Lois Greiman (11 page)

If he could just control his stomach until the jewels were in his hands.

N
o one stopped him. No butler, no mistress, no armed guard. Will’s shoes rapped on the marble floor of the foyer. He had forgotten the opulence of the snobbish upper crust. Already, after only a few days of hunger, their world,
his
world, seemed painfully decadent, or perhaps it always had.

“Good evening.” An elderly man gave him a nod and went back to his conversation. William kept walking. The library. Where would it be? Off to his left, voices hummed and laughter twittered, rising above the general hubbub. A couple passed him. The woman glanced at his face. Her eyes widened. She squeezed closer to her partner, and they hurried past. William didn’t take time to look back, but he could hear her whisper to her companion and wondered at the reason. Perhaps his “stock” was soiled, or his hat wasn’t tilted at the proper angle. It was impossible to guess with the noble class. Any of a thousand fashion faux pas could set things against him. Then again, it could be that Shandria had all but butchered him during shaving, and the nick near his jugular was bleeding again.

A door stood open on his right. Two women sat drinking tea and talking. He bobbed his head and moved
quickly past. A drawing room, a parlor, a gaming room, but no library. Stairs loomed ahead, wide mahogany steps that wound upward like a snaring coil. A gentleman turned toward Will, but he pivoted away in unison, reaching for a drink from a nearby server as he did so, then there was nothing to do but mount the stairs.

A foursome descended, talking amongst themselves. Will gave them a nod and turned right at the top of the stairs. Rooms spread out in both directions. A nursery, a solar, more rooms, unidentified but unimportant, for the library loomed at the end of the hall. He could see the scholarly rows of books through the open doorway. His heart lurched. Not a single candle shone inside the room. But he didn’t look right or left. Instead, he hurried inside, sidestepped, and abruptly stopped. From the hallway he heard someone laugh. Footsteps echoed off to the left. His breath came in shallow rasps, but no one stopped him, no one questioned him. He waited until the thrumming in his chest had retreated a bit, then casually took a candle from the hallway and moved back into the shadowy recesses of the room. Still no one accosted him. He closed the door, certain someone would burst in at any moment, but seconds ticked away until there was nothing he could do but move forward. Search.

The desk door squeaked as he opened it, but it was clear in a moment that the chest wasn’t there. He moved on. Drawers. Endless shelves of books. Nothing. And then the cabinets. He rummaged through the first with bated breath, closed it, and moved on. But the second didn’t open.

Closing his eyes, he tried to think where he would keep the key for such a cabinet, but a quick search in the obvious places yielded nothing.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Men’s voices ascended.
Premonition screamed through him. He was out of luck. Out of time.

Turning toward the cabinet, he grasped a handle and yanked it toward him. Wood moaned and splintered. Inside a small chest occupied the very center of a shelf.

Voices sounded from the hallway. He snatched the box to his chest and scanned the room, but there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“…thought I heard something,” a voice said.

Panicked, Will shut the cabinet. Cramming the chest under his borrowed coat, he crushed it between his arm and his ribs and snatched a book from the shelves.

The door opened. Lord Ives and a companion stood in the hallway. Both men stared in some surprise.

“My lord,” Will said, and nodded with prim precision. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed a book. I’ve a bit of a headache, and the noise was beginning to wear on me.”

Ives scowled as if trying to see the cabinet behind, but Will’s position blocked that possibility. Didn’t it? Sweat trickled down his spine, but he stared blandly at his host.

“Did you find your bonny daughter, my lord?”

The man’s scowl deepened. “I’m certain she just stepped out for a bit of air.”

“Julia’s gone missing?” his companion asked.

William glanced at the fellow, noticing for the first time that he was considerably younger than the girl’s father, though a bit puffier about the belt. He had a large, bowed nose and cheeks flushed with emotion or wine or a potent combination of the two.

Will shrugged. The chest slipped a little inside his borrowed coat. “We were all young once, I suppose.”

“You know Julia?” the boy asked.

“We met just briefly,” Will said. “I am new to Sedonia,
and she thought it would be a kindness to invite me here.”

Ives’s brows lowered another degree.

“I’m sorry,” said the younger man, stepping forward and offering his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Timothy Tyron, the viscount of Bisburn.”

Heart thumping, Will squeezed his right elbow tightly against the chest, set the book on the desk, and extended his hand.

“Julia’s betrothed,” Timmy added.

Will jerked slightly and in that instant a number of things happened. Ives strained to see behind him, the chest shifted, and Will’s borrowed coat gaped open.

Both men’s gazes dropped. Will drew his hand back and looked down, and though the chest was not visible, his shirt was. It was smeared with blood and a host of other unnamable substances visible even in that flickering light.

Ives’s scowl was a glare now. Tyron’s eyes were hooded.

“What did you say your name was, sir?”

Will’s mind spun. What now? What the hell now?

“There you are,” said a woman from the doorway. All eyes turned in that direction.

And she was there. Princess Shandria, dressed in a teal gown that was gathered at the high waistline and showed a wealth of snowy cleavage. Her hair was piled atop her head, and her smile was bewitching. But why the devil was she there?

“I cannot leave him alone for an instant,” she said, addressing the gentlemen and gliding inside. “
Mon dieu
, he has such an aversion to crowds. I blame it on Mama. She doted on him so, you see. He never learned to interact with his contemporaries.”

The men were staring at her as if she were an apparition.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and laughed. The sound was as light and high as silvery bells. She extended a gloved hand. “I am being quite rude. I am Lady Winifred.”

The scowl was gone from Ives’s face as he bowed over her hand.

“’Tis a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” she said, and gently tugged her fingers from the old man’s grip only to be seized by Timothy, who pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

She smiled, but turned her gaze to Will. Her eyes snapped with urgency. Reality snagged his tottering mind. Self-preservation followed. Escape. Now! He stepped toward the door.

“…so very nice of you to invite us,” she was saying as she eased her hand from Tyron’s and pressed it, splay fingered to her bosom. The flesh was bare there, pale and high where her breasts were mounded above her bodice. “But we must away.”

“So soon?” Timothy asked.

“I fear so,” she said, and stepped into the hallway. William went with her. She settled her hand on his arm and turned gaily to the men behind. “But I shan’t forget either your beautiful home or your wondrous hospitality.”

“Surely you could stay a bit longer,” Ives said. “I could show you about.”

“If I but could,” she countered, and tightened her hand like a claw around Will’s biceps. “Mayhap some other time.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

They were almost to the stairs, but the men were following them like a pair of hounds.

“I will make certain to tell Julia I met you,” said the lad.

She hesitated not a moment. “Oh do,” she said. The mahogany stairs echoed under their heels.

A woman’s gasp sounded from upstairs.

William swore under his breath and hustled onto the carpet. His legs felt stiff and his chest tight.

“Are you completely insane?” she rasped, her lips barely moving.

“Shut up and hurry—” he began.

“My chest! My jewels!” someone gasped.

They didn’t delay another moment, but lurched for the door.

Footsteps thudded above. The latch stuck beneath Will’s fumbling fingers, then they were outside, scrambling down the stairs, and galloping into the darkness.

“Stop them!” someone yelled, but they didn’t turn back. “Thieves!”

There were several seconds of bewildered silence, then men thundered after them. Will and Princess hurtled down the driveway, between carriages. Horses snorted and shied away.

“Halt!” someone shouted.

Lurching toward the dark shape of a landau, Will jerked off the brake, grabbed the reins, and swatted the team’s haunches. The bays gathered their strength and sprang into action even as Will dragged Princess into the shrubbery. Branches burned his face. Shouts sounded from every direction. A hack pounded past, its rider bent furiously over its straining neck. From the bushes beside them, a couple stumbled onto the road.

“This way.” Princess’s whisper was little more than a
hiss in the darkness. He followed as silently as he could, slipping through the garden. But suddenly the shrubbery disappeared, and he stumbled onto the road, into the open, unprotected and alone.

Hoofbeats thundered toward him through the darkness, then a hand reached out and yanked him backward. A pair of riders galloped past, nearly atop him.

“Come!” someone hissed, though he didn’t know who. But options were limited. Life was short. He stumbled after a dark shadow and through an open doorway. It took him a moment to realize they were inside a carriage house, but there was no time to question. Someone snagged his sleeve and dragged him into a dark enclosure. A stall? A—

“Get down,” a voice ordered. He did so, crouching in the shadows, and there he recognized his newest companion.

“Jack!” he rasped.

“Hush!” Princess ordered. Her eyes were wide and rimmed with white.

“The carriage was empty.” The voice outside was close and breathless. “They must have jumped out before we stopped it.”

Someone swore.

“Have you searched the gardens?”

“I fear they’re long gone, my—”

“Then what the devil are you standing about for? Go find them!”

Voices agreed and argued. Footsteps rushed away. Inside the carriage house the trio waited in silence, huddled together in the darkness, and finally, after what seemed an eternity, the world outside went quiet but for an occasional, distant snatch of dialogue.

William exhaled and carefully turned his back to the
wall. His chest burned like a Yule log, and his legs felt weak.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he asked, turning to Jack.

The lad met his glare straight on. “Saving your arse, looks like,” he said.

“Why—” he began, but the boy interrupted him.

“You all right, Princess?”

“Dancer’s right,” she said, her voice a thin whisper in the darkness. “You shouldn’t have come.”

The boy scowled and shook his head. “’E don’t ’ave no idea what ’e’s doin’.”

Will could feel her gaze on him. “That much is clear enough, lad,” she agreed. “Still, ’tis too dangerous here.”

The boy straightened slightly. “Why are you ’ere then?”

“Find anything?” A man’s voice sounded close outside.

Will’s breath froze in his throat.

The answer was distant and negative. Noises faded reluctantly into the night.

“You’d best get back to the Den, Nim,” Princess murmured, “before they make an organized search.”

“What ’bout you?” the boy asked.

Even in the darkness, Will could see her eyes soften. “Don’t worry on my account,” she said, and, reaching out, brushed a lock of tumbled hair from his brow. “I’ll be well enough. You just—”

“’E ain’t gonna be any use to ya,” the boy said, and jerked a nod toward Will.

“Not everyone can have the skills of Nimble Jack,” she agreed.

“True ’nuf,” said the boy and grinned, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “But ’e don’t ’ave no skills a’tall.”

She laughed, low and quiet. Perhaps Will should have
been insulted, but there was joy on her face, despite the danger, despite the hardships…and life was getting shorter every second.

“I can dance,” he countered.

She turned toward him with a look of surprise, and he held out his hands. “Want to try?”

They stared at him in numb silence, then, “’E’s off ’is nut,” Jack said.

She pulled her gaze away with an obvious effort.

“It’ll be safer if we leave one at a time,” she whispered, addressing the boy.

“You’re stayin’ with ’im then?”

“Worry about yourself, lad,” she murmured. “He’ll reach the Den safe enough.”

The boy stared as if he might object, but finally he nodded once and slipped like a ragged shadow into the night.

The carriage house went quiet. The stall where they hid was long and narrow, barely five feet across and heavily bedded in oat straw that shone gold even in the darkness. They’d hunkered down under the manger and would be all but invisible from three sides.

Voices sounded, but there were no shouts, no reason to believe Jack had encountered any trouble.

“So you came to look after me?” Will’s voice was quiet to his own ears, for there was no reason to speak up. She sat less than eighteen inches away, with her knees pulled up to her lovely bosom and her eyes bright in the darkness.

She didn’t look at him, but kept scanning the world outside their fragrant sanctuary. “Things are quieting down,” she whispered. “You should be able to slip out unnoticed, unless you’re completely inept.”

He watched her. Her face was a pale oval against the
rough timber at her back. “So I was right,” he mused, seeing past her tough demeanor. “You’ve been protecting me all the while.”

Slipping out from beneath the manger, she rose easily to her feet. “There’s a back door. Go now.”

“Why?” he asked, and stood up beside her.

“I don’t know!” she hissed, turning abruptly toward him. “Perhaps so you don’t get shot once it’s light enough for them to find you.”