Polianov bristled at being cast in the shade. “Miss Sloane’s beauty goes without saying,” he snapped.
“Actually, I think it can’t be said often enough,” replied Verdemont a bit smugly. “We wouldn’t want the fairer sex to think that we take them for granted.”
“We were just talking about Napoleon’s march to the east,” said Anna, deliberately keeping her eyes on the vicomte. “You must be offering a prayer to the Heavens that the Allied forces will be able to defeat him.”
Did his gaze darken for instant? Whatever the reaction, it was gone in the blink of an eye.
“More than one, mademoiselle,” he replied, his voice betraying no hesitation. “Tyrants must be destroyed at all costs.”
Polianov gave a gruff sound in his throat. “Let us not sully the lady’s lovely ears with such talk of war.”
Anna surrendered any hope of squeezing any useful information out of the pair at the present moment. The vicomte’s reaction, however tenuous a clue, was at least something to offer to Devlin. And as soon as the group finished with the refreshments and moved on to the card tables, she could withdraw for the evening and head upstairs for her real mission.
“You are right, colonel. War and intrigue are such an ugly business.” Taking up a platter of ginger biscuits, she offered it to Verdemont. “Tell me, does Lord Dunbar’s gardener think the weather looks favorable for a hunt tomorrow?”
Chapter Seventeen
Careful, careful. The flickering flames of the wall sconces seemed like silent tongues, repeating the same warning that was whispering inside her head.
Anna checked up and down the dimly lit corridor before flattening herself against the dark wainscoting and inching forward. She had changed into breeches and a loose-fitting shirt—thanks to her insistence on meticulous research, she always had such clothing at hand in order to write accurately on what moves Emmalina could make when dressed as a male. No question that moving swiftly and stealthily was far easier when unencumbered by yards of silk and petticoats.
Pressing an ear to Lady de Blois’s door, Anna listened intently for any sign of life within the chambers.
Nothing.
A second look around, a quick juggling, and she was safely inside.
So far, so good.
But there was precious little time to waste in self-congratulation.
After relocking the door, Anna turned in a slow circle, reviewing her options as she surveyed the sitting room. A half hour wouldn’t allow for a search of the entire quarters. And so she would have to rely on female intuition as to where the most likely hiding place for intimate secrets would be.
A lady like the comtesse, she decided, would want to keep them close to her…bosom.
Without further hesitation, Anna rushed into the bedchamber and looked around for the jewel case. It wasn’t hard to spot. A large brass-cornered domed box covered in emerald green leather sat on the dressing table between a half dozen ornate crystal scent bottles and a pair of silver-back hair brushes.
A pair of locks were fitted into the heavy lid, and as a bead of moonlight flitted over the shiny metal, they seemed to wink in challenge.
“Perhaps it takes a lady to catch a lady,” she murmured, flexing her sliver of steel. The small mechanisms proved surprisingly difficult, but with a few extra probes they finally yielded.
She didn’t dare strike a flint to the brace of candles. Even the faintest curl of smoke left lingering in the air could give away the visit.
And so could a careless search of the box’s contents. Despite her eagerness, Anna made herself study the arrangement of the brooches, pendants, and earrings before lifting the velvet-lined tray out and setting it aside. Several necklaces lay in the deeper compartment, but the fact that they lay twined in a careless tangle should work in her favor. Holding her breath, Anna ever so gently slid her fingers beneath the twists of gold and eased them up and onto the smooth tabletop.
The bare black velvet stared at her in silent reproach.
“Don’t look at me like that. I doubt you are as innocent as you seem,” she whispered in reply. A quick sidelong glance at the outside of the case had shown that the interior appeared to end far higher than it should.
Anna gingerly worked a fingernail between the fabric-covered pasteboard bottom and the wood and felt for any looseness.
Sure enough, the pasteboard shifted. A few gentle tugs and it came out smoothly, revealing a hidden compartment. In it was a packet of letters.
Anna quickly checked the clock on the mantel. Twenty minutes left. That should allow more than enough time to read through them.
Such optimism quickly dimmed. Unfolding the first one, she saw it was written in French.
Merde.