Page 93 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

“Ha. Ha.”

“Think about it. A man so desperate to confess his love, to beg his lady’s forgiveness, he’s willing to scale the highest mountain to reach her. What woman wouldn’t swoon over that?She’ll be so overcome, she’ll practically rip your clothes from your body to have her way with you.”

“How in the hell did Adalyn ever fall in love with you?”

“Leave my wife out of this. I could still shoot you for those sketches.”

Victor gulped. He knew about the sketches? “About that?—”

“Survive tonight and hand them over to me, and we’ll discuss it no further.”

Victor nodded and gazed in trepidation at the open window again. Stationed strategically apart, the windows had sills that could provide a hand and foothold. Crevices between bricks, although small, could allow him to get a toehold.

Nash took another pull from his cheroot, then blew it out, the smoke forming circles. “You do know how to climb?”

“Of course I know how to climb.” Victor glared at him. It had been years, but he and Priscilla had run amok climbing trees on their father’s estate in Lincolnshire as children. But walls of homes weren’t trees, and he wasn’t a boy any longer. “I’m deciding how to start. The first window is at least eight feet off the ground.”

Nash threw his cheroot on the ground and crushed it out with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll give you a leg up.” Nash laced his fingers together to form a foothold. “Take your gloves off.”

“But my hands. That brick is rough.”

Straightening, Nash gave him an icy glare. “Those aren’t your leather riding gloves. Satin is slippery. What do you care about more, your artist’s fingers or that woman upstairs?”

Eyes narrowed at his nemesis, Victor held his tongue. With more force than necessary, he tugged off his gloves and shoved them in his pocket. “I wish I had my boots on instead of these dancing slippers.”

“Quit your grumbling.” Nash laced his fingers together again, and Victor reluctantly placed his foot in the cup. “Ready? On the count of three.”

Victor nodded, and on the three count, Nash boosted him into the air. Surprised by the man’s strength, Victor grasped the window ledge and, digging his toes into the small crevices between bricks, gained enough purchase to pull himself up.

Elation energized him. “I did it!”

“Quiet.” Nash’s whisper drifted up in the still night. “Do you want to be discovered before you make it to the top?”

Victor couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like Nash mumbledimbecile.

Ivy clung to the walls, and when Victor reached for his next handhold, his fingers wrapped around a vine and pulled it loose. “Ouch!” The damn thing knocked off his hat and scratched him. Muttering a few curses, he worked his way up to the next window.

Although the stone sills around the windows were smooth, the same grooves and crevices of the brick he used for his climb’s purchase dug into his skin. Almost at the next window, his foot slipped as he tried to get a toehold, and his shoe fell off, landing with athudbelow him.

Tempted to look down, he resisted and pressed forward. The cotton of his stocking snagged on the rough brick as his toes dug into the tiny notch, and he held on for dear life.

After catching his breath, he contemplated his next move. Thankfully, in between the windows, smaller ledges protruded out, allowing him to maneuver up to the next level.

“Almost there,” he muttered to himself in encouragement even as his fingers screamed in agony. The open window beckoned him to safety—and Juliana. With a move that surprised even him, he leaped up, grabbed the ledge, and pulled himself up.

He darted the quickest of glances below. Nash had vanished.

“Churl.” Victor swung a leg over the window sill and summarily fell with an ungracefulploponto the floor.

“Juliana?” At least he prayed to God it was Juliana’s bedroom. It would be just like Nash to send him to Burwood’s room, where the duke would no doubt take a pistol to his head in a trice.

Grateful to be on solid ground, he squinted into the dark room, and as he straightened himself off the floor, rustling sounds came from the bed.

Tremulous, a soft feminine voice followed. “Who’s there?”

“Juliana? Don’t be alarmed. It’s me. Victor.”

CHAPTER 26

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