Excellent, he thought, as he did a slow scan of the grounds. It was unlikely there would be any trysts by the staff tonight—from past experience he knew that every servant, even those hired just for tonight, would be far too busy seeing to the needs of the aristocratic guests to have any time for dallying.
He easily found the doors to the library and within two minutes of having breached the rear walls was standing inside Lord Ormsby’s library. He stood motionless a moment, his gaze moving slowly around the room. A faint sliver of light showing beneath the door that opened onto one of the hallways of the interior of the house broke the utter blackness. Dark shapes loomed up here and there but already familiar with the layout, he quickly crossed the room to where Ormsby’s ornate desk sat in front of a pair of long windows.
He’d discovered Ormsby’s hiding place the first night he’d broken into the house, although ‘broken in’ didn’t quite describe simply pushing open the door to the library and strolling inside. He’d also learned during his observations of the routine of the Ormsby household, except for the front door and the gates at the rear of the building, that there was nothing to halt anyone with thievery in mind. The house was a sitting goose, ripe for plucking. He grinned. Which made his job so much easier. Sliding out the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk, his skillful fingers made short work of finding and opening the secret drawer. Something resembling a sneer crossed his lean features. Did Ormsby really think that a clever thief wouldn’t discover the drawer and its contents?
Asher needed no light to find the famed Ormsby diamond necklace, the size of the diamonds and the heavy weight of the necklace told him the minute he touched it. He’d never actually seen the real necklace; in fact, except for the occasions the current marquise had shown it off to his various acquaintances, it had not been seen in public for nearly fifty years, not since Ormsby’s mother had died. But Asher had once seen the necklace in the portrait of Lady Mary, wife of the 1st Marquis of Ormsby, which hung in the grand gallery at Ormsby Place.
Though he’d made note of the necklace, after all, it was rather famous, he hadn’t thought to steal the necklace…at the time. Like a dutiful guest he had studied the painting, his keen eye making note of the size and brilliance of the stones even in a mere portrait. No, he hadn’t thought to steal it then and he wouldn’t be here tonight taking it from the secret drawer and carefully slipping it into the specially sewn pocket of his jacket, if Ormsby hadn’t….
His mouth tightened. He didn’t as a rule steal from people he knew, nor was he inclined to hold grudges, especially against neighbors, even vain, arrogant, obnoxious neighbors, but in Ormsby’s case he was willing to make an exception. Bastard shouldn’t have shot my grandmother’s favorite old dog, he thought grimly.
Petty to steal a priceless family heirloom because of the death of a dog? Asher shrugged. Perhaps. But it would be a long time before he forgot his grandmother’s grief stricken features when the body of her elderly spaniel, her companion and friend of many years, was dumped at her feet by one of the Ormsby grooms.
With all the arrogance of his master, the groom said, “Milord sends his apologies. He saw the beast on the road and thinking it was the dog that has been killing the hens lately, shot him before he realized it was your old Captain.”
Standing beside his grandmother, Asher’s hands clenched into fists and he fought back the urge to seek out and throttle Lord Ormsby for his cruelty to an old woman. In his heart he knew that the killing of Captain had been deliberate—not two days previously, to the marquise’s open fury, his grandmother had turned down Ormsby’s latest offer to buy several hundred acres of her land that adjoined his estate. Ormsby had simply killed the dog in petty retaliation. Another example, Asher thought tightly, of Ormsby striking out when displeased and to those weaker than himself.
When the groom rode away, his jaw set, Asher had helped his grandmother into the house. He had then quietly made arrangements for Captain to be buried near her favorite rosebush, a place the old woman and the old dog often sat for hours enjoying the garden and the soft play of light over the trees and shrubs. Watching the dirt fall into the dog’s grave, he swore that Ormsby would pay something for his grandmother’s sorrow. The great lord of the district wasn’t going to walk away unscathed this time.
It had taken Asher awhile to come up with an appropriate plan to ensure that Ormsby felt, perhaps for the first time in his arrogant life, the pain of loss that he often inflicted upon the common folk of the neighborhood. Killing him was out of the question, even Asher wasn’t prepared to kill a man over a dog and an old woman’s grief, but there had to be a way to pierce that smug composure…. He smiled in the darkness. The idea, when it came to him, had been perfect: Ormsby loved nothing more than himself and his possessions, so what better way to make him suffer, than to steal his most famous possession, the Ormsby diamond necklace?
What the devil he was going to do with the damned thing now that it rested in his pocket escaped him. He didn’t need the money and selling it was out of the question. The necklace was too famous and the hue and cry once its theft was discovered would make it unlikely that any of his usual contacts would touch it. He could break it up into individual diamonds and have those reset if the whim took him, but he balked at the idea of such wanton destruction. If the portrait was anything to go by, it was a beautiful and uniquely designed piece of jewelry and he had an inherent dislike of destroying something so lovely. His lips twisted. Unless he wished to have his neck stretched on the gallows or face deportation to some godforsaken continent on the other side of the world, he’d have to hide the necklace somewhere it would never be discovered.
Asher slid the drawer shut. He’d bury the bloody thing in the ground if need be and plant a rose bush over it; for him it was enough to know that Ormsby’s pride would have suffered a grievous wound. Bastard. Shouldn’t have shot my grandmother’s dog.
The opening of the door rooted him to the spot. He caught the merest glimpse of a woman’s form in the light from the hallway before she shut the door behind her.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he took a half dozen quick steps backward and melted into the heavy velvet folds of the drapes that hung at the sides of one of the long windows of the library. His back pressed hard against the wall next to the window where the drapes were gathered, he reached for the small pistol he carried inside his vest, but decided against it and his hand fell by his side. Escaping unseen was his plan and that didn’t include firing his pistol; using the pistol would be his last resort. His thoughts scrambling, he listened intently as the female intruder walked swiftly in his direction. Had she seen him? No. He’d been too careful and he knew that no one had seen him slipping into the library. When she opened the door? No. He’d been on the other side of the room, concealed in the darkness well beyond the brief flash of light that had heralded her entrance; she could not have seen him. So why was she here? There was something furtive about her movements and he noted the fact that she had made no attempt to light a candle. What was she up to? Something occurred to him and he closed his eyes in a silent prayer. Please. Not a lovers’ rendezvous.
A moment later, there was a faint ray of light beneath the curtains and peeking through the drapes, Asher saw that his intruder had lit a tiny candle. Her back was to him and he stared bemused as she hurriedly explored the desk, obviously looking for something. He leaned his head back against the wall. Someone else thinking to steal the Ormsby necklace?
Intrigued, Asher watched as she hastily fumbled through first one drawer then another. Under other circumstances he might have been amused at the situation, but with the Ormsby necklace burning like a fire-red brand against his thigh, he rather wished that if she wanted the blasted necklace, she’d beaten him to it. For a second he wondered what would happen if he stepped from the drapes and gifted her with the necklace. Except as a way to inflict some humility in Ormsby the necklace meant nothing to him. He considered the idea. No. The silly wench woul
d probably scream at the sight of him and all hell would break loose.
Resigned to waiting for the woman to leave, he had just leaned his head back against the windowpane, when he heard her gasp. He jerked forward to see the cause of her alarm. The door was opening again.
As he had done, she flitted backward to hide amongst the drapes. Instinct more than design had Asher catching her around the waist and pulling her snugly against him at the same instant his other hand clamped over her mouth. Into her ear he hissed, “I mean you no harm—and for God’s sake, don’t scream or struggle.”
The slight form in his arms stiffened and a curt nod was his answer, but Asher kept his arm locked tightly around her and his hand firmly over her mouth. Women were simply too damned unpredictable.
The latest arrival stood for a long moment in the doorway, the light from the large candelabra he carried flooding the room in soft light.
“Hiding my dear?” drawled the new arrival. When only silence met his words, he added impatiently, “Come now I know that you are here. Did you really think that I wouldn’t see you slip away? That I wasn’t expecting you to try something?”
Asher’s teeth ground together at the first sound of that rich, mellow voice. Ormsby! Bloody hell! If Ormsby discovered him here in the library, he’d have to shoot the bastard, after all. As for the woman…. Christ! Could this last, simple job get any more complicated?
Loosening his grip on the woman’s waist and praying that she wasn’t going to cause him trouble the moment he removed his arm, he started again to reach for his pistol. The sound of another male voice froze his actions.
“Ormsby! I say, old fellow, what are doing wandering around back here? Aren’t you supposed to be dancing with the fair Thalia soon?”
Asher nearly groaned aloud. Killing Ormsby was one thing, but a second man as well? His only choice was the tall window behind him and hope to God that he sustained no real injury from leaping through it. But if he survived the window and if he could reach the back wall and disappear into the darkness…. A faint, reckless grin flashed across his face. He might salvage tonight after all.
“Ah, thank you, Kingsley,” drawled Ormsby, “for reminding me. I forgot.”
“Forgot!” exclaimed Kingsley. “Forget a dance with the loveliest chit to grace London in decades? My dear man, you alarm me.”
His voice bored, Ormsby replied, “I think you forget that I have watched her grow up. Remember if you will that the Kirkwoods are my neighbors. I am well acquainted with the family.”
“That reminds me of something, been meaning to ask you for weeks—how the deuce could you let such a pretty piece slip through your fingers? I would have thought you’d have sewn her up before she ever stepped foot in London.” Kingsley chuckled. “Losing your touch, old fellow? Her engagement to young Caswell will be announced any day now.”
“Really? I wouldn’t place my final wager just yet, if I were you.”
“You know something the rest of us don’t?”
“There is, my friend, if you will recall, many a slip between the cup and the lip. Miss Kirkwood is not yet Caswell’s bride.”
“You mean to snatch her out from underneath his nose?” Kingsley gasped. “The gossip says that it is a love match—even someone of your wealth and title can’t compete with love. So how do you propose to change the tide?”
Ormsby laughed, although there was little humor in it. “I play my cards close to my vest but I would warn you not to buy a betrothal gift for the pair just yet,” he said. “Now come along, let us rejoin my guests. I have left them too long.”
Asher watched as the light retreated and Ormsby ushered Kingsley toward the door. But Kingsley seemed in no hurry. “But why did you leave in the first place? Ain’t like you to wander off.”
An ugly edge to his voice, Ormsby said, “I had my reasons. Believe me I had my reasons.”
“Yes, but—”
The door shut and from inside the library there was only the faint murmur of voices as the two men moved down the hall.
Deciding not to wait around to see who else would pay the library a visit, the door had hardly shut, before Asher shoved the young woman out from behind the drapes and began urging her toward the French doors that opened onto the gardens. He didn’t have a precise plan; his one thought was to escape the grounds as fast as he could. The woman was a problem. He couldn’t just let her go. Or could he?
He considered the idea. She’d certainly been quiet as a rock while Ormsby had been in the library. Clearly she hadn’t wanted to be discovered either. He didn’t know her reasons for sneaking into the library or for going through Ormsby’s papers, but he knew one thing: she’d been up to no good. And if she’d been up to no good, then she had ample reason not to raise the alarm. Dare he risk it?
His hand still over her mouth and griping her arm firmly, he pulled her outside. Pushing her ahead of him, they walked through the gardens, Asher not stopping until the back wall loomed up before them and the faint light from the torch over the servants’ entrance pierced the darkness. He still hadn’t made up his mind what to do, but taking everything into account, especially the fact that she had made no attempt to escape from him, it was possible that she might actually keep her mouth shut and not raise the alarm.
He glanced at the wall, still considering. Even if she screamed, he’d be up, over and away before anyone reached this deserted part of the grounds.
His lips pressed against her ear, he asked, “If I let you go, do you swear not to scream?”
She nodded vigorously and against his better judgement, he removed his hand.
The moment his hand dropped, she spun around to face him and breathed, “Asher?”
His heart stopped. Christ! Juliana.
Hands on her hips, she demanded, “Asher Cordell what were you doing in Lord Ormsby’s library? I nearly died when you grabbed me.”
“I think the question should be,” he said quickly, “what were you doing there?”
“That is none of your business!” she answered sharply. “I am an invited guest to Lord Ormsby’s home—you are not.”
“And how do you know that? I am quite respectable—Eton, respectable family and all that. He could have invited me.”
Juliana snorted. “Don’t try to bamboozle me! He can’t abide you and you know it.”
“I know,” Asher said mournfully. “His dislike is a terrible burden for me.” He looked hopeful. “Do you think there is something I could do to make him think better of me?”
She strangled back a laugh. “No! At this late stage there is nothing you could do to change his mind,” she said bluntly. Shaking an admonishing finger at him, she added, “Perhaps if you hadn’t turned the pigs loose in his newly planted field or hadn’t stolen his best bull and put the animal with Squire Ripley’s heifers he wouldn’t think you so ripe for the gallows.” She sent him a severe glance. “And we won’t even talk about the disgraceful way you act around him. Asher, you actually yawned in his face at the Woodruff’s ball in January! What were you thinking?”
“That he’s a bore?” When she narrowed her eyes at him, he added hastily, “Juliana I was thirteen when I turned the pigs loose, and you know it was an accident—how did I know the gate would shatter when that old sow charged it.”
She sniffed.
“And I wasn’t much older when the incident with the bull occurred.” He grinned reminiscently. Juliana merely stared at him. “All right, I confess,” he said, “I was a holy terror but you must admit that squire’s calves the next year were some of the finest raised in the district.”
“The squire may think you a fine fellow, but that act certainly did not endear you to Ormsby in the least,” she muttered. Puzzled, she studied him in the dim light. “Why do you go out of your way to annoy him?”
Asher shrugged. “Mayhap if he showed a little consideration of others I wouldn’t be so inclined to treat him so, ah, impolitely.” The necklace searing his thigh, very aware of the passing
time and the chance of discovery, he added, “And enjoyable though this little interlude has been, don’t you think you ought to rejoin the guests?”
“After you tell me what you were doing skulking about in Ormsby’s library,” she said firmly.
Despite the tension coiling in his body, Asher leaned negligently against a small tree near the wall. Smiling at her, he said, “Of course. Right after you tell me why you were there.”
She threw him a fulminating look. “You are the most infuriating, insufferable creature I have ever known in my life!”
He straightened up from his languid pose and bowed deeply before her. Smiling impudently at her, he murmured, “One does so try to please.”
Her bosom swelled with indignation. “I’ve a good mind to tell Ormsby that you were in his library!” she threatened, knowing full well she’d face wild lions before she’d betray Asher—even if he was the most insolent and maddening man she’d ever met.
Amusement fled and an expression she had never seen before flashed in his eyes. In all the years she had known him, which had been nearly all her life, Asher had charmed her, shocked her, irritated her and infuriated her beyond reason but he’d never made her feel frightened before. Unconsciously she stepped backward and nervously measured the distance to the house.
Cursing himself, Asher wiped his expression clear of all sign of the violence that he feared had become an integral part of him. Forcing a smile, he flicked a gentle finger along her cheek. “Let us cry pax, Juliana, and go our separate ways and keep our secrets. Agreed?”
He didn’t like it that she flinched when he touched her, but he kept the same easy smile on his lips and resumed his casual pose against the tree while he waited for her answer.
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