Uncertainty had never plagued her before. She’d always excelled at compartmentalizing powerful emotions, like fear. Her fencing instructor had taught her that in the moment of an attack, she couldn’t afford to be afraid. He told her to build a vault inside of herself to hide it away. So she could stay in the moment to assess and destroy her assailant.
After that lesson, her blood high from the enthusiasm and the power she’d experienced, Diana had recited the words to her mother verbatim. Her mother had regarded her contemplatively. Then, in a rare display of affection, she’d taken Diana’s face by the chin and said, “I could not give you any better advice for your life.”
They were the last words she’d spoken to Diana before vanishing from her life.
As she waited in the carriage, she brushed aside those memories, and the others that would corrode her resolve. She searched the street again for some sign of Ian. When Birdie had reported Ian had lost their tails during his foray into town, Diana knew he must have signaled his co-conspirators about his plans for the emeralds.
If she’d waited for his return to the townhouse and demanded an explanation, the confrontation would have stoked his anger. She couldn’t afford to alienate him; she needed him at the meet to exchange the necklace. Rather than risk hisfury, she’d left him a note instructing him to meet her at the Grand Casino. And she’d fled the house.
The cathedral bells chimed eight. Diana reluctantly abandoned her surveillance and strode into the casino alone. When she passed under the gilded ceiling of the main entrance, something pricked at the back of her neck and drew her attention to the gallery hallway.
Ian locked eyes with her.
If she was another woman, her body would have sagged with relief at finding him there, and she would have flashed her brightest smile solely at him.
But Diana was her mother’s daughter. And it took a long moment to decipher which feelings had to go into the box in the trunk in the vault in the cavern, buried deep below her heart.
Because Ian Holt was devastating in his dress blacks.
As he strolled toward her, the flare in his eyes was mesmerizing. It was, in fact, more of a glare than she cared to admit, and reminiscent of the way he used to stare at her when she believed in his resentment. Now, she saw it for the echo of what she suffered: frustration at their circumstances. Smothering an underlying need to be near him.
Her heart pounded as he drew up beside her and dragged her into an alcove behind a trio of potted palms.
“I don’t expect you to have any regard for me. But you must have no care for your own life if you want to walk into this situation blindly.” The fire in his dark eyes was a striking contrast to the coldness in his tone. “Once you knew the meet, we should have spent the afternoon strategizing.”
“So you could return to the telegraph office?”
He blew out a breath. “We agreed to be partners on this. I understand that trust has to be won, but this won’t work if you withhold information. It puts us both in danger.”
She couldn’t argue with him. “I know. I want to trust you. It may not seem like it, but I’m trying.”
“Tell me what you know about the meet. Everything.”
She caught herself smoothing back her hair with her hand and quickly dropped it. “There will be an approach in the main ballroom. An invitation to one of the private table salons on the other side of the gallery.”
“Birdie and her sparrows?”
“The sparrows are at the front and side entrances. Birdie is standing by with transport if things do not go according to plan.”
“And they probably won’t.” He scoffed. “You trusted them with the meet details, but not me, even though you know they could be betraying you.”
“That was purely timing. And my need to convince them I’m keeping you at a healthy distance.”
Their eyes dipped to where Ian’s hand gripped her waist.
Diana glanced at the gilded clock on the wall. “If we don’t walk into the ballroom soon, they’re going to get spooked.”
“Talk fast.”
He pulled her arm through his and steered her through the crowd, into the ballroom. Ian guided them through the maze of tables covered with crisp white linens and hothouse flowers, past the sumptuous buffet of savory dishes, to the parquet dance floor.
“What are we doing?” She swiveled her head at the couples dancing around them.
His arm came around her waist. “Dancing and plotting.”
“This is going to make an approach a thousand times more difficult.”
“Then you’re not as good as you think you are.”
