“Oh come on, don’t turn missish on me now. Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
“It must have fallen out of me cockloft, along with what little brains I used te possess.”
Augusta put her hands on her hips and fixed him with an indignant glare.
“Awright, awright,” he muttered. “If ye insist on going through with this, let’s get on with it.”
“You’ve mapped the quickest way through the alleys?”
“Aye, and made sure that the gate to the gentleman’s back garden is unlocked. The watch passes by every half hour, so you’ve got to be in and out quickly. You are sure you can get the window open?”
She pulled the thin folding knife from her sleeve. “Don’t worry. Edwin taught me how to work a latch.”
“And yer sure the gentleman will not be at home?”
“Yes. I’ve told you, I heard him say just last night he wouldn’t miss the mill taking place somewhere out past Houndslow Heath for anything in the world. And you know gentlemen and prizefights—they will all be drinking well into the next morning. It would be a wonder if any of them can find his hand in front of his face, let alone his carriage to return back to town before this time tomorrow.”
Her mouth tugged down at the corners as the thought of who else would undoubtedly be joining in the betting and carousing came to mind. She shook her head slightly to banish the image of those blue eyes and chiseled lips, both twitching with dry amusement as she had seen them last.
But this was hardly the time to be thinking of such things, she cajoled herself.
Jamison hitched his broad shoulders. “Well then, I suppose we had better be off.” By his tone one would have thought they were settling off for a funeral.
She said as much.
“Aye, and I should be carrying a spade te bury yer reputation.”
“You know, if you can’t say anything positive, then perhaps you should keep your mummer closed.”
The big footman clamped his jaw shut, and with an aggrieved sniff set off down the darkened path.
Despite his obvious disapproval of the plan, he had been diligent in his preparation. The two of them made their way quickly through the neighboring mews and alleys, and soon arrived at their destination—a spot halfway down a narrow passage between two of the smaller limestone townhouses on one of the quieter Mayfair streets. A leafy beech tree on the other side of the brick wall afforded some measure of protection from casual observers, and as Jamison took hold of the iron gate, it swung open slightly with nary a squeak.
“In here, Missy,” he whispered. “The garden is overgrown, so stay right behind me so’s ye don’t catch yer foot or something.” He made it sound that if she did, she might fall all the way through to China.
She was right on his heels, following around until they were close to a set of tall, mullioned windows overlooking a small sculpted fountain in the shape of a carp, now nearly entwined from head to foot with climbing morning glory vines. “Ye think a fancy toff like him could afford a gardener,” muttered Jamison, then his gaze moved up to the granite sill, set nearly six feet off the ground. “Here now, I’ll give ye a leg up.”
Augusta shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “We agreed it was best you stay outside and keep a careful watch on things.Remember the signal—two sharp whistles and I am to come out immediately.”
“In my experience with you, the only thing that has ever come when I whistled is that dratted dog of yours, who seems te think I’m in dire need of a bath every time he sees me.” On seeing her mouth begin to open, he started to move back toward the gate. “Awright, awright. But be careful.”
Her attention had already turned to the set of windows. A growth of thick ivy had crept up the stone facade, providing an easy foothold to reach the ledge. She swung a booted foot into the tangle of vines and climbed swiftly to where she could step onto the narrow ledge. It took only a few moments for the knife blade to jimmy the brass catch. The window came open and Augusta slipped inside.
Marcus hearda faint scraping sound and ducked behind the heavy damask drapes. To his utter consternation, he saw a shadowy figure swing in through the window and land lightly on the thick oriental carpet. Hell’s teeth—what bloody luck! he fumed. Of all the fancy houses in Mayfair, a burglar had to pickthisone to break into tonight.
He watched as the fellow stole over to the heavy oak desk, bent down and began to fiddle with the locked drawer. In a trice, it slid open.
His mouth compressed in grim satisfaction. At least the scoundrel had saved him the effort of having to break into the damned thing himself.
The figure removed a thick pile of papers, but rather than toss them aside to continue the search for real valuables, he surprised the earl even further by starting to peruse theircontents in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering into the study. Several pages were pulled out of the stack and hurriedly stuffed into the thief’s shirt.
Marcus decided he had seen quite enough. Slowly, stealthily, he stepped out from his hiding place and advanced noiselessly up behind the unsuspecting figure. The pistol in his hand came up hard against the back the other man’s neck.
“Stop right there, if you don’t want your brains adding another pattern to the wallpaper,” he whispered.
The thief froze.
“Now stand up very slowly and turn around.”
