Min enjoyed the stunned shock on Mr. Westley’s face. Well, she thought, that will teach him to think I am some silly girl without a thought in my head…but how devastatingly handsome he is.
He closed his mouth and leaned closer, eyes alight with curiosity. “But many of Shakespeare’s female characters flouted their conventions, refused to marry their father’s choice, spoke their minds, and chose their own paths. So perhaps he was really an advocate of the independence and emancipation of women.”
“Perhaps,” Min replied, “but you must remember the fate of these characters. No matter if the women began the play as strong-minded, independent forces to be reckoned with or as weak-willed, obedient slaves to other’s desires, they always ended in the same place.”
“And where is that, Miss Sinclair?”
“Exactly where every proper Elizabethan woman ended up, Mr. Westley. Safely married or dead.”
Mr. Westley stared at her with a strange mixture of shock, amusement, and something else she couldn’t quite name.
“If you will excuse me, sir, I believe I should retire now.”
“Of course, Miss Sinclair, of course.” He bowed over her hand and straightened with an almost bewildered expression. “I wish you a good evening.”
Min dropped a small curtsy. “Thank you, Mr. Westley. Good evening.” She turned to leave but Mr. Westley tugged on her hand.
“I’m curious…” he began. Min remained silent, willing her fingers not to tremble in his grasp. “What type of woman are you?”
“Pardon?” Min’s voice squeaked and his hand tightened.
“If you were cast in one of Mr. Shakespeare’s plays…who would you be? A weak, obedient slave to others’ desires? Or a force to be reckoned with?”
“I’ve never considered myself weak, Mr. Westley.” His eyes burned into hers as she pulled her hand away. “Good night.”
“Good night, Miss Sinclair.”
Min forced herself to walk calmly from the room, her head swimming. She reached the staircase and gripped the banister with extra force. She’d never spoken to a man so forcefully before. And certainly never to an instructor. Every cell in her body pulsed with energy, a strange mixture of exhilaration, fear, and sheer determination.
The rush of emotion soon faded. Her mind kept drifting to Mr. Westley’s eyes, his hair, the way he smelled, and even to his amused grin that appeared whenever she made a ninny of herself. His gloved hands. How had he lost his finger? What had caused that horrible scar? What sort of man stood on the streets and spoke of guns and pickaxes and loss of life with such ease, yet could dance so gracefully? She was a fool to bait him.
But he made every inch of her sing with unadulterated vitality. Even if it did stem from fear. Mostly. Maybe irritation. Maybe.
Min reached her room and flopped on her bed with an exasperated growl. She was attracted to him, plain and simple. It was an impossible situation. She couldn’t trust the man not to rob her blind or strangle her into silence.
What sort of a prized idiot was she?
Chapter Eight
Min lounged in the library, her restless fingers fidgeting with the open book on her lap. She hadn’t seen Arthur alone since that night in the cemetery. A ridiculous epidemic of the sniffles had invaded the town and everyone had been beating down his clinic door for runny-nose relief. The one time he had managed to call, Aunt Laura had insisted upon joining them to discuss wedding plans. The situation had been uncomfortable on more levels than Min cared to deal with just then. They had ended the miserable visit as quickly as possible.
But they needed to talk. Thank goodness one of the girls had twisted an ankle! Min should be able to get him alone for a moment while he was at the school.
The locket rested beneath her blouse and a twinge of guilt shot through her. She hadn’t spent any time trying to decipher the map. There had been too many…distractions. Distractions that need to disappear, she thought, her face puckering into a frown.
The sound of a carriage pulling into the courtyard interrupted Min’s thoughts. She peered out the window and saw Arthur jump down from one of the manor’s rigs and climb the steps into the house. His murmuring voice mingled with Lady Courtland’s as they entered the study across from the library.
As soon as Arthur and her aunt disappeared into the study, Min made a dash for the stairs. She had an hour of free time left before afternoon lessons began, and she knew Arthur would come looking for her once he was done with his patient. They usually met in the picture gallery. Its ghostly reputation and the curtained alcoves that punctuated the long hallway made it an ideal meeting place.
Min hurried past the girls who loitered in the corridors. She rounded the corner leading to the staircase and the forbidden upper levels and stopped. The doorway to the attic stood ajar. The attic was off limits. Min had never ventured up there. But then, she’d never had a reason before. With a quick peek over her shoulder, she went through the door and closed it behind her before anyone saw…and before she could change her mind.
The slight glow at the top of the stairs illuminated the cobweb-lined beams that supported the ceiling. Min lowered her head and climbed. She didn’t look up until she’d reached the top. She had no desire to see whatever creepy-crawly things she might be passing.
The attic was one huge room running almost the entire length of the wing. A few trunks lined the walls. An old battered sofa and chair sat at the far end of the room by an ash-filled fireplace. A candle, its wax melted in a pool around it, sat on a table among a pile of scattered papers. Two towers of old furniture teetered in the far corner. Aside from that, there was nothing.
Min walked across the room, her footsteps echoing in the near-empty space. Light streamed through the circular windows peppering the walls at regular intervals. Min sighed, planting her hands on her hips as she slowly turned. She doubted the portrait was hidden here. There was nowhere to hide it.
Plopping on the sofa, she rifled through the pile of papers in front of her. They seemed to be old town records, vital documents listing marriages, deaths, land deeds. Most of the paperwork dealt with the old church and vicarage in town. Sexton records chronicling vicars and their families going back a century. A mention here and there of Thornmont Grange and the Courtland family, but nothing that seemed important.
She stood and walked over to a set of French doors that was set in the middle wall. One of the doors had been propped open a crack with a broken bit of stone. Min pushed the door open, showering flakes of gritty dust into her hair as she pried the doors apart. She stepped out onto a landing that ran the length of the upper floor, brushing her hands together to remove what she could of the grime covering them.
“Hello?” she called. She didn’t see anyone, but someone must have wedged the door open.
Picking her way carefully along the balcony, she rested her hands on the short stone wall surrounding the walkway and leaned over. It overlooked the back gardens several stories below her. Min’s head swam and she straightened up, moving away from the wall.
“What are you doing out here?”
Min spun around. Mr. Westley stood in front of her, so close she could reach out and touch him. She backed away a step.
“Mr. Westley. You startled me.” She put a fluttering hand to her chest, wondering if he’d fall for the oh-my-goodness-I’m-going-to-faint ploy. Judging by his glowering face, she didn’t think so.
“It is my understanding students are forbidden in this part of the manor, Miss Sinclair. So I’ll ask again. What are you doing up here?”
Min inched farther away until the edge of the wall dug into the small of her back. Her stomach flip-flopped at the cold blue eyes burning into her own. “I, ah, I thought I heard someone up here. I came to check. I was a little curious so I looked around, but as there is nothing but broken furniture and some old papers…”
Mr. Westley’s lips tightened, his face chiseled in stone. Min suddenly grew conscious of the open space and long drop behind her
.
She forced herself to focus and tried again. “I thought I’d take a look out here. I just wanted to see…”
Min’s gaze traveled over Mr. Westley’s furious face. Her pulse pounded in her throat as she remembered his conversation with his friend outside the bookshop. He certainly didn’t look above murdering to keep his secret quiet.
“It isn’t safe up here, Miss Sinclair. I’d advise you not to wander here again.” He moved closer, his hands gripping the railing on either side of her. Only a sliver of space separated them. “You might get hurt.”
Min looked up at him. The air seemed suddenly too thin to breathe. He frightened her, but his territorial attitude ignited a spark of anger. Who did he think he was? She had been here first. The necklace was hers and she would be damned if she would let the smoldering man in front of her, or anyone else for that matter, steal the treasure out from under her nose.
She straightened up, pressing her body against his chest. Startled, Mr. Westley jerked back.
“I appreciate your concern, sir,” she bit out, gripping the wall behind her to calm the vertigo the dizzying height and her own adrenaline were causing. “But I’ve been wandering the grounds for years. It is my aunt’s house, after all. I’m perfectly entitled to explore my own family’s property.” His eyes narrowed at her defiant tone and Min pressed her palms into the rough stone at her back to keep them from trembling.
She cleared her throat. “However, I will take more care in the future.”
Mr. Westley glared and crossed his arms, leaning a hip on the wall beside her. “See that you do. I’d hate for something to happen to you.” Min had no doubt of the threat behind those piercing blue eyes.
He bent closer. She opened her mouth to speak but only a startled squeak emerged as the wall crumbled beneath their combined weight. Mr. Westley jumped back. Min had half a second to see a look of abject horror on his face before the section of wall behind her disintegrated. She scrambled at the crumbling rocks, terror squeezing her throat so tightly she couldn’t even scream. Her hands clawed at stone and mortar that turned to dust in her grasp. And then there was nothing but air.
“Minuette!”
Her stomach plummeted as she fell, Mr. Westley’s shout ringing through her ears. Something caught her arm and she screamed at the sickening pop that sent a searing pain shooting through her shoulder. Min looked up. Mr. Westley hung halfway out over the gaping hole in the wall, his hand in a viselike grip on her arm.
“Hold on,” he gasped.
Chapter Nine
Bryant fought for control. Minuette’s terrified eyes seared into his. But the whimper that escaped her lips tore straight through his heart. He’d felt her arm slip from its joint when he’d grabbed her, though he didn’t think it was entirely dislocated…yet. He braced himself against the solid part of the ledge and pulled.
A feeling of intense relief poured through him as soon as she was safely in his arms. He didn’t understand his feelings. He certainly hadn’t meant to injure her. He’d never killed except in self-defense, and though the girl was a threat to him, he had no desire to harm her. But the nearly crippling fear that permeated every cell of his body when he saw her tumble over the edge went beyond a simple desire to keep an innocent girl safe. He wanted to wrap himself around her, protect her. If he could have made her pain his own, he’d have done so in a heartbeat.
He’d never felt so strongly for anyone before. And he couldn’t afford to feel so now. Minuette Sinclair was proving to be much more of a danger than he ever thought possible. She was after the necklace; he was sure of it.
He had to make sure he got to it first. A few distracting and unwanted emotions were irrelevant.
Min trembled against him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her back inside the attic. Min sank onto the couch, her arm limp and useless at her side, her lips pressed so tightly together they were almost invisible in her pale face.
Bryant knelt in front of her. “I think your shoulder is dislocated.”
“You saved me,” she whispered, tears running down her face.
“Yes.”
“You could have let me fall.”
His gaze raked over her face.
No. He couldn’t have.
He didn’t answer her and Min let her head fall back against the couch. She bit her lip, her breath coming in short, whimpering bursts.
“The doctor is still downstairs, I believe. I’ll go fetch him.”
“No!” Min grabbed his hand with her good arm. “Please don’t.”
Bryant frowned. “You are injured.”
“I don’t want to deal with…” She sucked in her breath, holding it for a moment before slowly releasing it. “Please. Can’t you fix it?”
Bryant knelt beside her again. He could pop her arm back in; he’d done it before—to himself and others. But it would hurt and the thought of causing her pain sent an unwelcome jolt of distress through him. He took her hands and she flinched. He turned them over, inwardly cringing at the lacerations across her palms.
“I think you ought to let the doctor see you,” he said, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. She looked ready to bolt out the door.
Min’s eyes darted around the room, coming to rest briefly on his papers. “They’ll want to know what happened,” she said, her voice strained and faint.
Bryant opened his mouth to protest again but stopped. She was right. The doctor and Lady Courtland were sure to have many questions neither one of them wanted to answer. The attic rooms were off limits. And he had been alone up here with a student who had almost plunged to her death. Lady Courtland would have grounds to immediately dismiss him. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
He stood, tapping his hand against his thigh as he paced. Finally he came back to Min. Perhaps if he fixed her arm, the rest could be explained away as a simple fall. He took off his belt.
Min’s eyes grew wide. Bryant folded the belt in half and sat beside her on the couch. He reached out and brushed away a stray strand of hair. Then he brought the belt up to her lips. “Bite,” he commanded.
Min took a deep breath and opened her mouth, taking the leather between her teeth. Bryant took her arm and braced it beneath his. He ran his fingers up the length of her arm and took a firm grip, bracing his other hand against her shoulder.
“This is going to hurt.”
She nodded.
And then she bit down hard.
Bryant knelt in front of Min. He reached for his cravat and unwound it from his neck. Min leaned her head back against the couch, her eyes half closed.
He tore the neck cloth in half and gently took one of her hands. She groaned faintly but allowed him to dab at her torn palm. Bryant wrapped her hand carefully and went to work on the other.
“The wrappings will keep the blood from dripping,” he said, his eyes on her pale face. “But you need to have the wounds cleaned.”
Min’s eyes focused on him. They stared at each other before she dropped her gaze with a tiny nod.
“Come on.” Bryant scooped Min into his arms, ignoring her indignant gasp, and started across the attic floor. She was complicating things. But for the moment, he didn’t care.
He held her close to his chest, hoping she couldn’t feel his heart pounding through his rib cage. She didn’t allow him to hold her long before squirming against him. He looked down, unwilling to let her go.
“I can walk,” she insisted.
Once they reached the bottom of the attic stairs, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.
Bryant cracked open the door and took a cautious look around. “It’s clear,” he said, standing aside so she could squeeze past him. “I’ll expect you in the study in five minutes,” he said as she hurried by.
Min didn’t answer.
Obstinate, willful creature!
He gave her a two-minute head start before he followed her down. He found her outside the study door, staring at the carved wood of the molding.
“You realize you must actually turn the knob if you wish to enter the room.” He bit back a burst of laughter at the outraged look she shot him.
Bryant caught sight of a silver chain glittering at her throat and any trace of amusement disappeared. He reached out and pulled a locket from its hiding place beneath Min’s blouse, fingering the hoya blossom design with its large center pearl. She snatched it back before he could open it and shoved the locket inside her blouse again, making sure all her buttons were securely fastened. Bryant stared at her until Min began to fidget beneath his gaze.
“You might want to take care that no one else sees that. Lady Courtland will confiscate it if she finds you are disobeying the rule against jewelry.”
She seemed to relax a bit. Interesting. She didn’t want him curious about it but seemed to have no problem with him thinking she was purposely breaking the rules. What was the little minx hiding? He might need to take a closer look at that necklace. He kept his face passive as he gestured to the closed study door. “Shall we?”
“I’m quite capable of making it another five feet without assistance.”
“I’m sure you are.” He rapped on the door, opening it at Lady Courtland’s muted “Enter.”
“After you.”
Min’s lips clamped against the angry retort that must have been burning on her tongue. Instead of unleashing it, she brushed past him into the room.
Dr. Carmichael sat on one of the floral-backed chairs, a teacup raised halfway to his lips. He focused on Min in surprise.
Lady Courtland’s cup clinked in its saucer. “Mr. Westley, Minuette. Is there a problem?”
Bryant spoke before Min could open her mouth. “I’m afraid Miss Sinclair has had a bit of an accident. She fell while walking in the gardens and grazed her hands. I thought the good doctor should take a look at them.”
Arthur hurried to Min’s side and ushered her into a chair. Bryant followed, standing beside Min. Dr. Carmichael glanced at him but ignored him otherwise. He knelt in front of Min, muttering as he unwound the makeshift bandages. A maid scurried off to the kitchens with orders for hot water and rags.
To Trust a Thief Page 6