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“How old is the butler?”
She nearly gasped. His breath was warm against her cheek, and she could swear she felt the touch of his lips against her ear. “At—at least fifty,” she whispered, “but he's a crack shot.”
“The butler?”
“He served in the army,” she explained. “In the Colonies. I believe he was awarded a medal for valor.”
“Just my luck,” Blake muttered. “I don't suppose he's handy with a bow and arrow.”
“Why, no, but I did see him once hit a tree with a knife from twenty paces.”
“What?” Blake swore under his breath—another one of those splendidly creative curses that so impressed her.
“I'm joking,” she said quickly.
His entire body tensed with fury. “This is not the time or the place for—”
“Yes, I realize that now,” she mumbled.
James appeared from around the corner, crawling on his hands and knees. He eyed them with interest. “I had no idea you were having such fun over here.”
“We are not having fun,” Blake and Caroline hissed in unison.
James shook his head with such solemnity that it was clear he was mocking them. “No, obviously you are not.” He then focused his eyes on Blake, who was still lying on top of Caroline. “Let's get back to work. The butler's gone up to his room.”
“Are you certain?”
“I saw the light leave the drawing room, then go upstairs.”
“There's a window in the side stairwell,” Caroline explained. “You can see it from the south.”
“Good,” Blake said, rolling off of her and moving into a crouch. “Let's get back to work opening those windows.”
“Bad idea,” Caroline said.
Both men turned to face her, and in the dark she couldn't be certain whether their expressions were interested or disdainful.
“Farnsworth will hear you from his room,” she said. “It's only two stories up, and since it's warm out, he's most likely opened the windows. If he happens to look out, he will most certainly see you.”
“You might have told us this before we attempted break in,” Blake snapped.
“I can still get you in,” she shot back.
“How?”
“‘Thank you, Caroline,’” she said sarcastically. “‘That is very thoughtful of you.’‘Why, you're welcome, Blake, it's no trouble at all to assist you.’”
He didn't look amused. “We don't have time for jokes, Caroline. Tell us what to do.”
“Can you pick a lock?”
He looked affronted that she'd even asked. “Of course. Riverdale is faster, though.”
“Fine. Follow me.”
His hand landed heavily on her right shoulder. “You are not coming in.”
“Am I supposed to remain out here by myself? Where anyone who passes by would recognize me and return me to Oliver? Not to mention thieves, brigands—”
