Hart stepped inside, his boots echoing around the empty vestibule with its vaulted ceiling. He turned and tried to insert the key in the lock, only to find it did not work on this door either. He walked to the front door of the church and found the key incompatible with that lock, as well.
The clue on the bracelet was of the church’s steeple. It was possible the image had been used simply to identify the church since each steeple was unique, however Hart believed there was more to it than that.
He found the small black arched door that led up into the tower, and as he began to climb the spiral staircase, he anticipated having the diamond in his hand tonight. Using his pocket lantern, he slowly studied the wooden walls surrounding him for the Greek key pattern. He found none. As he reached one particular turn in the staircase, a faint golden light was visible above. He immediately extinguished his lantern, knowing he wasn’t alone.
The rhythmic clicking of the clock mechanism told him how far he had climbed. Not far ahead should be the room that housed the workings of the clock whose faces appeared on all four sides of the steeple. Someone was in that room and he’d wager that was where the diamond was. He had a choice. He could admit to Prinny that he could not get the diamond, or he could discover who from the Home Office had it and then steal it from them.
It was not in Hart’s nature to admit failure. If he could not bring Prinny the Sancy, it would diminish him in his friend’s eyes. Plus, it was a debt of honour, so really, he had no choice. Hart was getting that diamond, no matter what he had to do.
He crept up the stairs, grateful at not having stepped on any squeaky boards, and peeked into the room. Someone was sitting back on their heels near the clock’s mechanism, unaware they were being watched. He recognised that cleric’s hat from the night on Theodosia’s roof. Dammit! Was Miss Forrester everywhere? He pressed his shoulder into the door frame to prevent his fist from hitting it.
Even though he was careful not to make a sound, her head jerked up and her eyes widened. ‘You,’ she uttered in what sounded like disbelief.
‘Miss Forrester, I should be surprised to find you here, but as of late you’ve been appearing at the most unexpected times, so I find that this isn’t a complete shock.’ He extended his hand to help her up. Once she took it, Hart knew things between them were about to take a very different turn.
‘Are you following me?’ she asked, eyeing him up and down.
‘Don’t be absurd,’ he replied, pulling her up. ‘If I intended to follow you, I would have been looking for someone dressed as a woman, not as my valet on a bad night.’
She adjusted the lapels of her coat, as if her goal in life was to look like a fashionable gentleman. ‘Then why are you here?’
There was no reason she would be here unless she also was in search of the Sancy. ‘Why are you?’
They stared directly into each other’s eyes. If this was to be a contest of who would look away first, he was determined to win.
‘Why is it you seem to be making a habit of donning such attire? Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you in those trews, but it is a rather bold fashion choice on your part.’
She glanced away. ‘Haven’t you heard? It’s rather dangerous for a woman to walk alone at night.’
‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t be roaming Mayfair in the middle of the night at all. Admiring the architecture again, are we?’
‘Ecclesiastical architecture is inspiring.’
‘You’re in a clock tower.’
‘Your point?’
‘You were on your knees when I arrived.’
‘I tripped.’ She stuck her right leg out from under her black cape and brushed off her thigh.
He crossed his arms, creating space between them. ‘Do not think to distract me with those legs of yours.’ She didn’t need to draw further attention to them when it was taking a lot of effort on his part to keep his eyes on her face as it was. Why was the daughter of the American Minister searching for the Sancy? He could tell from her defiant expression she would offer him no explanation. He himself was not feeling very forthcoming.
‘Is someone up there?’ a wavering male voice called from the bottom of the stairwell. A small yapping sound, as if from a tiny dog, followed.
Miss Forrester’s gaze flew to the staircase in terror. It was probably the vicar or curate, out late walking his dog. He knew the Home Office would not announce themselves.
They were not going to get caught if he could help it. Hart blew out the small lantern she had left on the floor and pulled her silently across the room towards the ladder that led to the belfry.
‘Whatever you do,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘do not step on any squeaky boards.’
She threw up her hands. ‘As if I have control over which boards are squeaky.’
‘Go,’ he whispered in her ear as he poked her back.
His heart pounded as they made their way up to the belfry, where the slight evening breeze blowing through the slatted openings cooled his heated skin. They were trapped, like two birds in a cage. Except his hard body was pressing her soft one into the wall.
His instinct was to protect her and block the view of her should someone find them. All of his attention should be on avoiding discovery. But being this close to Miss Forrester and those legs in the quiet darkness had him thinking about what she would feel like if he took her against this wall—over and over. Bloody hell, he needed to focus and her soft rapid breath on his cheek wasn’t making it easy! He pushed his forearms harder against the wall above her head to stop himself from touching her. Then he looked down at her and found she was staring at his mouth. He unconsciously licked his lips.
Immediately, she looked away.
‘I entered through the door in the churchyard,’ she whispered harshly. ‘Well out of sight of the vicarage. This is all your doing. What if he comes up here? Surely we will get caught and—’
He rested a finger against her soft lips. ‘If we are quiet, he might leave. Let’s just pray he doesn’t decide to bring that dog up here.’
The distant rumble of carriages along Piccadilly mixed with the sound of their breathing was deafening. There was a shuffling of footsteps below and a yellowish glow shone from the opening in the floor they had crawled through. Miss Forrester clutched his waistcoat and shirt, grabbing a few of his chest hairs with them. He squeezed his eyes shut with the pain.
Finally, she released a deep breath, the warm puff of air scorching his cheek as the light coming from the room below disappeared. Once more they were bathed in faint moonlight.
As he went to step back, the hairs on his chest were pulled even harder. ‘You can let go of me now,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘He is gone.’
She looked at her hand in puzzlement, as if she hadn’t realised she was holding on to him as if he were her lifeline on a sinking ship. When she released her grip, she wiped both her hands on her trews. ‘Forgive me.’
‘It was probably the vicar. His dog probably needed to go out,’ Hart said, explaining his theory to her. ‘I’m sure he is accustomed to making certain the doors to the church are locked. I assume he noticed the side door wasn’t locked and came inside to see if all was well. I left the door to the steeple open. It would be reasonable for him to check up here.’
‘Then this is your fault.’
‘Think about this, darling. If I hadn’t been here, you might have had to deal with him on your own. I assume it was you who left the door to the side entrance unlocked.’ He peered through the slates of the belfry and could see the figure of a man and his dog heading towards the vicarage. ‘How did you accomplish that, by the way?’
‘It was unlocked when I arrived.’ She looked away and chewed her lip. ‘Perhaps he is waiting for us to come down.’
‘He is gone.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
She held out her hand. ‘My lantern, please.’
He placed the small collapsible brass-and-glass rectangle in her palm and watched her approach the ladder. It was no coincidence they were both in this church and it was also no coincidence he had found her making her way to the Chinese Bridge in the park earlier in the day.
Why would Miss Forrester want the diamond? How had an American diplomat’s daughter come to even learn of its existence? Who was she working for?
‘Why are you really here, Miss Forrester?’
‘Why are you?’
He wasn’t about to betray Prinny’s trust and tell her the truth. And from the way she deflected his question and the look on her face, he could tell she was not about to be forthcoming with him, as well.
‘I came to admire the views from up here,’ he replied.
‘And so did I.’
Could she have found the diamond? He needed to search the clock tower thoroughly.
She noticed he made no move towards the ladder. ‘You’re remaining here?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.
‘If we are discovered together, it would compromise you beyond repair.’
She arched a brow. ‘You’re concerned for my reputation?’ Under the circumstances, that seemed to be the least of their worries.
‘I have no wish to be obligated to marry you. It’s best if we part ways inside the church.’
Her right hand fisted at her side and she raised her chin. ‘Very well, I will leave you here. Thank you for your assistance.’ She spun on her heels and left with clipped movements.
It was just as well she appeared angry—probably still blaming him for the vicar’s appearance. He needed to focus. And Miss Sarah Forrester had a tendency to muddle his brain and torment his body. She was much too tempting and all wrong for him. And he had a diamond to find. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he began to think about why she was searching for the Sancy. Were the Americans involved now, too? Would they send a woman out into danger? Miss Forrester had left without any persuasion, which left Hart troubled. Had she found it?
He went down the ladder, relit his small lantern with his tinderbox and studied every inch of the walls.
Nothing.
He even went so far as to inspect the clock mechanism. He looked at the floor, scanning each strip of dull scuffed wood until he spied the plank he needed...right where he had found Miss Forrester earlier.
‘Dammit!’
He dropped to his knee and traced the Greek key design etched into one of the floorboards. Using the knife he kept in his boot, Hart pried up the six-inch-long plank.
The hollow space was empty.
He sat back on his heels and threw his knife across the room, embedding it in the wall. Damn, she had it! He had found a key that must open the box that contained the diamond. But she had the box. The Sancy was in her possession—but not for long.
Chapter Eight
The handle of the French door that led from the terrace to her father’s study turned silently in Sarah’s palm, bringing a smile of relief to her face. The familiar faint smell of almond oil mixed with her father’s pipe tobacco was comforting after the last few stressful hours.
She lit the oil lamp on his desk and sifted through the few pieces of unopened mail resting in the oval silver tray. Even though she knew she had time before the blackmailer would send word to her father, instructing him where to leave the diamond, she couldn’t help obsessively checking his mail whenever she had the opportunity.
Once more she reached into the pocket of her cape and gripped the unopened linen-wrapped packet that she pulled from the floorboards of St James’s Church. She was fighting the urge to untie the thin black ribbon and unroll the packet here, but she needed to go to her bedchamber to slip out of these clothes and back into her night-rail before anyone saw her.
At least in her own home she knew where the squeaky floorboards were and she was able to avoid them as she crept up the darkened staircase. Once she was inside her room, she removed her prize from her pocket and unhooked her cape. With a pounding heart, she lit the two lamps flanking her dressing table. Their glow reflected off the window behind them. She took a deep breath, untied the ribbon and unrolled the linen.
A small iron key slipped out into her palm, making her forehead wrinkle.
What was she to do with a key? There were no more clues on the bracelet. She had nothing to open.
Hartwick’s arrival at the church had not been a coincidence. And it was no coincidence that he had been in the park with muddied boots earlier in the day. He was the man who had whatever was hidden below the bridge. And since she now had a key, the logical conclusion was that he must have some sort of box that housed the diamond—a box that he could probably pick the lock to, making her key unnecessary.
‘Blast that man!’
Sarah clenched her fists so hard, her nails dug into her palms. What was she to do now? How she wished she could stomp to her wardrobe and slam the doors. Instead she allowed her rage to bubble under the surface as she changed into her night-rail and dressing gown. She shoved her clothes into a pillowcase, along with her boots, and pushed them under her bed.
Many women in London would be thrilled to find themselves alone with the Earl of Hartwick. Couldn’t he have had the decency to spend his time cavorting with one of them, instead of getting in her way?
Pacing about her room, all she could think about was how much she wished she had reached the bridge before he had. Then she would have everything! Her parents couldn’t find out about Alexander’s treasonous act. They had suffered enough. She needed that diamond and no one was going to prevent her from handing it over in exchange for those papers.
Why would Hartwick want the diamond anyway? He was reported to be a very wealthy man. He didn’t need it. Or was he secretly in debt? How had he found out about it? And how did he know about the clues on Lady Everill’s bracelet? Sarah had witnessed the woman stash it back in her reticule the other night. Had he stolen it from her? Why, oh, why had she not reached the bridge first?
She would be awake for hours if she did not get something to steady her nerves. A glass of sherry from the dining room would do the trick. In the morning she would figure out a way to steal the diamond from him. She knew where he lived. How difficult could it be to sneak in and grab it? He was barely home.
But as she stepped back into her room after fetching the wine, she almost spilled her glass at the sight of Hartwick. He was sitting up on her bed with her pillows propped behind him and his shiny Hessians crossed at the ankle. Against the white linen of her bed, his black hair, black clothes and polished black boots made an ominous sight, even if there was a hint of amusement on his lips.
His words from earlier in the evening played over in her mind.
‘I do not wish to be obligated to marry you. It’s best if we part ways inside the church.’
Well, she had no wish to marry him either! He was a rake of the first order. And, as if that weren’t enough, he was a titled Englishman who would never leave this country to live in America! Not that that mattered in the least. It didn’t. He was a rake. A big, arrogant, insufferable—rake! She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from telling him so.
Pushing the door shut behind her, Sarah took a much needed sip of wine. If there was one thing she knew about the Earl, it was not to let him see when he unnerved her.
‘You’re on my bed.’
He surveyed the area around him. ‘It would appear so.’
‘Why?’
‘The only chair in your room did not appear comfortable and, at this hour, I have a tendency to want to be comfortable.’
‘I meant why are you in my room? How did you get in here?’
His penetrating
gaze travelled slowly down the length of her body, and she tugged the opening of her dressing gown closed.
He glanced to the French doors that led to her Juliet balcony. ‘The trellis on the wall of your home is rather handy. It was much too easy to hop over the railing and enter your room.’
‘And what led you to believe this was my room?’
‘I saw you in the window a short while ago.’
It was obvious from his relaxed demeanour he was in no hurry to leave. The ease of his manner under such improper circumstances was maddening since his presence in her room—on her bed—was bringing fluttering feelings throughout her body. She was a fool. This was a man who thought nothing of entering women’s bedchambers. He did it frequently. It didn’t make her special. But as much as she told herself that, she couldn’t help notice that he looked devilishly handsome at the moment.
She pointed to the French doors. ‘Well, now that you’ve challenged yourself with breaking into my room, you can challenge yourself with finding a way out. Although, I request you do so quietly and quickly so as not to get caught. I also have no desire to become obligated to marry you.’
That last sentence was uttered a bit too forcefully and a small smile lifted his lips. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he drawled. ‘No reasonable person should ever consider marriage.’
‘Not interested in committing yourself to one woman until death?’
‘Something like that.’
The sharpness in his eyes told her that he knew she had found the key. There was no other reason he would be visiting her bedchamber. While he had often teased her, he had never made any attempt to seduce her. Seeing him gloat over having the diamond would not be in his best interest at the moment. She walked across the room to her dressing table and placed her glass of wine down.
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