The moon was rising, the waxing crescent bold and solid in the sky now. Hester found the entrance to the grounds and began to jog up the hard surface of the driveway, racking her brains to remember whether there were any potholes. There were. Her foot cracked a thin skin of ice on a puddle and she fell, jarring her arms and, tearing through the thin leather of her gloves, skinning her outstretched palms.
‘Oh… stay laces!’ Hester got to her feet, her hands stinging, cold wetness all down one leg, her nose and ears freezing, and contemplated sitting down on the grass and giving way to hysterics. One couldn’t, of course, but the moment she got her hands on that pig-headed, arrogant, reckless man she was going to box his ears.
If, that is, she worried as she started to trudge more cautiously up the drive, if he has not already been caught and Lewis Nugent is not enjoying himself gloating over a housebreaker.
She had left the house, followed Guy on an impulse. Now she realised how much her boy’s raiment restricted her options. She could hardly walk up to the front door and create a diversion dressed like this! Ruefully she acknowledged that she had been inspired by something akin to envy of a man’s freedom to act.
The old house loomed before her, a dark shape against greater darkness. Either no one was at home or they were at the back. Where was the library in relation to the rest of the house? Hester tried to stop worrying and think. Around the back, of course. She set off, managed to find her way at the expense of only two collisions with walls and one with a tree and found herself on a gravelled terrace, which, she recalled, overlooked the gardens. Light showed from the windows sunk half below ground level-the servants’ hail, no doubt. The stones crunched under her feet, the sound like musket fire in the cold, still air. She might as well march along banging a big drum.
The moonlight caught the edge of a low brick wall edging the terrace and Hester tiptoed to it, climbed up and began to balance cautiously along. She was almost level with what she thought must be the library window when a sudden flash of light from within streaked across the terrace and was gone. Someone inside was using a dark lantern.
So Guy had got in, and had done so without, apparently, being heard. Hester closed her eyes on the darkness and tried to recall what she had seen in that flash of light. Yes, a flagged path across the terrace.
She reached the library windows, holding her breath, and ran a hand lightly along the casements until she found one that was ajar. Within the room was dark, then she realised that the curtains must be drawn. Slowly she eased back the window until it stood wide and ran her hand down the wall below it. As she had hoped, there was a point where the brickwork stepped out. With one foot on that, both hands on the window frame and ignoring the pain in her grazed palms, Hester hauled herself up until she could straddle the opening and climb down inside.
She found herself nose to fabric with thick curtains and eased them apart. Darkness. Where was he? Perhaps this was the wrong room. Hester stopped and thought. Guy would have forced the window, climbed in and then drawn the curtains to-that was when she saw the flash of light as he checked they were closed. She assumed he would then open up the light and start his search, but there was no- ‘Aargh…umph!’ Her gasp of alarm was stifled as a hand clamped over her mouth and another spun her round to pinion her tight against rough frieze cloth. ‘Lemmego!’ she mumbled. The broad, hard chest she was tight against was unmistakeably Guy’s, the scent of him was Guy, but the hard, unforgiving hands were not at all familiar in their ruthlessness.
‘Be quiet.’ The almost soundless whisper in her ear was an order. Hester nodded, as far as she was able, and was released. ‘Are you mad?’ the voice hissed.
‘No, I am not, but I think you must be,’ she hissed back. ‘What are you going to do if you are found?’
‘Run like hell-which will be a damn sight more difficult with you here, you little fool. Why are you here?’
‘To stop you.’
‘It’s a bit late now.’
‘Yes, I had noticed that.’ It was difficult to be sarcastic in a whisper. ‘Can’t you open the lantern?’
‘Wait there.’ Hester waited for what seemed like half an hour, her ears straining to follow Guy’s almost soundless progress across the room. When the dark lantern shutter was opened he was standing by the door, dropping a sofa cushion on to the floor. Then he walked back, keeping to the carpet, and motioning her into the middle of the room. Hester realised the cushions effectively blocked any glimmer of light that might escape under the door and raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you do this sort of thing often?’
Guy ignored the question, and eyed Hester critically. ‘What the devil are you wearing?’
‘Jethro’s breeches. I wasn’t about to ride about the countryside side saddle. If I fell off I’d never get back on.’
Guy’s critical gaze ran slowly down her body to her filthy knees and soaked stockings. ‘Your seat on a horse appears poor enough astride.’
‘I fell running up the driveway,’ Hester retorted furiously, fuming even more as Guy simply rolled his eyes. She kept her damaged hands carefully behind her back, unwilling to give her head for a further washing.
‘We cannot do anything about that now.’
‘I don’t want you to do anything. Nothing hurts if you don’t keep reminding me.’ They glared at each other for a moment, then Hester whispered, ‘Have you found anything yet?’
‘Hardly, I’ve been too busy dealing with you. Where was that box you saw?’
Muttering to herself, Hester tiptoed over to the chaise and knelt down, trying not to wince as her knees met the floor. Apparently they were bruised too. ‘Here, pushed right back
with a lid on.’
Guy bent, picked up the chaise and moved it bodily to one side. Hester blinked, decided not to pander to male pride by showing admiration for his strength, and tried to lift the lid. ‘It’s locked.’
Somehow she was hardly surprised when Guy produced a bunch of spindly metal objects from his pocket and began to pick the lock.
‘Where did you get those?’ she hissed in his ear.
‘One of my footmen has a colourful past. Shh, I’m listening.’
The lock yielded easily. Hester could not decide whether it was beginner’s luck or long practice, but she was at Guy’s shoulder as the lid lifted, her fingers already delving into the contents. ‘Look, here’s that letter.’