Page 57 of Crying Wolfe
Rosaline couldn’t take another step, and she stood in the middle of the spectating crowd encircling the ballroom dance floor, watching as people parted before the stately-looking couple.
This was what he’d come to England for. The Midas Chalice and the Anatolian Sapphire.
He’d go to war to obtain it, in order to quiet the memory of his brother’s screams.
Chewing on her lip, Rosaline felt a familiar vibration slither through her, tightening her belly with a sickening dread.
The need.
Sometimes it was a wicked whisper, easily ignored. This time it was a roaring tempest, churning her blood into froth. Pricking her skin with the bites of a thousand driving shards of ice. Threatening to sweep her away and carry her to some dark nether where she’d drown in her despair and be forgotten to those depths by all those she loved.
And suddenly, she knew what to do.
Lifting the hem of her skirt, she made an abrupt about-face on her heel and marched toward the grand staircase. Calling upon years of experience, she hid her turmoil behind a mask of serenity, smiling at the people she passed as she climbed.
Finding herself at the top of the fourth-floor steps, she came face-to-face with a huge, bald man standing sentinel in front of a red velvet rope that stated “Private.”
“Oh,” she stumbled a bit, and righted herself on the banister. “Hello.”
“You’re not to be here, miss,” he said in a gruff Northumberland brogue. “Go back down with the other guests and wait your turn for a peek at the goods.”
“Ever so sorry,” she simpered, sidling up to the man who seemed fascinated by the fit of her frock. “I’m actually supposed to meet someone up there,” she improvised. “I’m…to model one of the necklaces on auction.”
His nonexistent eyebrow lifted as he inspected her chest, naked of any adornment. “A model, you say? I wasn’t told about ya.”
“Were you not instructed to let me by for the fitting?” she asked. “I apologize for the oversight, Mr…”
“Peckering.” He smiled wide enough for her to notice a few of his back teeth were missing.
“Mr. Peckering. You are an absolute gem for executing your vocation with such diligence. How about I simply go and fetch the lady of the house so she can clear this up—”
“No need.” He put his hand out to stop her, and she grimaced when his fingers cinched around her upper arm. “I’m not keen to interrupt the Black Heart of Ben More’s wife. You can pass. Just be quick about your business.” He unhooked the rope and pulled it aside, allowing her access to the shadowy hall beyond.
“Thank you, Mr. Peckering.”
It took every bit of starch in Rosaline’s knees to walk down the hall as if she were supposed to be there, especially since she could feel the sinister guard’s eyes on her the entire way.
Flustered, she rounded the first corner she could find, and took a moment to orient herself. The passages of Northwalk Hall were long and lined with several doors. She wandered down this one feeling overwhelmed by choice and pressed for time.
Peering around a corner, she spied four men standing guard outside of a double-doored chamber at the end of the next hall. They’d strange bulges in their suit jackets that she had to imagine were the weapons Duchesse de la Coeur referred to.
Doing a few quick calculations, Rosaline was fairly certain that door faced north, so its windows would be on the east side of the manse. Which meant…
Turning behind her, she tried a door latch and sighed with relief when it opened. Though the door was just as wide as the others, she’d stumbled upon a linen closet deep enough to fit three servants, complete with a table for ironing and a window no person could possibly fit through close to the ceiling. Only used for venting the space to prevent mold, she surmised.
Trying the next door, she found a tidy bedroom surely used for visiting valets or ladies’ maids who served important guests. The accommodations were certainly nicer than servant’s quarters, but not grand enough for guests of the master and mistress of the house.
Shutting herself in and bolting the door, Rosaline was relieved to find that the window latch was very similar to so many in this part of London. Easily unlocked from the outside with something like…This.
Swiping a letter opener from the secretary, she went to the window, depressed the latch, and leaned out to check the width of the ledge.
Easily doable, though it would take some finesse to circumvent the gargoyle at the corner.
Looking back at the door, she indulged in one of Eli’s favorite curse words as she committed to the task.
She’d get Eli his sapphire by putting to use the dubious skill she’d mastered over the years.
She wanted to gift him the peace he sought, without him having to suffer recriminations.
