Page 33 of Fairest of Heart

“Thank you, Cecil. Wait the usual hour, then come fetch me.”

He said nothing. Didn’t even nod.

Narcissa raised a brow. He hadn’t been himself since that dreadful Penelope left. Perhaps doing away with the chit had made him question his allegiance. She couldn’t have that. He knew too much.

“These men mean nothing to me, Cecil.” She stroked the length of his stiffened arm, then took hold of his hand. “It’s an act, like any other performance. You are the only man who truly knows me. The one I trust with my secrets.” She squeezed his fingers. “One day soon, we’ll have enough to run away together, just like we planned. It will all be worth it in the end, my love. You’ll see.”

He still didn’t meet her gaze. Hmm. Perhaps she’d been too neglectful of him the past two weeks. She’d have to make amends. Fan the flame of his ardor. Ensure he remained fully under her control. Now was not the time, however. She had other flames to fan.

Reaching into her handbag, she confirmed the presence of the bottle of laudanum she always packed for her romantic encounters. Mr. Ambrose Clayton wouldn’t know what hit him. They’d share that wine he promised, she’d endure his overtures with an acting skill that would convince him he was the greatest lover she’d ever known, then he’d tumble into bed—unconscious. His lovely diamond cuff links would turn up missing the next morning, but his clothing would be strewn so wildly about the room that he’d easily imagine the studs rolling into a shadowy corner and turning up later. He’d savor her memory while she savored his diamonds. A fair trade.

Narcissa met her unsuspecting lover with all the breathy anticipation of a young woman being swept up in the excitement of her first tryst. Those Chicago critics who had dismissed her ability to play the ingenue would have eaten their words had they seen her performance with Ambrose Clayton. Absolutely magnificent. Never once did he believe her to be anything other than infatuated with him. Not even when his arms grew heavy and his knees weakened. She remained by his side, kissing his face and pandering his ego as if nothing were amiss until the laudanum did its job. Then, as if the curtain had come down, she pushed up from the bed, did up the buttons on her gaping bodice, and exited the scene. She did pause long enough to examine her appearance in the mirror above his bureau, holding up the cuff links to her ears and admiring their sparkle. She might have to remake them into earbobs. She deserved a few new baubles after all her efforts.

A low whistle echoed in the dark outside the window. Cecil had arrived. Narcissa gave the mirror one final glance to ensure all her buttons were done up properly and to appreciate the perfection of her figure from a couple of different angles. Then she returned to work and scribbled a note extolling the exquisite bliss of the night she and Ambrose supposedly shared and how she would never forget him. She left it on the vacant pillow for him to find, then misted a light layer of perfume over the sheets where she would have lain. He’d not remember her being there, but his pride and imagination would fill in the missing pieces.

Satisfied with the setting and props she’d arranged, Narcissa slipped out the back door and found her way to Cecil’s buggy. He had her back to the hotel in minutes and escorted her to her room before leaving to return the rented carriage and team to the livery. Glad to have his melancholy face out of her room so she could fully enjoy her latest triumph, she took a seat at her dressing table and unlocked the carved wooden box that held her costume jewelry. She pulled up the false bottom and retrieved her set of jeweler’s tools. She’d become quite adept at removing gems from their settings over the last few months, and Mr. Clayton’s diamonds provided no great challenge. The stones were separated from the cuff links in less than ten minutes.

Now to hide them away with the others.

Narcissa crossed to where her trunk sat at the end of her bed. She lifted the lid, then peeled back the layers of underclothes piled on the left side until she reached the corsets. Satin and lace slipped over her fingers as she searched for cotton. She found wood instead. The bottom of her trunk.

Had she missed it?

Prying the stack of clothes away from the trunk’s side, she peered into the hole, but no white cotton caught her eye amid the colorful satins. Heart pounding, she scooped out piles of clothes and dropped them on the rug next to her. She picked through each item, tossing them hither and yon, still not finding the item she sought.

This couldn’t be happening. Months of work. Thousands of dollars. Gone!

She pushed to her feet and scurried over to the standing trunk by the wardrobe and tore through every dress hanging inside. Her white corset was nowhere to be found.

A soft knock tapped on her door, followed by Cecil’s request to come in.

Narcissa threw the door wide. She yanked her accomplice into the room, then slammed the door behind him.

“Did you take it?” She grabbed Cecil by his coat lapels. “Did you steal from me?”

She tried to shake him but ended up shaking herself when his posture remained fixed. Hairpins already loosened from her evening with Ambrose fell free, leaving her hair to tumble down her shoulders.

“How could you do this? I trusted you!” Hot tears scored her cheeks. “You and your petty jealousies. If you don’t give it back, you’re dead to me. Do you understand? Dead!”

Large, strong hands encircled hers and pried her fingers from his coat. She fought his grip, but he held fast. His gaze scanned the room, then focused on her face, his eyes rather flat and sad. “What’s missing, Narcissa?”

How dare he take that tone with her, as if she were a trial to be borne? He was the trial. Not her.

“My cotton corset. As if you didn’t know.” She spat the words at him. All he did was raise a brow. Infuriating man.

“I didn’t take your corset, Narcissa. Or anything else.” He heaved a sigh and released her wrists. “Haven’t I proven my loyalty to you by now? Doing your bidding, abetting your crimes, abandoning innocent girls in the woods.”

Innocent girls . . . All at once, a vision rose like a burning sun. Penelope in Narcissa’s dress. Her abundant cleavage filling the bodice as if the dress had been made for her. But it hadn’t been made for her. It had been made for Narcissa, and it would only fit properly when the correct support garments had been donned. Daring support garments. Garments foreign to a frumpy maid.

Narcissa spun. “The girl! She must’ve taken it from my trunk for the dress fitting.” She launched herself at Cecil, grabbed his hand, and clutched it to her bosom. “You must fetch it back to me, Cecil. Our future depends on it.”

“Maybe we should let it go before the law catches on. We don’t need a pile of ill-gotten gains. I can take care of you myself.”

They might not need them, but she did if she hoped to travel to Europe and pass herself off as a wealthy American widow in want of an aristocratic husband.

“Please, Cecil, you must do this for me. I’m sorry I accused you. I know you would never steal from me. I was in a panic and wasn’t thinking straight. Please.” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, then turned her head and nestled her face against his knuckles like a kitten seeking to be petted. “It’s such a little favor. Only a small ride out into the countryside. It’s not too much to ask.” She kissed his hand again, then looked up into his eyes with all the feigned affection she could muster. “If you love me, you’ll do this for me.”

He exhaled, and the tension left his arm. Sweet signs of capitulation.