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Chapter One
Stooped in the dark at a particular gentleman’s townhouse—not a true gentleman with honor— Lady Charity Rutherford murmured a quick prayer that her first and hopefully last breaking and entering would be a resounding success. She drew in a shuddering breath. As dares went, this was possibly the most dangerous, ruinous, and scandalous one ever written on the board at 48 Berkeley Square, the secret ladies’ club where Charity was a member. Daring her friend Prudence, Countess of Wycliffe, to use erotic literature to seduce her husband or daring Miss Frederica Williams to kiss a certain handsome guardian the next time he scolded her did not compare to stealing into a gentleman’s home when the said gentleman was at his club.
It was unspeakably reckless, criminal even, but Charity had little choice in the matter.
A pot of one hundred pounds is to be had for the lady who dares to steal back a certain packet of love letters from Lord Sallis.
That had been the dare scrawled on their wager board. The girls at the club had been delighted. They greatly relished the mere thought of being so naughty. The idea of rescuing these damaging letters from so outrageous a lord would be an adventure so exciting and different from the perfect humdrum of their lives. At first, Charity had not thought to participate, for if she was caught, she would be unable to bear the brunt of her brother’s anger.
Then several days later, she had found Lady Jenna Hawkins, piteously crying in the back gardens at 48 Berkeley Square. Charity had been concerned seeing her pretty friend with her sweet face streaked with tears. Her dark blue eyes were reddened by her paroxysms of grief. She’d gone to her to try and comfort her and find out why she was so upset.
Jenna was an heiress with a rumored dowry of fifty thousand pounds and an estate in Berkshire. She had thought herself foolishly in love with a wretched libertine. Though she had flirted shamelessly with the viscount and allowed him the liberty of a few kisses, he had revealed himself to be a rake of the worst sort when Jenna saw him kissing another lady in the gardens of a particular ball. Her heart crushed, Jenna had demanded Viscount Sallis hand back her poems and heartfelt love letters, but the man had declared he would use them to win her hand in marriage.
How quickly young love had bloomed into mortification and regret. Jenna did not want to marry the viscount and knew should he show those letters to her brother, the very proper Earl of Ralston, it would be proof that she was irrevocably compromised, and the earl would force her to marry the bounder.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Charity muttered under her breath.
The viscount was no gentleman at all. A blasted no-good scoundrel. Satisfaction coursed through her when the window to the drawing-room gently eased open. She quickly glanced around the gardens, ensuring there was no odd movement in the dark. Once Charity ascertained there was no suspicious movement, taking her time, she slithered through the window on her belly, ignoring the ache in her limbs from her silent contortions. She tumbled into the room, grateful the house was empty, for she landed with a thud. Wincing at the slight ache, Charity held herself still and listened to the house.
Everything was silent. The information was reliable. The vexing viscount was at a ball hunting an heiress between the hours of ten in the evening and one in the morning, then from one until the crack of dawn, he would be at White’s. His staff would retire to bed knowing their master would not return home until morning.
Charity’s pulse tapped briskly in her ears as she stealthily made her way through the long hallway toward the study. The hall was dark, with only one of the gas lamps lit but turned down low. She would search in the study first, and if that place yielded no result, Charity would sneak upstairs to his bedroom. It had taken some ingenuity on her part in finding out this information concerning the layout of his townhouse. For weeks she had thought about getting back those letters for Jenna, who grew more despondent with each passing day. Charity had discreetly watched the man’s house and servants before approaching a young scullery maid and offering her five pounds for reliable information on her master’s comings and goings and exactly which bedroom was his. The young girl had wanted the money but had been hesitant in helping Charity. She’d had to imply that it was a naughty surprise she planned for the viscount.
The girl had provided thorough information on the house's layout, which was similar to her brother’s townhouse. The ton did lack originality, and most of the homes in Mayfair were a charming replica of each other, apart from the individual tastes in décor of the owners. Testing the latch of the study, Charity was pleased that it was not locked, and she stealthily slipped inside. It was a risky business, but she had to turn on the gas lamp by the large oak desk. All his drawers were unlocked, which suggested he stored nothing of value in his study. Still, Charity performed a thorough search and only uncovered creditor letters and promissory notes.
“If I were a cowardly knave, where would I hide private letters,” she whispered, thinking fiercely.
Turning off the lamp she stood in the dark for several minutes, allowing her eyes to adjust to the pocket of shadows in the darkness before she made her way, using the moonlight as her guide, back to the hallway. Hugging to the wall as closely as possible, she started up the staircase. An odd sound had her faltering. Charity stood still for several minutes, waiting for her heart to calm so she could hear over its thundering beat.
The nape of her neck prickled, and she couldn’t escape the sensation that something or someone was close by. Turning around, she peered down the stairs, hating that the house was this dark. What had seemed a great advantage before now appeared a threat. Her muddled thoughts were clear enough for her to realize if she could not see anyone, they also could not see her.
It is only my wretched nerves, she silently scolded herself before resuming her careful climb and made her way to the viscount’s bedroom. Another quick and careful study did not reveal any letters. Charity left his room and hurried along to the library, which was on the second floor.
A whisper of movement once again alerted her, and she whirled around, her eyes straining to see. Pressure painfully squeezed her breast, taking her breath away. There was someone following her. Charity was certain of it.
She was almost tempted to demand, if someone was present, they should speak but bit her lip to dampen the desire. The heroines in her gothic novels always did that nonsense, and it never once turned out well.
Blowing a soft, annoyed breath, she hastened to the library and tested the latch. It was locked. Excitement shimmered through her. Perhaps it was behind closed doors the viscount kept the things he deemed valuable, like blackmail letters that might net him an heiress or at least a payoff.
Stooping, she carefully reached into the pockets of the jacket she wore and retrieved her tools. Making quick work of it, the latch snicked open, and she quickly packed away the tools and entered the library. A small fire burned low in the grate, and the room was more chilled than it ought to be. A quick glance showed the window to be opened. She turned on the gas lamp on the small table by the bookshelf, bathing the room in a pale orange glow. Dark pockets of shadows still lingered in the room, but she would not risk turning up the lamp any brighter.
Charity tested bookshelves for secrets compartments, chiding herself that she read too many novels. Still, she cautiously checked the shelves before moving to the desk. Circumspectly testing the drawers, she exhaled softly at finding one unmoving. She picked that lock and almost shouted her triumph when she found several letters bound with a pretty red ribbon.
Charity counted and sighed her relief. They were all there. Eight in total, and all looked like they were in Jenna’s handwriting. Charity slipped one perfumed sheet from the envelope and read,
Dreams of love
Love was just a dream to me
A gallant knight from days of yore
A kiss beneath the greenwood tree
A hope to fill my bottom drawer
But then I gazed deep in your eyes
My heart danced to an unknown beat
