Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  All she could do was shake off the feeling of impending disaster and search for distractions. And hope her increasingly desperate, devil-may-care attitude could fool fate—and everyone around her—into believing everything was all right.

  “Pay attention,” William said, catching at her hands. “God, your hands are cold. Are you sure you’re well enough?”

  “Absolutely. It’s got to be done. No sense waiting.”

  “We’re going to have to wait a little while, regardless. It’s not even midnight yet. And we need to discuss how we intend to, ah, regain your box.”

  “That’s simple.” Sarah tried to look into William’s blue eyes in the darkness. All she could see was the occasional gleam and the hard line of his jaw.

  “Simple? Really? I wish you’d explain how you intend to accomplish this, since I haven’t the faintest notion.”

  She snorted.

  “Don’t do that,” he said. “Ladies don’t make sounds like that.”

  She snorted again and followed it with a chuckle. She could feel his body tense, radiating heat in the shadows. She leaned a tad closer. Too bad she couldn’t see his face.

  Kiss me again—silence me with your mouth. The thought whispered through her mind like a caress.

  Then she realized she had been pushing him, hoping for that very thing. Trying to get him to lose control one more time.

  This would never do. Never do at all.

  “We’ll go around to the servant’s entrance, or cellars. There’ll be a coal shaft. Or maybe a window. Perhaps even an unlocked door. There often is, you know. I’ve done work for enough grand houses to know there’s always a way in for a clever lad.” She grabbed the front of his jacket. “Did you manage to find where he keeps the box?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  That concerned her. They’d have to search the entire house and hope Mr. Carnaby hadn’t decided to sleep with the blasted thing under his pillow. At least she felt relatively sure it wouldn’t be anywhere in the servants’ area.

  “Is Mr. Carnaby married?” she asked, trying to decide which rooms would be the most profitable for their search.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. Why?”

  “Just working out where he might have hidden it. A gentleman tends to use just a few rooms, particularly if he’s married. The library. And if he fancies it, a billiards room. And his bedchamber. Do you think he’s a billiards man?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll start with the library, then,” Sarah said.

  Suddenly, she realized she was trapped against the wall with William looming over her. His right hand pressed against the bricks above her head. Her heart fluttered and almost without realizing it, she tilted her head up. His lips hung inches from hers. Her breathing slowed.

  “You seem very well-informed for a bricklayer, Sarah, dear. Are you sure you haven’t been gainfully, and perhaps even profitably, employed during the evening hours by a second line of work?”

  She laughed weakly and tried to push him away. Beneath the coarse jacket, his chest felt like a stone wall warmed by the sun. “Don’t be ridiculous. Simple logic.”

  “Indeed,” he whispered. His lips brushed over her temple and cheek before finding her mouth.

  “Here now!” a coarse voice called. “Is someone there?”

  William swore. He pushed Sarah back further into the shadows. Then he sauntered alone toward the streetlight at the mouth of the narrow street. “What do you want?”

  “What are you doing there?” the man asked sharply.

  Sarah crouched and peered forward, knowing she would be overlooked, or mistaken for a dog in the darkness. A burly member of the watch stood at the corner, brandishing a club. He twirled the stout stick and flipped it upward to rest one end on his shoulder while he watched William.

  “Just resting my feet,” William replied.

  “Well, rest ‘em elsewhere,” the watch said. He gestured with his club. William moved in the direction indicated.

  Watching William walk slowly down the street, Sarah waited. The watchman finally turned and moved at a leisurely pace in the opposite direction, poking his stick into the doorways and shadows.

  When he had drifted a block away, Sarah leapt to her feet. She ran until she caught up with William. Her hand pressed against the wound in her side as the muscles ached from the effort. Even her lungs hurt. For a moment, she wondered if she had enough strength to keep up with him. The night pressed ever darker against her.

  She wasn’t a weakling. She refused to give in to the light-headed feeling.

  “You still think this is such a good idea?” he commented when she stumbled to a stop next to him.

  “Where’s your heart?” she replied, struggling to sound undiscouraged despite the burning in her side. Then the excitement of being out in the dark on an adventure with William caught her. Her breathing sharpened. She wanted to laugh with the sudden, inexplicable joy of the moment.

  “My heart is in my throat,” William replied dryly. “Have you considered that Mr. Carnaby might have dogs?”

  “Did you see any dogs?” She pulled him forward.

  “No.”

  “Perhaps we ought to stop at the butcher’s on the way. If it makes you feel any better.”

  He sounded as if he were choking. “We are not going to burglarize the butcher’s tonight.”

  “Well, if you’d remembered to bring a few bones with you—”

  “Forget the dogs,” he interrupted in savage tones. “They can gnaw on my arm while you search for the box, no doubt cutting the throats of every inhabitant while you’re at it.”

  “Maybe there won’t even be any dogs,” she replied consolingly, doing her best not to giggle. “And I won’t slit any more throats than absolutely necessary.”

  “You know, I believe you’re enjoying this, you unholy wretch.”

  “You know, I believe you’re right.”

  “Have you no decent feelings at all?”

  She chewed the tip of her forefinger for a moment to allow his aggravation to reach the highest possible peak. “No. I really think I don’t. It’s very sad, isn’t it?”

  They walked the final few blocks in silence. Sarah wondered if she had pushed him a little too far.

  “You’re not angry, are you?” she asked when he paused, studying a quiet townhouse on their left.

  “No.” His voice sounded shaky.

  “Are you laughing?”

  “No,” he replied. But his shoulders shook and there was the definite sound of a sniffling snort. The sort of sound one makes trying to stifle a laugh.

  “You are laughing at me,” she accused him, relieved.

  “Will you please be quiet!” he said finally. His head tilted up to survey the windows. They were all dark, although it was just half past midnight.

  She glanced up and down the street. There were still coaches and carriages trundling by, along with a few men on horseback and the occasional cart. The poor, ignored by one and all, stumbled along with their eyes fixed on the ground, searching for items to salvage. They weren’t the least bit interested in another wretched pair like William and Sarah.

  “Let’s go around the back,” she said, tugging at his cloak.

  He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into the shadows cast by the high brick wall surrounding Carnaby’s townhouse. It was topped by iron spikes. The wicked points thrust upward, interspersed with decorative curls that did nothing to disguise the essential unfriendliness of the barrier.

  “We’ll have to climb over the fence,” William said. “If we can find a shadowy spot.”

  An oak tree stood at the corner, but it was near a lamp that threw a golden glow over the brick wall. Sarah slid around the corner. She glanced around quickly. Then she clambered over the wall before William could voice a protest.

  On the other side, she crouched next to the wall, waiting. No dog barked. Nothing moved in the darkness. The smell of freshly turned soil arose, almost making he
r sneeze. She grabbed her nose between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed. Her eyes watered, but she stayed quiet.

  “Sarah!” William whispered.

  “Climb over!” she whispered back. Then with a grin, she knew he couldn’t see, she added, “There aren’t any dogs. You’re perfectly safe unless you’re afraid of heights. Are you afraid of heights?”

  There was a scraping noise and some soft swearing before William landed on the ground next to her in a half crouch. He remained crouching although he edged crabwise backward into the shadow of the wall before looking around. Sarah studied the narrow space between the wall and the townhouse. There was a strip of crumbly soil and then paving stones forming a wide apron around the walkway, leading to a shallow stoop.

  Since they could hardly go knocking at the front door, she started to slip around to the left. She angled toward the rear of the building. But William grabbed her wrist, stopping her short.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice muffled by his hood.

  “Around back. After all, we can’t sit out here hoping someone will invite us in.”

  “I noticed a side entrance along the other wall.” He gestured to their right. “We should try that first.”

  “What? Past the gate?” She eyed the wide iron gate. Two lamps were set on either side of it. One was dark, but the other still shed light over the gate and the walkway. Anyone glancing at the gate would see them if they crossed the front of the building. “Too much light,” she added.

  William seemed to consider this. However, after less than a minute, he yanked her in that direction anyway. They crept along the base of the wall, staying well below the top edge of the bricks. When they got to the main gate, he glanced through the iron bars. Then he ran across the exposed walkway. When he reached the shadows on the other side, he again risked looking through the gate. He waved to Sarah to join him.

  She dashed across, feeling vulnerable as the lamplight flashed over her. He grabbed her around the hips and hauled her down behind him. Then he glanced through the iron bars one last time.

  “Why couldn’t we have gone the other way?” she asked. “It was darker that way. More hidden.”

  “Because if I’m not mistaken about the layout of this townhouse, Mr. Carnaby’s bedroom is on the other side. Do you want to get caught?”

  “I was being quiet,” she replied, feeling aggrieved and misunderstood. How was she to know where Carnaby’s bedroom was? She’d never been in a fine townhouse like his, at least not while conscious.

  “Shush,” William said, putting a hand over her mouth. He listened and then dragged her along the wall. Finally, they cut across the paving to the base of the townhouse.

  Just as he had indicated, there were a few steps and a narrow door. Sarah tried to climb the stairs, but he pulled her back by grabbing the hood of her cloak.

  She was getting used to his manhandling. And to her dismay, she rather liked it. For some strange reason, each time he hauled her around, she felt protected and cared for.

  Very odd.

  “Wait here,” he said. He slithered up the stairs and tried the door. With a shake of his head, he rejoined her.

  “Then it’s the coal bin for us,” she said. “It’s probably locked, but it’s usually easy to break.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She giggled breathlessly and shook her head. When she was newly apprenticed to Mr. Hawkins, she had often gotten in and out of the house through the coal chute. It tended to be messy, but a bit of black dust never bothered her when she could escape outside to wade in the stream during the summer. Or steal a fresh apple pie from the larder.

  Sarah grabbed William’s large warm hand and dragged him behind her, keeping close to the building. In the darkness, they nearly fell down the short flight of stairs that led to the cellars. She ran down the steps to check that door, but it was locked. There was no convenient pane of glass to break so they could enter. She shrugged and rejoined William, determined to find another way.

  It took several minutes to work the rest of the way around the house. At the rear, they found a wooden hatch covering the coal chute. A padlock secured the small door, but the hasp was slightly rusty. One of the screws holding the metal hasp was missing. Sarah jiggled it experimentally and felt it loosen. With a grin, she grabbed it with both hands and braced her foot next to the lock, straining to pull it free.

  There was a splintering sound and a slight give, but it remained in place. Her side ached from the effort. She pressed an elbow against her ribs and desperately searched for the strength to try again. William’s broad shoulder nudged her aside. He wrapped his hands around the lock and yanked. The metal squealed and the remaining three screws popped out.

  A nearby dog started barking. Sarah grabbed William’s forearm, standing as motionless as a rock. The barking grew into a frenzy. It increased in volume as the dog seemed to get closer.

  Sarah glanced around, trying to locate the animal.

  “Where is it?” William asked through his teeth. He bent and gripped the edge of the wooden door.

  “It’s on the other side of the wall,” Sarah replied at last, hoping she was right. She moved closer to him only to notice a light above her head. “Stop!” she whispered.

  William’s body went rigid.

  They heard the sound of a window opening. The pale, flickering light of a candle wavered around them. Sarah, hand on William’s forearm, stood stiffly, not even glancing up. A small teardrop of warm wax fell onto her wrist. Then another greasy drop.

  “Shut up, you damn cur!” a man’s voice yelled. Silence. Then they heard the rattle of the window as he slammed it down.

  Sarah waited a full minute before she moved. Every muscle in her body ached with tension. A steady throb in her head echoed her pulse, and she felt a prickling flush of nausea. She swallowed, refusing to give in to her weakness.

  She placed her lips against William’s rough hood and whispered, “He’s gone—I think. Open the door before the dog starts again.”

  The door was already half-opened before she finished speaking. She scraped the wax off the back of her hand while she risked a quick glance upward. A dim light still shone out of a bedroom on the third floor.

  “Can you fit through?” William studied the hole.

  “Yes. What about you?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll go first.”

  “No, you won’t.” Pushing him aside, she hurriedly eased her feet into the dark before her courage deserted her. Her heels slid along the precipitous incline of the chute. When he tried to pull her out, she shook him off and wriggled further down. “I’m smaller than you,” she said, clinging to the rough wooden frame. “What if you get stuck? Then neither of us will get inside.”

  “What if someone’s already down there? Waiting for you?”

  “In the coal bin?” She snorted. “Don’t be a puddinghead.”

  “Then good riddance.” He let her go.

  She wrapped her cloak around her head and arms and slid down into the stifling darkness.

  Landing on her bottom, Sarah felt around before she stood. She couldn’t see a thing, and she found it difficult to suppress the heavy sensation of dread. It clung to her more and more of late, difficult to shake unless she kept moving and kept too busy to think.

  She stumbled over the coals. They shifted with an oily clacking as she tried to find the edge of the bin. Her knee found it first, and she let loose a quick, violent curse. Grabbing the rough edge of wood, she bit her lip to avoid making any more sounds. The cellar must have been fairly empty because every sound seemed magnified, reverberating hollowly against the damp brick walls.

  She was just considering climbing out when she heard a swoosh and clatter behind her. William landed in the coal bin with an undignified grunt. He tried to stand, but his feet shifted unsteadily over the coals. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him over to the edge of the bin and placed his palm on the wood so he could get his bearings.

  W
ithout a word, he clambered over the side. He dropped lithely to the floor, pausing in a half crouch with his hands braced on the floor. He appeared to be listening for he stayed in that position for a full minute before raising his hands to Sarah. He lifted her out of the bin in silence, and she let him, although she didn’t really need his assistance.

  One brief moment of safety and comfort in her uncertain life.

  They both stood quietly in the absolute dark, letting their eyes adjust and listening. The only light in the cellar came in through the cracks around the door to the chute. Holding hands, they shuffled forward slowly, free hands outstretched.

  William found the stairway first. He guided Sarah to it, placing her hand on the wooden railing. She jumped in surprise when she felt his lips near her ear. The warmth of his breath seeped through her hood, brushing her cheek.

  “Stay near the edge of the steps closest to the wall. Less noise.”

  She nodded despite her annoyance that he felt she needed such instructions. Two months at Mrs. Pochard’s had ingrained the habit of hugging the wall when she climbed a staircase. His reminder was redundant.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, she paused with her ear on the door while she felt for the doorknob. Her fingers fumbled. Instead of a round knob, she found a metal latch. Unfortunately, her movements made the latch flip up and then fall into place with a muffled click.

  William’s hand curved around her fingers. She stilled. They waited, but there were no answering sounds. No light was visible through the cracks around the door. Sarah waited until he slowly released her hand. He raised the latch again and eased the door open.

  They stepped into the kitchen. Large windows on the opposite wall let in weak moonlight. A streak of yellow light stretched toward them like an accusing finger, reflected from the lamps along the street. Able to see more clearly, they stole across the cold flagstones. William kept a tight grip on her hand and used it to indicate which direction to take, rather than talking.