How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)
She made her way down to the ballroom and set her candle down on a pedestal table inside. The shadows softened, edged with gold. The light gleamed off polished glass and waxed floors and the deceptively demure quality to Meg’s painted nymphs. Much like their artist, a soft cheek hid a will of iron. If you looked close enough one of the nymphs appeared to be holding a knife instead of silvery flowers.
Persephone wandered along the exhibits, admiring the coins, the carved marbles, the statuary. The duke was well pleased with the effect. They had done what no one else had yet to do. He ought to be proud. And her, as well. She allowed herself a tiny beat of pride. She was a good antiquarian. She had not upended her life in vain, despite her feelings for Conall. She had traded one passion for another. It might not feel fair, but there were far greater injustices.
Her reflection in the glass of a cabinet partially obscured the funerary mask of a noble Egyptian lady. Her elegant braids replaced Persephone’s hair and she shared her gold circlet willingly. Persephone took strength from it.
When the light of a candle angled into the ballroom from the doorway, Persephone moved without cognisant thought. She ducked behind a group of potted ferns, prodded by the events of the last week. She might be safe here in the duke’s country house, but she was not a fool. The click of a gentleman’s shoes echoed on the marble in the hall and a long shadow fell into the room.
Lord Darrington.
Interesting.
Persephone stayed still, watching as he peered hurriedly into the cabinets. He looked nervous as he opened one of the doors by breaking the glass, muffling the sound with a cravat wrapped around his hand.
Outrage exploded under her skin. He was tampering with her exhibits.
He reached inside, plucking something from a velvet case and dropping it into his pocket.
Correction. He was stealing from her exhibits.
She’d known he was dodgy from the morning he’d expected her to climb out of the barrow because it wasn’t suitable for ladies. She’d just had no idea how dodgy.
Certainly dodgy enough to be a traitor.
She knew the shelf he was rifling through didn’t hold any forgeries. But he didn’t know that.
She gave serious consideration to tackling him where he stood. She had the element of surprise. She might even be able to take him down. She was about to launch from the shadows when Conall filled the doorway. He spotted her at once, his gaze sharp and full of warning. He shook his head once, nearly imperceptible. Persephone hesitated, staying hidden among the leaves.
“Darrington,” he said lazily, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “I thought you’d have found better entertainment by now.”
Darrington jumped, making a squeaky sound that he tried to cover with a cough. “Northwyck.”
“None of the ladies to your liking?”
“Fancied a walk,” he said.
“That’s not all you fancied, is it?”
“What’s that now? I really must be off to bed,” Darrington said quickly. “Big day tomorrow with the festival and all.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Conall said, still blocking the exit. “Let’s have a chat, you and I?”
“Can it wait?” Darrington tried another tactic, a wheedling boys-will-be-boys chuckle. “Bedsports, as you said. Can’t keep the lady waiting. Frightfully rude.”
Conall, clearly bored with the game, whipped his arm out, grabbing Darrington’s shirt in his fist. He lifted the surprised man off his feet. Darrington gurgled. “Here now!”
“Empty your pockets,” Conall demanded.
“Is this a joke?”
“Empty your pockets,” he repeated coldly. “Now.”
Shaking, Darrington complied. Gold tumbled onto the floor at his feet.
There was a beat of silence. “These are coins.”
Persephone frowned. Coins? How did he expect Henry to smuggle a letter inside coins? She stifled a sound of frustration, much like the one Conall appeared to want to make. Darrington wasn’t a traitor. He was a thief.
Well, not just a thief. Persephone still considered that reason enough for a proper smack. Preferably with a big stick. How dare he?