Page 42 of A Scoundrel in the Making

“Lock picks?” he said.

She nodded as she set the pouch on top of the crown, then inserted the picks into the lock. He’d seen pictures of lock picks but had never seen any in real life, and watched in fascination as she worked the picks until a click sounded. He would have to get her to teach him how to do that.

“Where did you find them?” he whispered, as she reinserted the picks into the pouch.

“The wardrobe. It had a false back. If I’d looked harder yesterday, I would have found them.”

Yesterday? Reade couldn’t help being thankful she hadn’t found them yesterday. They’d had less than a day together, but in that day he’d realized that once they finished this mess, he would woo and marry her.

Abigail dropped the pouch into her pocket, then took the crown and scepter and nodded for him to follow. “Come. We must get to my chambers.”

They started toward the stairs, then halted at the approach of boots on the stairs.

They looked sharply at one another. Abigail whirled, and Reade followed. Her slippered feet made no sound, but his boots—she veered toward the door to the left of Russell’s room. He stopped as she slowly turned the knob until the bolt disengaged. She pushed inside and Reade hurried after her. She handed him the crown, then closed the door to a slit and peered into the hallway.

His heart pounded so loudly he feared the newcomers would hear. He glimpsed the furrow of Abigail’s brow in the instant before a man—Mr. Russell, he realized—said, “Never fear, my dear. My wife will not be upstairs for hours. She lives for these parties.”

“You are certain?” a woman asked.

“I would never put you in an uncomfortable position, sweet,” he replied.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps the library would be better?”

He laughed. “You minx. You prefer a desk to a bed? Perhaps we will use both before the night is over.”

“Oh, I did not think of that,” she said, and Reade realized the female sounded more like a young debutant than a grown woman.”

Fury flared and he fought the urge to burst from the room and pound Russell into the carpet.

“Please,” she said in a small voice. “We should return to the ballroom.”

The click of a lock sounded.

The girl whimpered. “Please, sir, take me back to the party.”

“In due time, my sweet.”.

“Nae, please,” she cried.

Abigail turned to Reade and whispered, “Get the Honors to your chambers. I will meet you there.” She started to turn.

He seized her arm. “I am not leaving you two women alone with him.”

Russell’s door clicked shut. Abigail inched open their door and peered into the hallway.

“Bastard,” she muttered, and opened the door.

The girl cried out.

They stepped into the hallway.

Another cry inside the room was followed by a slap

Reade shoved the Honors into her arms. “Take the Honors. I will deal with Russell.”

Her mouth thinned. “You must learn to follow orders, Reade.”

“Not this time.”