seventeen
ROYSTON COULDN’T DENY a hint of excitement before breaking into Angeline’s house.
He’d always loved that part of the job— the waiting, sneaking, and planning.
He walked around Angeline’s house to the rear, keeping his pace casual not to attract the attention of a patrolling peeler.
An eight-foot-tall brick wall enclosed the back garden. Not a problem though. Back in the days when he’d lived on the streets, he’d climbed walls that high every other day.
He chose the darkest spot in the alleyway to start the climb. The uneven bricks and the thick stems of the English ivy offered enough grip to make the ascent easy. Being over six feet tall helped.
With a push, he hauled himself up and grabbed the top of the wall. Then it was a matter of sheer muscle strength and gravity before he straddled the top and jumped down on the other side. Cup of tea. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud or ashamed of his skills. Right now, he didn’t give a bloody damn.
The garden didn’t offer many hiding places. Only a couple of trees grew in the middle, but at least there weren’t any lamps.
He crept on the grass to avoid making noise on the gravel. Opening the set of double French doors was another cup of tea. The lock was nothing special, a cheap thing he could buy at the market for a penny.
He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Angeline’s scent lingering in the air was like a punch in the stomach. It was as if she stood next to him.
A warm glow shone from the corridor. A forgotten lamp, perhaps. No one should be home. He paused again. No sound could be heard.
Keeping his scarf over his face and his flat hat low, he stole along the corridor, heading towards the front of the house. The parlour was tucked in a corner between the study and the dining room, almost hidden.
The tools in his satchel made a metallic clink as he went on. He had no intention of ever breaking and entering Mrs. Haywood’s house again, so he’d carried everything he might need to open a safe.
He stopped next to the door to the parlour when the sound of light footfalls came. His pulse spiked. He didn’t have time to search for a place to hide when a voice stopped him.
“Don’t move.” It was Angeline. A scared Angeline, judging by her tone. “Don’t turn around. I warn you. I have an arrow aimed at your back, and I’m an excellent archer. Raise your hands above your head. Do what I say, and you won’t get hurt.”
He believed every word she said.
He raised his hands slowly. His only chance to leave the house with all his limbs and pride intact was to run past her and make a dash for the front door. She wouldn’t actually shoot him, would she? She wasn’t a violent woman.
A swish of fabric came closer. “I don’t want trouble. If you leave quietly, I won’t call the police.”
Every thief would agree just to leave the house with all his limbs attached. He slowly turned around inch by inch, but she got startled and jolted.
“I said don’t move!”
She jerked and released the arrow that shot towards him with a snake-like hiss.
He cried out when the sharp arrowhead sliced his upper arm before stabbing the door behind him. Blood soaked his shirtsleeve, and an instant burning throbbed through his flesh.
“Bloody hell!” He clamped a hand on the cut.
He’d been stabbed once, and the pain had been fairly close to this one.
“Oh, my goodness. I didn’t mean to shoot. You gave me a fright, and I told you not to turn around…” She lowered the damn bow. “Royston?”
Great. He gritted his teeth and pressed the hand on the wound harder. “What were you thinking? You could have killed me.”
“What are you doing here?” She pulled the lapels of her dressing gown closer.
Long story. “Can we discuss the matter another time? I’d rather go home and send for my physician because, you know, I’m bleeding!”
She frowned. “Well, you wouldn’t bleed if you hadn’t sneaked inside my house or if you’d followed my instructions not to move. What were you doing? Don’t make me ask again.”
“Or what? Are you going to shoot me again? Kill me this time? Go ahead.” He pointed to his chest. “Straight to the heart. Break it.”
