Page 50 of The Traitor
Lady Freddy rose from her dressing stool and remained still while Milly unfastened the bracelets and passed her a pair of long white evening gloves. “You’ll take the rest of these baubles down to Sebastian to put in the safe?”
“Of course, my lady.”
The final touches—refastening the bracelets outside the gloves, adjusting Lady Freddy’s wrap just so, choosing a pair of blue silk handkerchiefs edged in gold lace—meant the professor was tapping his toe at the foot of the stairs when Milly eventually shooed her charge off to the Tuesday night card party.
Her ladyship took the professor’s arm and sailed out into the night when Lady Avery’s coach-and-four pulled up.
“God help Lady Avery and Lord Avery, and anybody who thinks the evening is about cards,” Milly muttered as silence settled over the foyer. No raised voices came from the library, even while Milly lingered by the front door, touching up the bouquet of forced white roses and frothy ferns perfuming the air.
She tidied up the capes hanging on the hooks near the porter’s nook, leaning in for a whiff of his lordship’s greatcoat. She examined her hair—which would never sport pearls—in the mirror and then returned upstairs to set Lady Freddy’s boudoir to rights.
Casualties of the battle preparations lay all about, and Lady Freddy’s lady’s maid was no doubt below stairs, enjoying a much-deserved and much-delayed evening meal. Milly rehung dresses, organized cosmetics, refolded handkerchiefs, and put away a gold lace fichu her ladyship had—purposely?—neglected to tuck into a pocket.
The last task required before Milly could curl up with her embroidery was replacement of the jewels in the safe.
Real jewels. Lady Freddy claimed the pearls were the last of the St. Clair valuables to be restored to genuine status, and they were lovely, lovely jewelry. Each single pearl bore a soft, luminous quality and exactly matched the rest of the rope.
Milly resisted the urge to twine a strand in her hair, and scooped up the lot of rejected gems. She did not knock on the library door, it being past the hour when his lordship usually went out, and Mr. Brodie’s entitlement to courtesy being dubious.
“Excuse me, my lord. I wasn’t aware you were still at home.”
Not only was he at home, St. Clair was only half-dressed. His coat was nowhere in evidence, his cuffs were turned back, and his cravat was gone. He stood and came around his desk, though Milly’s sense was that he sought to block her advance into the room rather than to show her the courtesy of rising from his seat.
“Miss Danforth.”
“I thought you’d left. My apologies. Lady Freddy asked that her jewels—”
He shifted closer, taking the tray from Milly’s hands. “Shall I tell you the combination to the safe, Miss Danforth? You won’t have to risk coming upon me of a late night to return them to their proper place.”
As if coming upon him was such a hardship?
“I don’t want to know the combination.” She did, however, want to run her hands through his hair. It stuck up in all directions, as if he’d just risen from a dead sleep, or been sitting at that desk for hours, thrashing through difficult matters.
He set the jewels on the corner of the desk. “Freddy knows the combination, and the professor knows it. I see no harm in you knowing it as well.”
As he moved closer to the candles on the desk, Milly could see that St. Clair was tired. He’d been on his horse before the sun rose, coming and going all day, then closeting himself with Mr. Brodie directly after tea.
“I would as soon not be privy to such information, sir.”
He nudged aside necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings, and picked out a brooch from the pile of beauty on the tray. “Take this.”
Milly did not move. “Are you mad? So I can be accused of stealing it?”
Her words did not offend him. Instead, he held the brooch out to her, the gold setting winking in the candlelight.
“Gold and emeralds, Miss Danforth. Your coloring demands emeralds.”
Lady Freddy had said jade should have been her lot. “My coloring might demand emeralds, my lord, but my station in life demands common sense. Put the jewels away, please.”
The room did not smell as if he’d been overimbibing, nor was there brandy among the papers on the desk, and yet his gaze held a forlorn quality, something Milly was used to seeing in a muted version.
“I want you to have this, Milly Danforth. The brooch was my mother’s, and not part of the St. Clair estate. Giving it to you is simpler than involving a lot of lawyers and documents.”
A premonition slithered down Milly’s spine, from her nape to her belly. “What document are you working on, St. Clair?”
“Nothing you need puzzle over at this late hour, Miss Danforth.” He tossed the gorgeous little brooch aside like so much worthless sentiment. “Come, I will escort you above stairs and order you a pot of chocolate so you might keep your cat company. I cannot believe you prefer the companionship of a feline to that of her ladyship’s coven.”
He would not let Milly get near that desk. Perhaps he was writing to somebody in France, somebody he ought not to correspond with.
