Cliff surveyed the bookshelves as they walked through the library. How were they supposed to find anything in here? They’d been pointed here with no clarifying clues. The information could be hidden in any of thousands of volumes. Was there a codebreaking section, perhaps? Too obvious, probably.
He plucked a book off a shelf at random and flipped through it. Dense text and illustrations of plows jumped out at him. He closed the book and looked at the cover.
Agricultural Technologies of the Late Sixteenth Century.
Well, that would help him sleep at night. He tucked it into his pocket.
“There!” Lola declared, gesturing toward the window ahead.
A half-sized Roman statue stood on a pedestal at the end of the row. Cliff adjusted his glasses and peered at it. It didn’t seem particularly exceptional. A sensible decoration to be near classical history or literature shelves. It could have been donated by the Mad Duke, but so could a table, a lamp, a painting, or any book.
Lola scampered up to the statue and turned around, bouncing in place as she waited for him to catch up. As he drew closer, his mouth twitched up into a smile. Then he laughed.
“Huh. Look at that.”
“The face looks just like the man in the statue in our garden,” Lola declared proudly. “I noticed while Sabine was reading books, and she said I was exactly right.” She gazed adoringly up at Sabine, who gave her a genuine smile and a conspiratorial wink. A hint of wistfulness flickered in Sabine’s eyes as she turned her attention to the statue.
Cliff’s heart skipped a beat. A sudden sense of dread churned in his stomach. When the treasure hunt was over and they parted ways, Lola would be heartbroken. Hell, Sabine would be heartbroken. She wasn’t indifferent. She was acting indifferent because it was the most efficient way to cut him off. She cared, but not the way he did. She knew they would part, knew it would hurt, and wanted to get the whole thing over with. She would break from him as swiftly and fully as possible, because she cared. It was like his relationship with Miranda all over again.
“Aw, fuck,” he muttered. The urge to smash something swelled inside him once again.
“Daddy.” Lola glanced around, looking for anyone who might have heard. “You said that was a bad word.”
“Right. Sorry.” He stepped closer to the statue, bending to inspect some part of it. Best to get back to work. Do what had to be done. No sense fretting about the inevitable.
Cliff ran his fingers over the marble, feeling for cracks or irregularities that might indicate a hidden clue. The stone was cool to the touch and bore no marks that he could see. Opposite him, Sabine made her own inspection, a slight frown twisting her mouth.
Cliff flattened his hand against the statue. Maybe if he shoved really hard, it would topple out the window and smash on the pavement below. That would vent some of his frustrations and let them find any clue hidden inside at the same time.
“Finding anything?” he asked.
Sabine shook her head.
Cliff took a quick look to check for witnesses, saw none, and squeezed himself behind the statue to check the back. Nothing. No markings, no writing, no seams that indicated that any pieces could be detached.
“Unless he somehow magically sculpted the marble around a piece of paper, I don’t think there’s anything here to find.”
“I agree,” Sabine said. “Perhaps in the pedestal.”
They both dropped to their knees, inspecting the stone support. That search proved equally fruitless.
Sabine muttered an oath in German. She rapped on the side of the pedestal with one hand. “Could it be hollow? Do you think we could manage to lift the statute or shift it enough to check?”
“Uh, maybe?” He was strong, but he wasn’t sure he was that strong. He circled back around to the front of the statue and eyed it, trying to decide how best to grip it.
“Daddy?”
Cliff made another check for any onlookers. “Yeah, babe?” He grasped the statue, frowned, adjusted his position, and tried again.
“What does spiquer mean?”
“Huh?” This wasn’t going to work. He grabbed hold of the statue’s arm. Maybe like this.
“Spiquer,” Lola repeated. “I don’t know how to say it. It’s right there.”
Cliff paused long enough to look down at where she was pointing. At the base of the statue, as he’d seen on many Roman artifacts and reproductions, were the initials SPQR.
“Oh, God.” He took two steps backward, shaking with laughter. “It’s a Latin abbreviation,” he explained when he recovered. “It stands for the Senate and People of Rome. Means the statue was erected by the Roman government. Or wants to pretend it was, in this case.” He caught Sabine looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “What? I went to school. Although apparently I’m still a knucklehead.” He laughed again. “Hidden in plain sight.”
Sabine folded her arms across her chest. “That does seem very like him.”
“Right, then. I vote we go off on the rest of our city tour and try it out when we arrive home.”
She nodded. “And if it doesn’t work and we need to return?”
Cliff pulled the book from his pocket. “That’s why I have this.”
Sabine glanced at the cover and raised her eyebrows.
“Dukes are exceptionally interested in this sort of thing,” Cliff joked. “Seeing how we have so much land and all.”
Maybe she would smile. Maybe she would tease him back. Please, couldn’t he at least squeeze out a little bit more friendship before the end?
“You barely own enough land for a vegetable garden, Hartleigh.” No teasing. But a comfortingly familiar irritation. Better than nothing, he supposed.
“Good. Because I actually have no plans to read this or any other book on agriculture. I am, however, going to have it checked out in my name so that I have an excuse to return. And because I might as well borrow books if I have to pay to be a member here.”
They walked together toward the exit. Sabine and Lola paused to browse the shelves while Cliff veered off to check with the circulation desk about borrowing the book. He grinned at the sound of Lola’s voice behind him, stumbling over words as she practiced her reading.
A woman bumped against his arm, startling him.
“Terribly sorry,” he apologized hurriedly. She was young, blond haired, and dressed in a flowing, pale-yellow dress. Her mouth was curved in a flirtatious smile.
“Oh, no need to apologize,” the young woman cooed. Something jabbed Cliff in the side, and he glanced down to see the gleaming barrel of a tiny pistol. “It was all my fault. Really.”
A hand clamped down on Cliff’s opposite arm, and his head swiveled. Adriana, Barton’s beautiful, dark-haired lady friend, smirked at him from underneath a shabby cap. A plain, faded dress hung loosely around her curves.
“Young man, I do hope you’re not flirting with my innocent charge, here. She’s a sweet girl. Very interested in books and things. Always searching, you know.”
Fear pounded through Cliff’s veins. He could no longer hear Lola’s voice. With the gun pressing into his ribs and who knew what other weapons at his enemies’ disposal, he couldn’t even turn to look for her and Sabine. He stuffed the book into the inside pocket of his coat. He’d do what he could to protect them.
“I’m extremely fond of books myself,” he replied. “Came here to find a certain one, as a matter of fact.”
Adriana steered him away from the circulation desk. “Is that so?”
“It is. And I’ll give it to you on one condition.”
She laughed. “I really don’t think you’re in a position to make demands.”
“Why not?” he asked brazenly. “You can’t really think you can shoot a duke inside a well-known library and get away with it. And my condition is simple. You allow Miss Diebin and my daughter to walk out the front door. Then I’ll give you the book.”
The pistol dug further into his side. “Or we can simply take it,” the blond w
oman said.
“You won’t understand how to use it. It’s a code book. You need to follow the instructions. I’ll explain the whole thing after you let them go.”
The younger woman looked to Adriana for an answer, though her weapon didn’t so much as twitch.
“Take him out the back way,” Adriana ordered.
36
Sabine nudged Lola around the corner of the bookshelf. “Go find your father.” The girl frowned up at her. Sabine gave her another gentle push. “Go. Now. Quickly.”
Lola hesitated, then scampered off. Good girl.
Sabine made as if to walk away, then whirled around when she heard her enemy step out from behind a nearby shelf.
“Yvette.” Sabine smirked, faintly amused by the momentary look of shock that flashed across the Frenchwoman’s features. “Yes, I spotted you approaching. You’re not as stealthy as you think.”
Yvette glared from beneath her pale blue, beribboned bonnet. The young woman’s eyes had become harder and sadder in the years since Sabine had last seen her. Poor girl. She’d never had a chance.
“You’ve grown up,” Sabine remarked.
Yvette withdrew a gleaming dagger from the folds of her skirts. “I’m only three years younger than you, Sabine Thief.”
“True, but it always seemed like more.” Sabine’s eyes darted back and forth, surveying the area for signs of the others she knew must be nearby. “Who else is here? What do you want from me?”
“We want what is ours, and we want the means to decode it.” Yvette’s gaze skimmed the bookshelves. “A codebook? That makes sense. Good of the Mad Duke to hide it in a library that welcomes women. And, thank you, Sabine, for doing the work of finding it.”
“Daddy?” Lola’s distant voice trembled. “Daddy, where are you?”
Sabine’s stomach clenched. “Hartleigh and the girl are innocent. Let them walk out the front door, unmolested, and then we’ll discuss the book.” They didn’t know about the machine. Didn’t know what they were looking for. Sabine could use that.
“Daddy?” Lola called again. “Sabine?”
“I don’t believe for one second that your duke is innocent,” Yvette laughed. She touched one leather-clad finger to the tip of her knife. “Our sisters are… handling him as we speak.”
Sabine’s world went red. She charged Yvette, pinning her against the bookcase, wrestling the knife from her grip and pressing it to her throat.
“I swear to God,” Sabine hissed, “if anyone has harmed him, I will rip out your eyeballs and stuff them down your throat until you choke on them.” Yvette let out a strangled whimper. She never had been any good in a fight. “Where is he? And why were they so stupid as to send you after me alone?”
“S-supposed to grab the girl,” Yvette stammered.
Sabine swore. Cliff and Lola were to have been hostages. At least that meant they wouldn’t kill him. Yet.
She slammed the handle of the knife into Yvette’s head. The blow didn’t knock her out, but it stunned her enough that she crumpled to the floor. She’d be assumed to have fainted if anyone found her.
Sabine took off in the direction of the circulation desk. Lola stood not far from it, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Sabine scooped her up and lifted her over the desk.
“You, there,” she demanded of the man behind the desk. “You are going to teach Miss Lola here all about how books are borrowed and returned. Don’t let anyone else behind that desk.”
He stared at her in confusion.
“I’ll be right back,” Sabine promised Lola. “I think your father got lost in the book stacks.”
Please let him be lost in the stacks and not already gone.
Sabine raced through the library, her eyes darting this way and that, her ears perked for any signs of struggle. She skittered to a halt beside a man who was shelving books.
“Have you seen the Duke of Hartleigh? Possibly in the company of a few women?”
The man’s eyes opened wide, then narrowed. “No, miss, I haven’t.”
“Which way to the rear exit?”
“Er, that way, miss.” The man pointed. “But it’s not for public use.”
Sabine was already off running. She tore down the narrow aisles, her footfalls echoing through the steel-frame structure. She saw nothing but books, heard nothing but the sounds of her own body.
“Hartleigh!” she shouted. “Hartleigh, can you hear me?”
A noise made her pause. Footsteps, perhaps? Ahead, and somewhat to the left. She took off. She had just reached the end of the aisle when the crack of a gunshot split the air.
“Cliff!” Oh, God, what had she done?
She flew through the library until the small rear exit emerged before her, daylight slanting through the half-open door. Sabine banged through to the outdoors, flailing as her foot slipped in something wet.
She looked down. A trail of blood led away from the door, into the center of the small, dirty courtyard crammed between the crowded London buildings. Her head swiveled, her eyes darted left, right, up. Nothing. No signs that they’d climbed for the roof or ducked into another building. No airship hovered above to carry them away. The nearby streets would be packed with carriages and steam cars, eager to race away for a coin or two.
“Fuck!” Sabine hammered her fists on the door. Cliff was lost to her. In the hands of her enemies and wounded. She cursed once more, kicked the door, and stormed back inside. She marched straight to the circulation desk, picked up Lola, and carried her out the front door.
“Sabine?” Lola’s arms clamped around her neck and her little body shook. “Where’s Daddy?”
Sabine couldn’t answer, trapped between fury and devastation. She shook her head and clutched Lola tighter.
“Captain.”
Sabine’s head jerked toward the guard who had spoken.
“Captain, this woman came stumbling out of the library, looking mighty suspicious and saying foul French words.” His meaty hand had a good grip on Yvette’s arm, and he pulled her toward Sabine. “What do you want me to do with her?”
Sabine bared her teeth in a feral smile. “We’re going to take her with us. And then she’s going to tell us everything she knows. Isn’t that right, little sister?”
“Go to hell,” Yvette snarled.
“You first.”
37
“Drink?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Barton poured the brandy regardless, sliding the glass across the polished top of his study desk toward Cliff. He leaned back in his towering leather chair and sipped at his own drink.
“Sadly, that’s what I will need to do, since you shot my mistress.”
“I didn’t shoot her, that other woman shot her. Gun went off accidentally when I tried to get away.” Cliff shrugged. “She deserved it. She’s a bitch.”
Barton chuckled. “Of course she is. That’s why I like her. We get along famously. But now she’s laid up in bed recovering, and who’s going to take care of my needs?”
“Some whore with the pox, hopefully.”
“Such hostility, Duke. You ought to relax. Try the brandy. We should be friends, you and I. We’re cut from the same cloth.”
Cliff snorted. “We are nothing alike.” He settled back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, ignoring the brandy.
“Ah, but you’re so wrong. We are self-made men. Thrust into positions of rank that had lost their historic power and fortune. My uncle left me less than nothing, and look what I have become. The world is mine for the taking. You are the same. You are heir to a madman. Your title is drowning in debt, yet you wield it as if it were a flourishing dukedom of old. You have a fortune of your own and the skills and ambition to continue increasing it. You scoff at the rules of society and do things your own way without fear or shame.”
“You’re forgetting the part where you’re a heartless, mercenary villain, and I’m not.”
“Rubbish. You’re hunting treasure with a known criminal
. She stole that coded document, you know. She’s hardly some innocent damsel. We have similar tastes in women, you and I.”
“You don’t know Sabine.”
“She’s a pirate. She betrayed her leader to strike out on her own. She’s always on the hunt for new treasures to increase her personal fortune. She’s smart, she’s ruthless, and she likes to do the naughty with powerful men. What else is there to know?”
She hasn’t had an easy life. She’s been hurt and she’s often lonely. When she’s relaxed she can be funny and sweet. She has a big heart, but guards it closely. She’s full of passion and life. She wants peace and security, not wealth and fame.
“She’s been a worthy opponent, I admit,” Barton continued. “Going to see the king when the lights went out was a stroke of genius. Foiled any chance we had to kidnap you last night.” He chuckled and took another swig from his drink. “But we did get a good look at your bodyguards, and now you’ve led us right to what we needed.” Barton picked up the copy of Agricultural Technologies of the Late Sixteenth Century that he’d taken from Cliff’s pocket. “Now. About this book.”
Cliff made a pretense of checking his watch. “It’s a bit early for a nap, don’t you think? If we start to read that, we’ll sleep right through lunch, and then we’ll be irritable until teatime.”
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“No, I think I’m sarcastic. Funny to some, perhaps, but to you merely obnoxious. You’re welcome.”
Barton slammed the book down on the desk and leaned toward Cliff, his eyes blazing with anger. “Tell me about the book, Hartleigh, before we have to beat it out of you.”
“I don’t know about the book. All I did was pluck it off the shelf. Looks horrendously boring to me.”
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