And that shadow was growing closer.
Blake's finger tightened on the trigger.
A hand appeared from around the corner.
Blake pounced.
Chapter 11
pleth-o-ra (noun). Over-fullness in any respect, superabundance.
Blake insists that there is a veritable plethora of reasons not to put anything important in writing, but I cannot think of anything in my little dictionary one could find incriminating.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent
One moment Caroline was crawling on all fours, and the next she was as flat as a crepe, with a large, heavy, and oddly warm weight on her back. That, however, wasn't nearly so disconcerting as the cold gun pressed up against her ribs.
“Don't move,” a voice growled in her ear. A familiar voice.
“Blake?” she croaked.
“Caroline?” Then he uttered a word so foul she'd never heard of it before, and she thought she had heard them all from her various guardians.
“The very one,” she replied with a gulp, “and I really couldn't move, anyway. You're rather heavy.”
He rolled off her and pierced her with a stare that was one part disbelief and thirty-one parts unadulterated fury. Caroline found herself wishing it were the other way around. Blake Ravenscroft was definitely not a man to cross.
“I am going to kill you,” he hissed.
She gulped. “Don't you want to lecture me first?”
He stared at her with a heavy dose of stupefaction. “I take that back,” he said with precisely clipped words. “First I am going to strangle you, and then I am going to kill you.”
“Here?” she asked doubtfully, looking around. “Won't my dead body look suspicious in the morning?”
“What the hell are you doing here? You had explicit instructions to stay—”
“I know,” she whispered urgently, pressing her finger to her lips, “but I remembered something, and—”
“I don't care if you remembered the entire second book of the Bible. You were told—”
James put a hand on Blake's shoulder and said, “Hear her out, Ravenscroft.”
“It's the butler,” Caroline put in quickly, before Blake changed his mind and decided to strangle her after all. “Farnsworth. I forgot about his tea. He has a strange habit, you see. He takes tea at ten every night. And he walks right by…” Her voice trailed off as she saw a beam of light moving in the dining room. It had to be Farnsworth, holding a lantern as he walked through the hall. The dining room doors were usually left open, so if his lantern was rather bright, they would be able to see its glow through the window.
Unless he'd heard something and had actually gone into the dining room to investigate…
All three of them hit the ground with alacrity.
“He has very keen ears,” Caroline whispered.
“Then shut up,” Blake hissed back.
She did.
The traveling light disappeared for a moment, then reappeared in the south drawing room.
“I thought you said Prewitt keeps this room locked,” Blake whispered.
“Farnsworth has a key,” Caroline whispered back.
Blake motioned to her with his hands to move away from the south drawing room window, and so she slithered on her belly until she was next to the dining room. Blake was right behind her. She looked around for James, but he must have gone around the corner in the opposite direction.
Blake pointed to the building and mouthed, “Closer to the wall.” Caroline followed his instructions until she was pressed up against the cool exterior stone of Prewitt Hall. Within seconds, however, her other side was pressed up against the warm body of Blake Ravenscroft.
Caroline gasped. The man was lying on top of her! She would have blistered his ears, except that she knew she had to keep her voice down. Not to mention the fact that she was lying facedown on the ground and had no desire to get a mouthful of grass.
“How old is the butler?”
She nearly gasped. His breath was warm against her cheek, and she could swear she felt the touch of his lips against her ear. “At—at least fifty,” she whispered, “but he's a crack shot.”
“The butler?”
“He served in the army,” she explained. “In the Colonies. I believe he was awarded a medal for valor.”
“Just my luck,” Blake muttered. “I don't suppose he's handy with a bow and arrow.”
“Why, no, but I did see him once hit a tree with a knife from twenty paces.”
“What?” Blake swore under his breath—another one of those splendidly creative curses that so impressed her.
“I'm joking,” she said quickly.
His entire body tensed with fury. “This is not the time or the place for—”
“Yes, I realize that now,” she mumbled.
James appeared from around the corner, crawling on his hands and knees. He eyed them with interest. “I had no idea you were having such fun over here.”
“We are not having fun,” Blake and Caroline hissed in unison.
James shook his head with such solemnity that it was clear he was mocking them. “No, obviously you are not.” He then focused his eyes on Blake, who was still lying on top of Caroline. “Let's get back to work. The butler's gone up to his room.”
“Are you certain?”
“I saw the light leave the drawing room, then go upstairs.”
“There's a window in the side stairwell,” Caroline explained. “You can see it from the south.”
“Good,” Blake said, rolling off of her and moving into a crouch. “Let's get back to work opening those windows.”
hat shadow was growing closer.
Blake's finger tightened on the trigger.
A hand appeared from around the corner.
Blake pounced.
Chapter 11
pleth-o-ra (noun). Over-fullness in any respect, superabundance.
Blake insists that there is a veritable plethora of reasons not to put anything important in writing, but I cannot think of anything in my little dictionary one could find incriminating.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent
One moment Caroline was crawling on all fours, and the next she was as flat as a crepe, with a large, heavy, and oddly warm weight on her back. That, however, wasn't nearly so disconcerting as the cold gun pressed up against her ribs.
“Don't move,” a voice growled in her ear. A familiar voice.
“Blake?” she croaked.
“Caroline?” Then he uttered a word so foul she'd never heard of it before, and she thought she had heard them all from her various guardians.
“The very one,” she replied with a gulp, “and I really couldn't move, anyway. You're rather heavy.”
He rolled off her and pierced her with a stare that was one part disbelief and thirty-one parts unadulterated fury. Caroline found herself wishing it were the other way around. Blake Ravenscroft was definitely not a man to cross.
“I am going to kill you,” he hissed.
She gulped. “Don't you want to lecture me first?”
He stared at her with a heavy dose of stupefaction. “I take that back,” he said with precisely clipped words. “First I am going to strangle you, and then I am going to kill you.”
“Here?” she asked doubtfully, looking around. “Won't my dead body look suspicious in the morning?”
“What the hell are you doing here? You had explicit instructions to stay—”
“I know,” she whispered urgently, pressing her finger to her lips, “but I remembered something, and—”
“I don't care if you remembered the entire second book of the Bible. You were told—”
James put a hand on Blake's shoulder and said, “Hear her out, Ravenscroft.”
“It's the butler,” Caroline put in quickly, before Blake changed his mind and decided to strangle her after all. “Farnsworth. I forgot about his tea. He has a strange habit, you see. He takes tea at ten every night. And he walks right by…” Her voice trailed off as she saw a beam of light moving in the dining room. It had to be Farnsworth, holding a lantern as he walked through the hall. The dining room doors were usually left open, so if his lantern was rather bright, they would be able to see its glow through the window.
Unless he'd heard something and had actually gone into the dining room to investigate…
All three of them hit the ground with alacrity.
“He has very keen ears,” Caroline whispered.
“Then shut up,” Blake hissed back.
She did.
The traveling light disappeared for a moment, then reappeared in the south drawing room.
“I thought you said Prewitt keeps this room locked,” Blake whispered.
“Farnsworth has a key,” Caroline whispered back.
Blake motioned to her with his hands to move away from the south drawing room window, and so she slithered on her belly until she was next to the dining room. Blake was right behind her. She looked around for James, but he must have gone around the corner in the opposite direction.
Blake pointed to the building and mouthed, “Closer to the wall.” Caroline followed his instructions until she was pressed up against the cool exterior stone of Prewitt Hall. Within seconds, however, her other side was pressed up against the warm body of Blake Ravenscroft.
Caroline gasped. The man was lying on top of her! She would have blistered his ears, except that she knew she had to keep her voice down. Not to mention the fact that she was lying facedown on the ground and had no desire to get a mouthful of grass.
“How old is the butler?”
She nearly gasped. His breath was warm against her cheek, and she could swear she felt the touch of his lips against her ear. “At—at least fifty,” she whispered, “but he's a crack shot.”
“The butler?”
“He served in the army,” she explained. “In the Colonies. I believe he was awarded a medal for valor.”
“Just my luck,” Blake muttered. “I don't suppose he's handy with a bow and arrow.”
“Why, no, but I did see him once hit a tree with a knife from twenty paces.”
“What?” Blake swore under his breath—another one of those splendidly creative curses that so impressed her.
“I'm joking,” she said quickly.
His entire body tensed with fury. “This is not the time or the place for—”
“Yes, I realize that now,” she mumbled.
James appeared from around the corner, crawling on his hands and knees. He eyed them with interest. “I had no idea you were having such fun over here.”
“We are not having fun,” Blake and Caroline hissed in unison.
James shook his head with such solemnity that it was clear he was mocking them. “No, obviously you are not.” He then focused his eyes on Blake, who was still lying on top of Caroline. “Let's get back to work. The butler's gone up to his room.”
“Are you certain?”
“I saw the light leave the drawing room, then go upstairs.”
“There's a window in the side stairwell,” Caroline explained. “You can see it from the south.”
“Good,” Blake said, rolling off of her and moving into a crouch. “Let's get back to work opening those windows.”