Chapter Seven #2
“Best do it quickly,” Uncle Rafe advised. “Lockhart’s coming this way. He’s going to ask Gracie to dance.”
Grace’s head swiveled so quickly toward him that the pin in Felicity’s fingers dug sharply into her scalp. “What? No, he isn’t!” Was he?
“Bet you ten quid he is.”
A strange little laugh collected in her lungs, and burst across her lips with the faintest tinge of hysteria.
Probably Uncle Rafe had been primed to see something that was not there—after all, she’d inquired of Lord Lockhart only yesterday evening.
And yet her gaze scanned the ballroom until she found Lord Lockhart, weaving his way through the crowd. In their direction.
No. Surely not. “Probably he’s headed for the refreshment table,” she said, wincing as Felicity jammed in the last pin a bit too hard. “It is sweltering in here.”
Uncle Rafe chuckled. “I swear to you, he’s coming to you. I’d lay money on it.”
“He isn’t!” Grace shrilled. Beneath the thin fabric of her evening gloves, her palms grew hot and damp. “Whatever would make you think such a thing?”
“Because he’s been watching you all evening,” Uncle Rafe replied, with a knowing wink—as if they shared some secret. “As Danny has been watching Hannah.”
∞∞∞
“You cost me ten quid.”
“I beg your pardon?” Henry had always thought himself a rather capable dancer, but the snippy accusation—rendered only moments after he and Grace had swept out onto the dance floor—drew him up short enough that he nearly missed a step.
“Ten quid,” Grace reiterated, tilting that adorable little nose toward the ceiling. “Because you asked me to dance.”
“I’m sorry; I find myself at a loss.” There was a frown of confusion that wanted to pleat itself into his brow, and which he valiantly staved off. The last thing he wished was to give a public impression that she had somehow offended him. “How has that cost you ten quid?”
“You never have before. I was certain you were going for the refreshment table.”
Henry found himself reluctantly impressed that she could move so gracefully whilst clearly in the throes of some bit of pique he didn’t entirely understand. “You…bet against me?” he asked.
“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time!” A haughty little huff puffed across the plush softness of her lower lip. “I assume you have got some purpose for asking?”
He hadn’t, initially. But throughout the evening, as he’d watched her take to the floor with partner after partner, as he’d watched her engaged in casual conversation with a young man with whom she’d seemed entirely too familiar, he’d been searching for excuses.
He’d wanted that dance. The waltz, specifically. And the perfect excuse to claim it had walked through the door only minutes ago.
“Uncle Nigel has arrived,” he said. “I thought it would be best if you could see him, so you might recognize him in the future.”
“Oh?” To her credit, she didn’t so much as blink at the revelation—nor did she crane her head around to scan the ballroom, as he might have expected. “Tell me where,” she said. “And describe him, if you please.”
Henry bit back a grimace. “Dark tailcoat,” he said.
“Garish pink waistcoat with gold embroidery and buttons. Entirely too much lace at his cuffs and a cravat with approximately two hundred frills to it just dripping from his neck. He’s standing by the doors waiting to be noticed. And complimented. Excessively.”
Grace pursed her lips against what he was certain was a giggle at the picture he’d painted. “He’s a dandy,” she said.
“He’s a damned fop,” Henry replied. “And he doesn’t look half so fashionable as he thinks he does.”
“I’ll sneak a glance on the next turn,” she said.
Incredible, how she managed to cut her gaze through her lowered lashes, to all intents utterly engaged in the dance when he knew those sharp eyes were gathering every bit of information they could in the few seconds his uncle was plainly visible.
“Good lord,” she whispered beneath her breath. “Is he always so—so—
“Ostentatious? Yes; nearly always. He enjoys being the center of attention.” A knot of fury pulled itself tight in his chest. “At my father’s funeral, he made quite an unseemly display of himself.
One would have thought he would have preferred to be in the coffin himself, for he could not seem to endure people paying their respects to someone else even for a handful of moments.
He blathered on quite extensive about how much Father had meant to him, though it was common knowledge that they had been on rather chilly terms for some years. ”
Grace could not quite suppress her cringe. “And the woman beside him now—is she his wife?”
“Aunt Alicia,” he said, struggling to keep a wince from pulling at his features.
“You like her.”
Better than he’d ever liked Uncle Nigel.
Better, in fact, than Uncle Nigel had ever liked his own wife.
“She’s a good sort,” he said. His one true regret in this was that Aunt Alicia might come away hurt.
“I’m reasonably certain she hasn’t got the faintest idea of what he’s been plotting.
She’d never have approved.” And Uncle Nigel had never been the sort of man who thought a wife ought to be apprised of anything in particular.
He behaved toward her not as a loving husband, but rather like the owner of some object d’art which might once have been favored, but had long fallen out of fashion.
At best, he wore her like an accessory—at worst, he ignored her existence altogether.
Sometimes, he had the feeling that Aunt Alicia preferred being ignored.
“She’s got kind eyes,” Grace said softly. “You can always tell from the eyes.”
Could you? He’d never considered such a thing.
“Poor woman,” Grace sighed. “He looks like a peacock preening there beside her. One has to wonder at a man who outfits himself in such a fashion while his wife looks as though her gown has come through three Seasons already.”
“Uncle Nigel is a pinchpenny with everyone but himself,” Henry said. “He’d never allow his own wardrobe to suffer, of course. But it would not surprise me if he’s nipped the purse strings so tightly closed that Aunt Alicia must sacrifice her own wardrobe on account of his.”
“You ought to do something about that.”
“I have tried,” Henry said. “And so did my father, before me. Probably we’ve all suggested that she come and stay with us at some point or another, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Didn’t want to make herself a burden, she said.”
“A shame, that,” Grace said sympathetically. “Probably her husband has convinced her of it.”
“Likely,” Henry replied. “He’s never been particularly kind to her.
He married her because her father was wealthy, and he needed a wife with a large dowry.
But she and my mother were great friends for years, until…
” Until Mother had retreated so thoroughly into herself, hiding herself away even from her closest friend.
“We would have welcomed her,” he said quietly. “It is a pity she wouldn’t come.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Grace spackled on a vacant smile, holding her tongue until a couple who had strayed too close passed them by.
“I practiced my lockpicking skills evening last. It’s a critical skill for thieves, you know.
” Her even, white teeth flashed in a smile that seemed just a touch too sharp. “Got my time down to seven seconds.”
“Seven seconds?” He tried to count them out in his head, but the time seemed interminable. “Is that…good?” Henry ventured doubtfully.
“Well, the lock was devilishly difficult,” she said, those soft lips pursing into an offended moue. “Most locks aren’t nearly so challenging. Probably I could pick even an unfamiliar one in half the time. Unless—I don’t suppose your uncle’s study is on the ground floor?”
Henry shook his head. “Third, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, well.” Grace let out a sigh. “I suppose it was too much to hope that I could simply slip free the window latch from the outside. But I don’t climb particularly well, so I suppose I’ll have to pick the lock after all.”
And that was half the problem. He was going to have to get her inside the house. Preferably by way of invitation. It was simply the safest…
He nearly missed another step as a thought occurred. “How did you know?” he asked, perplexed. “About his study, I mean to say. How did you know where he would—”
A tiny cant of her head. A glimmer of amusement warmed her green eyes. “Where do you keep things of similar importance?” she asked.
“I—oh.” Hell. Henry rolled his shoulders in a sheepish shrug. “In my study, I suppose.”
“I’ve never met a man who didn’t. They think themselves quite clever sometimes, with their hiding places of varying degrees of ingenuity.
Safes hidden in walls behind paintings, or strongboxes tucked beneath floorboards and such.
” Her voice dropped low again, to a throaty murmur that lifted the hairs at the nape of his neck.
He knew, logically, it was meant only to render her voice unintelligible to the couples that swirled around them—but the earthy sensuality of it was impossible to ignore.
“Once, I burgled the home of a man who had built a number of secret compartments into his desk. He must’ve thought himself very shrewd indeed, but I am afraid it did not stop me from making off with a number of things I’m certain he’d have rather kept. ”
Henry had always considered himself a man of steadfast moral principles.
By all rights, he ought to have been aghast at the admission she’d made.
Perversely, it made his heart pound in his chest and his blood run hot in his veins.
How deeply did that wicked streak of hers run, and why did he find it so oddly compelling?
Perhaps because she had shared that tidbit with him in the sly, crafty tones of a long-held secret—her secret. And now his, as well. One thing more which bound them inextricably in this intrigue he’d dragged her into alongside him.
“I have no doubt but that your talents are extraordinary,” he said. “But the first obstacle will be to get you into the house.”
“I’ll find a way,” she said blithely. “I always do. If you would only provide me the address.”
Provide her the address! “What, and send you in alone? To an unfamiliar house filled with any number of servants who might be skulking about, any one of which might call the law down upon your head in moments?” No, absolutely not.
A little crinkle of confusion settled between her brows. “Why not? Mama always did.”
For some strange reason, it felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his gut.
She’d alluded to her mother’s indecency once before, and this new revelation had not particularly come as a surprise.
But neither was it welcome. “I am not going to send you into such a dangerous situation alone,” he said, and heard the odd ferocity lying heavy beneath the clipped words.
“That is to say, I will not reward a favor of this magnitude with such blatant disregard for your well-being.”
Her eyes widened, green irises nearly eclipsed by the stark black of her pupils. “My well-being? Since when are you concerned for my well-being?”
Since he’d asked her to risk it. Since she’d agreed so readily to aid him, despite the aversion he’d shown for her in the past. Since she had kept his own secret, just as he’d promised to keep hers.
Since always, if he were honest with himself. How long had it been since he’d last been honest with himself? He had not, as a general rule, made a habit of speaking untruths to anyone. But he’d lied a great deal to himself.
Henry pitched his voice low, bent closer to ensure his words would stay private. “How long has it been since you’ve burgled a house? Stolen anything more than a trinket?”
“I—well, I suppose it’s been some time,” she admitted ruefully. “Eight years, more or less.”
Eight years. And still her fingers were more nimble than his could ever hope to be. “I am not your mother. I will not send you in alone, under any circumstances.” Not even to save his own skin would he risk hers. “Besides, you’ll have a much better chance of success if you’re an invited guest.”
“An invited guest!” Her laugh was a trickle of sunshine, bright and sparkling. “Your uncle would never.”
“No. But Aunt Alicia would. And she’s having a dinner party a few nights hence.”
A fabulous arch of those golden brows. “Oh,” she said. “Oooh. That’s quite clever, really. Cunning, even.”
Probably he shouldn’t have taken pride in that praise. It wasn’t the sort of thing he was supposed to enjoy; the suggestion that he had proved himself a competent cohort in such nefarious undertakings. But he was pleased. Just a little.
“I hadn’t thought of it,” she said slowly. “But when one is an invited guest, one might wander without rousing too much suspicion. Get turned around and happen upon a corridor in which one ought to have no business.”
Yes. Precisely. The staff who would certainly have sent for the police had she been caught wandering the halls when burgling would simply direct her back to the public areas of the house did she happen to be caught sneaking about as an invited dinner guest. No one would suspect her of anything more than a poor sense of direction.
And if she was half so good with her fingers as she claimed to be, there was every possibility she would never be noticed at all.
“So we’re in agreement, then,” he said. “You’ll come to Aunt Alicia’s dinner party, and I will do my best to find you the opportunity you need to do what must be done.”
“Yes,” she said, and he fancied there was even some relief in it. “Only—how will you get her to invite me?”
“Simple enough,” Henry said as the music began to wind down at last. “I’ll tell her I’m courting you.”