Page 2 of The Lady's Guide to Well-Endowed Dukes
The Contessa’s dressing room was beyond this again, but that held no interest.
What she sought was here, and located in the dressing table, if her source had been worth the coin she’d paid.
To her irritation, the thing had a multitude of drawers: five on each side and three across the center.
Where to begin?
She pulled at the middle, which rattled but did not open, though there was no obvious lock.
It was a good sign. No keyhole meant a hidden mechanism. Bending low, she felt beneath and found the lever without difficulty. The drawer clicked open.
However, her disappointment was immediate. An assortment of small brooches filled the compartment.
Nothing else.
Would she have to check every drawer!
She was about to try the next along when a sound from the adjoining sitting room disturbed her.
Hellfire!
There was no time to hide beneath the bed—and to simply make for the dressing room was risky.
She settled on the curtains.
No sooner had she pressed herself there than the door opened.
Whoever it was did not light the lamp. Footsteps crossed the room. Tilting her head fractionally, she peered around the fringing of the heavy drapes.
And saw the figure of the hunchback!
He’d moved aside the stool and was lying prone on the rug before the dressing table, reaching to the very back. The next moment, the lowest drawer of the lefthand pedestal popped open. From within, he extracted some letters—eight or more—tied with ribbon. He glanced only quickly at the script before pocketing the bundle and closing the drawer.
She ducked back behind the curtain.
Someone else here tonight, on the same mission as herself! And he’d known exactly where to look.
Her mind spun.
What could she do? Confront him and demand the letters? Wrestle them from him?
Neither seemed likely to prove successful. A commotion of any sort would only bring others. At worst, the fellow might have a knife or pistol. Even without one, he looked strong enough to knock her unconscious, or strangle her.
She was not without skills of self-defense but, with him, she did not rate her chances.
What then?
Let him leave. Trail him. Locate his dwelling. Live to seek out the letters another day, or perhaps this very night.
His light steps took him again across the room. The door clicked open and closed.
Letting go the breath she’d been holding, she stepped out. A few moments were needed, for she could not follow directly on his heels; nor could she dally too long.
Hoping her judgment was adequate, she set off. On swift feet, she retraced her steps, pausing at each turn to ensure he was not visible—nor she to him.
There was only one way to leave the palazzo, short of jumping from a balcony. He would be heading for the portico where a gondola must collect him.
Her own gondolier she’d instructed to wait for her on the opposite side of the canal. She had only to signal him, and they might give chase, at a discreet distance.
