21. The Governor’s Mansion #3
“Armory,” she said, turning to Frederick.
Killian drew the next, the end of it yellow. “Library,” he said in his thin voice. Fay smiled.
Greyson took the third, this one green. “Office.”
Jack flattened his palm and held the final match, tipped with red, toward Cecily. She plucked it from his grasp. “The governor’s wife’s room,” he said.
Maria looked at Fay, her face pinched. “Did you rig it?”
Fay took the yellow matchstick from Killian’s hand and held it to her lips. “I rather enjoy libraries.”
“You gave Jack the richest room in this house,” Maria protested.
“The lady’s room is the farthest to get to,” Jack said. “You’ll have more time to—” He cut himself off with a long-suffering sigh. “Why am I coddling you? We all agreed to rob the room we draw.”
Maria narrowed her eyes. “That was before you got the best one.”
“I didn’t rig it,” Jack said, looking at Fay.
“Fay,” Maria groaned. “You’re gonna let him win again? He always wins!”
“I do not,” Jack argued. “You always lose. Steal better shit, Maria.”
Killian interrupted, “We waste our time bickering. Best get going.” He took Fay’s hand and pulled her toward the end of the corridor. Greyson and Hester followed.
Frederick rolled his shoulders and nodded at Jack. “I wish you the worst luck, Copson.”
“Godspeed,” Jack said with a wink. With Cecily’s hand in his, they set off.
Cecily’s jaw dropped as Jack led her through the house.
It was the finest home she’d ever seen—so much so that she could hardly believe it was a home at all with its wide corridors, gilded furniture, ornate vases, paintings, and colorful tapestries.
She’d never seen so much wealth, even at the Stintons’ estate, though the baron’s family never had much taste for the ostentatious.
Jack turned up a flight of stairs, his steps quiet as a whisper through the darkness.
They trailed through corridors, his head swiveling as they turned corners that took them deeper within the house.
As promised, no guards were stationed on the way to the lady’s room.
When they reached it, he pushed inside and shut the door behind them.
Moonlight spilled through the windows, but much of the room was still shrouded in darkness.
Cecily knelt to strike the match against the floorboards. It flared, illuminating Jack crouching next to her with a fresh candle in hand. The flame danced in his eyes as she lit the wick then shook out the match.
“Have a look,” he muttered, then handed her the candle.
She rose and turned to take in the room.
It was as finely furnished as the rest of the house, but with a distinctly feminine touch.
The walls were bright turquoise, the color of the sea, turning muted and pale beyond the halo of her candlelight.
Gold-upholstered chairs and a plush sofa congregated around a tall fireplace, their fabric a perfect match to the lush, heavy curtains.
Cecily wandered farther into the lady’s quarters, gaping at the sparkling chandelier, the gold trim, and glittering knickknacks decorating the tables.
“Do you like it?” Jack asked from where he stood by the door.
She skimmed the tips of her fingers over the silk bedspread, barely touching it, then turned in a slow circle to take it all in.
“It’s magnificent,” she breathed.
He followed her gaze, looking grossly unimpressed. “I think it’s small.”
Cecily didn’t have a chance to come up with a smart remark as the vanity caught her attention. She drifted across the room. Countless jewels shone from within in a velvet-lined box with a glass lid.
She had never seen so many. Pins, earrings, necklaces, bracelets in all shapes and sizes were clustered together like an obscenely gorgeous bowl of fruit. She held her breath as her fingers hovered over the case, near the glass but not touching the pristine clarity of it.
Jack’s presence warmed her back as he peered over her shoulder. “Take something,” he whispered.
She thought about it for a moment, considering what it would be like… But then she pulled her hand back and set it against her stomach. “I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” He sounded inquisitive rather than disapproving.
When she looked up, his face was inches from hers, those fake scars interrupting the openness of his features to make him look sterner than he was.
She drew away. “I would love any of those jewels. Were they mine, I’d do anything to keep them.”
“If you like them,” he said, “take them.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said. Then, from across the room, she noted a door. She started for it, and when she reached it, she eased through.
The golden glow of candlelight revealed a dressing room filled with silk gowns. She paused, gazing in awe at the wealth, at the beauty, and then she crept inside, mindful of the flame in her hand.
This was the kind of life she might have had if she’d married Oliver. Jewels, gowns, silk…it had all been so close. Growing up, she’d seen Lady Stinton sparkle and float, and Cecily had never stopped dreaming of herself in similar silks and laden with jewelry. Even now.
Jack paused in the dressing room’s doorway as Cecily moved among the shoes and accessories. A low pedestal and mirror stood in the middle, waiting for someone far richer than herself.
“You call yourself a pirate,” he mused, “yet you don’t want the jewels we came for.”
“It’s not that I don’t want them,” she said, skimming her fingers over a jeweled buckle. “I’d just rather not steal them. I’m a pirate, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a thief.”
His brow furrowed in bemusement. “Then what does it mean?”
Cecily gently pinched the sleeve of a deep purple gown. How lovely she’d look in such a color. “I’m still finding out, I think.”
“That’s hardly an answer,” Jack said. “How can you declare something so confidently without knowing for sure?”
She smoothed her thumb over the silk, rolling an idea over in her head.
“This past year has changed a great many things,” she told him.
“Murder and prison will always be a stain on my life, whether I want it that way or not. I suppose it’s why I made light of it, or why you saying I was enough actually convinced me I was. ”
She glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her with a thoughtful expression.
“But I don’t have to be defined by what I’ve done or what others have done to me,” she said.
“I meant what I said earlier about being a pirate. I can make peace with it or fight it, and I choose peace. It’s on my terms, though—I’ll define my life in piracy.
I don’t have to steal the jewels, even if I like them, nor do I have to be a murderous beast to live well with my friends.
I’m still deciding what that looks like, but for now, at least, I know I can be a pirate when it suits me, and I can be a lady when I like. ”
Quietly, he asked, “Do you want to be a lady?” His eyes were deep with sadness or trepidation or something else she couldn’t read. Perhaps he, too, thought of what she’d told him about Oliver and the life she would have had.
“I wanted to,” she said. “Even when I signed the articles, I planned to leave with enough money to buy myself a life close to what might’ve been.”
“But?”
“But what?” She moved to the next dress, then the next, doing little more than browsing as she held the candle aloft.
Jack was merely a shadow in its light. “No matter how much I earned or stole, I wouldn’t be assured anything.
Besides, my name is ruined—no one will care for me as a Shoard, which would have killed my father.
” She shook her head. “And what would I do? Find a husband and keep my secrets from him forever?”
“You’d make a fine lady, I think.”
“It would never be as easy as choosing that life, as much as I might have hoped otherwise. Getting that life, buying it…it was only ever just wishes and hopes. It never would have been real without some miracle or marriage.” She ran her fingers over a bit of lace, then looked at Jack.
“What are you trying to convince me of?”
There was no doubt he was looking for something. Perhaps Fay had rigged the room they drew for the heist, but it was in service of whatever answer Jack sought. He’d brought her here on purpose—but for what, she only hoped he would tell her.
He was quiet for some time. She’d nearly made her way around the entire room and stood only a few paces away when he spoke again.