Page 117 of A Scot Is Not Enough
As he gulped champagne, his declaration seeped into her. It was as tender as any declaration of love, said in Swynford House when she was less than an hour away from taking thesgian-dubh. Stress etchedhis face, and she wanted to smooth it away. There was something fragile about their days and nights together.
“I’m not expecting you to respond in kind,” he said. “But, given the chance, I want to be the gentleman who makes you laugh and smile and pours all manner of happiness into your heart.”
Her lips parted softly. This was as close to an ardent declaration as they’d come. She lost herself in the slow dent of his smile. Was a future with him possible? New revelers swarmed the table. A pirate with a paunch leaned in, bumping her. He set a glass eye ring to his eye for a better look. Everyone had donned a costume. Even the footmen played along, with butterflies and birds pinned to their coats and wigs.
Alexander cleared his throat, the spell broken. “We should view the old knives and amulets next.”
“Looking for relics, are you?” The elderly pirate straightened. “Go to the library off the entry. Pink walls, a crescent-shaped bookcase. Can’t miss it. The only room like it in the house.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said brightly.
They exited Flora and Fauna Hall, Alexander’s gaze slanting on her.
“You already know where the relics are, don’t you?”
“Thesgian-dubhsits between sixth-century Persian amulets and a Roman gladius. Last table in the pink library.”
Amusement rumbled in his chest. “When did you manage that?”
“When you were detained by a nymph at the refreshment table. A brunette with impressive symmetry.”
He tipped his back and laughed heartily.
“Only one woman’s symmetry fascinates me.”
“So you say.”
“You doubt me?”
They passed a drawing room, the decor lovely and the guests mildly sotted. A jester and a plague doctor hunched over backgammon. A foursome of two medieval wenches and two monks played whist. Joy was everywhere. If she had doubts, it was about her mission. Tonight wasn’t the same as stealing gold in the dark. She would have to snatch thesgian-dubhwith people filing in and out of the room. Taking the gold had been executed with the league, something planned months in advance with each woman looking after the other. None of them were here to watch her back.
Pressure amplified in her head. A warning voice came with it:This is what happens when you act alone.
Except Alexander was with her, his profile a regal line.
“I have no doubts about you,” she murmured finally.
Kind burning eyes glanced at her. “I’m glad to hear it.”
The clock was ticking to the inevitable hour. Her mind raced.
What if the night went terribly wrong, and she never saw him again?
What if the night went terribly right? There was a chance she’d still not see him again.
She stopped their promenade by the dining room. The grand room had been converted for dancing since the ballroom abovestairs displayed curiosities. Alexander waited, patient and thoughtful. To her left, across a sea of Italian marble, was the pink librarywhere thesgian-dubhwaited. Her reward for these four years in London.
What if another reward was unfolding?
Love with Mr. Sloane.
Was it possible to steal love and a relic in the same night?
She looked into the intelligent eyes of her knight in shining armor. Unbearable emotions played her, sweet and bracing and poignant. Like beautiful music that should never end. She knew differently. Everything did end eventually. A body’s days were numbered and hearts had no guarantee. She slid a hand up his wine-red sleeve embroidered with gold. Under it, a bandage bumped her palm. She could have lost him, but this was not a night for loss. Victory was afoot.
In the next room, men and women in fanciful costumes were dancing an allemande, and she was Cecelia MacDonald, a woman who lived without regrets.
Her face tipped to his. “Dance with me.”
