Page 23 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock
“And you couldn’t be prevailed upon to tell me the truth.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
“Nathaniel and I wanted to protect you.”
“Does Edith know about the significance of the clock?”
He shook his head. “Her husband is still deciding how much to tell her. We didn’t want you ladies to be in any danger. The less you both know about the clock, the better.”
The viscount cared about her and Edith’s safety. She imagined if something were to happen to her, it would be inconvenient for his investigation of the Rogue’s Alliance.
“And what can this clock tell you? Edith and I already examined it. There is no inscription, no note hidden behind the hinged door. I can’t see that it would tell anyone anything about that organization.”
He replied softly, “A dying man told me it was the key to bringing down the Rogue’s Alliance.”
“A dying man?” she asked, frowning.
“My brother.”
Chapter Eight
“Perhaps I should steal the clock,” Bones said from the coach’s driver’s box as Cecil exited the conveyance.
He shook his head. “If noticed, I would be able to explain why I’m lurking on this street. You could not.”
“An excellent point, my lord.”
Cecil walked from Brook Street, where he’d left his carriage, to Grosvenor Square. The square was quiet this time of night, with most members of the ton attending entertainments of the marriage mart.
The moon was full, the newly installed gas street lamps glowing in the semi-darkness. He walked along until he was at one end of the square and the entrance to the mews. It was lucky that Carstairs was the second townhouse in from the corner.
Cecil slid along the wall behind the first back garden. Everything was quiet. He continued along, encountering no stable workers. When he reached the coach house behind Louisa’s abode, he could hear snoring within the building. His good fortune was holding.
He accessed the rear garden through a gate and found a pair of terrace doors unlocked. He wouldn’t have to find a way to tell Louisa her family needed to be more security conscious- they would determine that once she discovered her clock missing later that evening.
Cecil entered a smallish reception room and stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the low light. The door to the room was open, and he crept forward, hearing no sounds around him.
Bones had described the configuration of Carstairs gleaned from conversations with a footman who’d wanted to impress him with the scope of his employer’s residence. It was common for servants to be prideful of their employers’ wealth and social standing.
Cecil entered a corridor, and to his left was the servant staircase. He mounted the stairs slowly, hoping the steps wouldn’t creak. His luck still held, and he arrived at Louisa’s bedchamber door undetected.
He heard a throaty chuckle somewhere down the corridor; it sounded as if a woman was enjoying her evening. He quickly opened Louisa's bedchamber door and slipped inside. As he moved forward, he heard a gasp.
“Oh my!” The husky voice was Lady Louisa.
Rushing to the bed, Cecil placed a hand gently over the mouth of the lady, breathing deeply of her signature scent of citrus and light musk.
Their eyes met in the gloom, her expression defiant. After Cecil spoke to her, she attempted to bite him. He held back a chuckle- if he laughed at her, she might do worse.
He released the lady, and while she lit a candle, he had a moment to take in her appearance. Her hair had come loose from whatever arrangement it had been in. Lustrous copper waves shone in the candlelight. Her lips were plumper than he remembered, her color high; she looked delightful. He shook himself. He needed to remember why he was in her bedchamber.
Surprise at finding Louisa at home could be the only reason he’d mentioned his brother. He should have lied and said he merely wanted the clock as he couldn't accept that she had won it from him.
He must tread carefully. Edith wouldn’t forgive him if something were to happen to her friend that he could have prevented. He didn’t think Nathaniel would either.
“Your brother knew about the clock?”
Her question dragged him out of his reverie.
“He did.” He was not going to discuss his brother’s death.
