scruggs, I shall ask for it.” The edge on Harry’s voice was as sharp as a knife. “Is that quite clear?”
“Yes, my lord,” Scruggs said dryly.
“Excellent.” Harry bounded up inside the coach and slammed the door. He reached out and drew the curtains across the glass.
“There was no need to snarl at him,” Augusta said reproachfully as Harry dropped down onto the seat across from her. “He is an old man and he suffers a great deal from rheumatism.”
“I do not give a damn about Scruggs’s rheumatism.” Harry spoke much too softly. “It is you who concerns me at the moment, Augusta. Exactly what in hell do you think you were about, breaking into Lovejoy’s house tonight?”
It dawned on Augusta just how furious Harry really was. For the first time she began to wish she were safely back in her own bedchamber. “I got the impression you understood what I was doing, my lord. You seemed to know about my vowels being in Lovejoy’s possession. I presume you also know how I lost a thousand pounds to him. Did Sally tell you?”
“You must forgive Sally. She was quite concerned.”
“Yes, well, I tried to repay the debt, but Lovejoy refused to take the money. I must say, he is no gentleman. I got the distinct impression he had some nasty plans to use my signed note to humiliate me or perhaps you. I thought it best to retrieve it.”