To Trust a Thief (7 page)

Chapter Ten

Min woke past midday the following Sunday. Her shoulder still ached and her hands were sore, but they were healing. She had never been so glad for the rather silly convention of always having one’s hands covered when out and about. At least the gloves kept her from having to lie to too many people. She had enough problems trying to evade Arthur’s attentions.

Min knew she couldn’t avoid him forever, but she’d keep him, and his questions, at bay for as long as she could. Especially since she had plenty of her own questions about what had happened in the attic.

There was no doubt Mr. Westley knew about her explorations. His warnings were less and less subtle. For a moment, she had truly feared he would harm her. Yet…

He’d saved her.

And…there had been a look in his eyes when he’d pulled her back on the roof. He’d held her so close…

She needed some air. Min tossed her blankets aside, biting her lip at the latent throbbing in her injured palms, threw on her skirt and blouse, and left the room.

Min loved to walk along the flower-lined paths of the estate grounds. Her favorite place was the enormous greenhouse at the back of the property. Even in winter, the gardeners made sure that something bloomed. As far as Min knew, she and Charlotte were the only ones who went there. The warm interior of the greenhouse provided an almost tropical hiding place, safe from the elements and prying eyes.

It felt like home.

The building sat where the wild acres of the estate began, beside a large pond where Min would often dip her toes if the weather was good and no one was about. Min sat on the stone bench that rested beneath the branches of a willow tree just at the water’s edge. She took a deep breath, welcoming the cold air as it hit her lungs.

Min pulled her uncle’s latest letter from her pocket and went back over the already well-read pages. The words blurred into each other, a few standing out in glaring contrast to the white of the page.

Your father’s condition is deteriorating…

One of the witnesses has recanted…

The family is demanding compensation…

Min folded the letter and put it away. Reading it again wouldn’t help. Nothing would help except enough money to bribe her father’s way out of prison and onto a ship. She played with the chain around her neck. The locket was of no real use to them, only the map that was inside. The pearl at least would be worth something. She wondered how much she’d be able to get for it…and how much Arthur would hate her if she sold it. All she knew for certain was that time was running out.

She jumped as a loud crash arose behind her. She stood, walking as quietly as she could until she approached the door of the greenhouse. The frosted glass made it impossible to see anything but vague shapes. A scraping sound came from inside, but she saw no hint of movement.

She moved to the door and eased it open to peek inside. Seeing nothing suspicious, she entered, closing the door behind her. Another loud crash sounded from the back of the large, crowded space, followed by a muffled, “Oh, bloody hell!”

Min slapped a hand over her mouth to keep in her shocked giggle. “Mr. Westley?” she finally asked, having recognized the voice. “Is everything all right?”

“Miss Sinclair?” Mr. Westley appeared from behind the plant-laden tables in the back. He dusted himself off and hurried over to her, taking her hand in his. She started at the feel of his warm skin against her chilled fingers. She’d forgotten her gloves. As, apparently, had he. Her eyes flicked down, but he held his mangled hand behind his back. “Yes, I was just looking for something. I didn’t expect company. What brings you to this stuffy old place?”

Min willed her fingers to remain still. She wanted to turn her hand, mold her skin to his. She looked up to find him staring at her and realized she hadn’t yet answered him.

“Oh, I come here often, especially if the weather is cold outside. I love being surrounded by the plants.”

Mr. Westley tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and Min tried to keep her expression neutral. “They are rather beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked, looking directly at her. “Shall we?” He bowed, holding his hand out to the aisle in front of them. They talked as they wandered around the greenhouse, stopping every so often to gaze at a particular plant. They came upon a small wrought-iron bench against the wall.

“Please, Miss Sinclair,” he said, gesturing to the bench. Min sat stiffly, anticipation, nervousness, and a myriad of other emotions all tumbling together inside her. The tumult created a curious, though not unpleasant, sensation in the pit of her stomach. She thought it odd that Mr. Westley’s nearness made her want to both run away and throw herself at him at the same time. The thought of his arms as he’d held her sent a tremble through her and she bit her lip, trying to control her shocking thoughts.

“Our conversation the other day intrigued me.” Mr. Westley sat beside to her.

“Oh? How so?” Min tried to remember to which conversation he might be referring. Somehow, his mere presence managed to cease all her brain functions and breathing capabilities while simultaneously igniting parts of her she never dreamed existed.

“Well, your thoughts on Shakespeare, for instance. Your view that his heroines were examples of the women of his age and your thoughts on their place in that world. I’m curious, what is your view of a woman’s place in our world?”

“Our world?” Her voice hitched on the word
our
and she cringed at the telltale heat seeping into her cheeks. His lips twitched in amusement and his meaning finally sank in. “Oh! Our world, well, yes, I think, um, well, that our worlds are very similar in many respects,” she said, fumbling to regain her mental fortitude.

“In which respects?”

“Well,” Min began, keeping a careful eye on him for any adverse reactions, “just as in past years, women, at least upper-class women, of today are expected to marry and have children and do very little else. We may have taken more strides toward educating women and so forth, but women are still expected to marry the best social match they can find.”

Min tried to rein herself in, but she couldn’t stem the flow of words once she’d unleashed it. “I don’t think a woman should have to wed because convention demands she must. I don’t want to be just an ornament, chosen only for my social status or dowry.”

“Do you believe your marriage to the good doctor will be one such as you’ve described?” he asked with a slight frown. His voice held a curious note that Min could not quite place.

Drat. She’d forgotten that little bit of fantasy for a moment. “Of course not! But Arthur knows and respects my views. He’s not like most men.”

Mr. Westley smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. The familiar heat of embarrassment flickered along Min’s cheeks and she turned her gaze to the ground. “I’m merely saying that I believe people should marry for love, if at all possible.”

Min risked a glance at him.

He gazed at her, eyes wide with a skin-tingling mixture of surprise and tenderness. “I can’t imagine any man wanting you only for your money or family,” he said, his features sharpening into an expression that seared its way into her blood, making her heart pound, each beat screaming for him.

She shook her head, trying to get ahold of herself. It had only been a matter of days since she’d thought him willing to kill her. One little near-death experience and here she sat mooning over him like some lovesick fool. Min made fun of girls who turned to mush in front of handsome men. She was
not
one of them.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, it hardly matters in my case. My parents are penniless schoolteachers. So I’m afraid I’m a very poor catch indeed as I have neither money nor family.”

“Dr. Carmichael seems happy with his choice. Or is he not aware of your circumstances?”

“Of course he is aware. But as I said, he’s not like most men. Not that it matters. If he were to change his mind, I am perfectly capable of making my own way in the world. I don’t need a husband to do it for me.”

“That is very forward thinking, Miss Sinclair.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Westley. I am certain women have been feeling this way for quite some time.”

He laughed and Min’s heart lurched again. “Well, that is most likely true. Forward
speaking
, then.”

“Perhaps.”

“So, as a recently engaged young woman who previously had no wish to find a position somewhere and didn’t desire to entice the catch of the social season into marriage, why are you subjecting yourself to the horrors of being turned into a polished young lady?” he asked, his tone both amused and curious.

“Ah. Well, I still have to live in the society to which I was born. And I have a very determined aunt.” She gave him a rueful smile. “After a few unfortunate incidents while visiting her, she declared me unfit for human society and insisted my sister and I move in with her so she could mold us into proper ladies. My sister took to the confines of society with relish and was married off almost instantly. My transformation has been a bit…less successful. So, here I am.”

“Yes. Here you are. A wealth of…opportunities at your fingertips.”

Min’s gaze locked onto Mr. Westley’s. Oh yes. He knew exactly what she was up to.

“Yes. I was very fortunate Aunt Laura decided to take me in. I have no doubt I’ll find exactly what I’m looking for here.”

Mr. Westley’s eyes burned into hers and she held her breath. “That remains to be seen, Miss Sinclair. Fate sometimes has a way of intervening in even our best laid plans.”

Min ran through a thousand different responses to the thousand different meanings that statement might have before settling on the wisest course—silence.

He broke eye contact first, looking away with a frown. “I, for one, never expected to find myself teaching dance lessons at a fledgling finishing school. But when the opportunity arose, I couldn’t turn it down.”

Min glanced away, confused at the bitter expression on his face. Before she could comment, he spoke again.

“It must have been hard for you to leave your home and family.”

“Yes. But I did have my sister with me. Besides, though I hate to admit it, I really am in dreadful need of ‘polishing.’”

Min stopped, not sure why she was telling him so much. Yet her lips twitched into a half smile of their own accord when Mr. Westley chuckled.

“So you saw the error of your ways and agreed to become civilized with the rest of us, hmm?”

Min’s slight smile turned into a full grin and she gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “My mother is from a very good family, though she, unlike Aunt Laura, made what they considered a very poor marriage. She tried to raise me to be a proper young lady, but I suppose I did spend rather too much time running wild with the plantation children.”

“It must have been a grand way to live.”

“Oh, it truly was.” She ducked her head to hide the homesick tears that pricked at her eyes.

When she looked back up, the happy Mr. Westley of moments before had faded.

The silence grew. Min searched for something to say. “What was your childhood like?”

Mr. Westley’s face tightened. “My childhood?”

Min licked her lips, afraid she might have inadvertently inserted her foot into her gaping mouth. Though he did start it. “If you’d rather not…”

“No.” A quiver of fear laced through her at the cold expression on his face. “It’s fine. My childhood wasn’t as happy as yours. My father left when I was young and my mother struggled to care for my sister and me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Min started but Mr. Westley shook his head.

“No sympathy necessary, Miss Sinclair.” He gave her a vague smile. “I took care of my mother and sister. They live quite comfortably now, and I’ll make sure they always will.”

“They are lucky to have you,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“Did you ever see your father again?”

A look of terrifying satisfaction came over his face. “Once. Eleven years ago on my fourteenth birthday.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

He lifted his damaged hand. “This.” His hand dropped. “But it was the last time he ever hurt us.”

Shock ran in icy waves down her spine. Sympathy for the boy he was and fear of the man he’d become warred inside her. Min bit her lip, knowing he wouldn’t welcome her pity. And she refused to show her fear. He stared at her, tensed as if for a blow, something he must have endured a thousand times over.

She made a decision.

Min took his hand. He jerked, but she didn’t let go. One heartbeat passed, two, before he relaxed in her grip. She gently trailed a finger along the scar that dissected his hand, feeling the strangely soft flesh beneath the hardened scar tissue. She traced from where it disappeared into his sleeve, down to the empty space where his ring finger had been. Then she wrapped his hand in hers.

He took a deep, trembling breath, not moving, not speaking. Min wondered if anyone had touched his hand since the day it had happened. Somehow, she doubted it.

They sat in silence, their hands loosely clasped, until the light outside the frosted panes began to fade.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, barely audible. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Miss Sinclair.”

Min’s shoulders slumped, a bittersweet ache filling her heart. “I hope you do, too, Mr. Westley.”

Chapter Eleven

Min bolted up in bed, her heart thudding in terror. She strained to hear the noise that had awoken her. Glancing around the dark room, she saw nothing out of place.

The door.

It had been closed when she went to bed, she was sure of it. It stood open now. Not much, but enough. As she watched, someone, or something, slowly pushed it closed. She drew in a strangled breath and ducked under the covers, the blood in her ears pounding.

She huddled there for several moments. Who had been in her room? Why? The servants swore the place was haunted. Were they right? Min didn’t believe in ghosts. However, she was willing to concede it was easier to dismiss them in the light of day.

There had to be some reasonable explanation. There was always a reasonable explanation. Well…almost always.

Berating herself for her childishness, Min dropped the blankets from her head and breathed slowly in and out until her racing heart had calmed. It was probably just one of the teachers doing a nightly check. She glanced around. Charlotte slept, oblivious to the disturbance.

Frustrated, Min flipped the covers away and shoved her feet into her slippers. She held still for a moment, but no new sounds drifted to her. She snorted, feeling ridiculous. It
was
an ancient house, after all; a few creaks, groans, and unexpected drafts were perfectly natural. And here she was making a ninny of herself.

Silly or not, the fright had gotten her blood pumping. She was wide awake. Well, since she was so alert, she figured she might as well make the most of it. Time for a bit of exploring. It had been days since she’d been able to look around. Mr. Westley always seemed to crop up whenever she’d tried to slip away.

Throwing her robe over her thin nightdress, she slipped into the hall and wandered toward the stairs. Though she had no intended destination, her footsteps carried her to the picture gallery. Many of the girls considered it menacing. While Min paid no mind to the girls’ superstitious banter, she had to admit the paintings had an unnerving way of looking as though they were watching her, particularly in the candlelight.

She walked through the corridor, absentmindedly plucking at a ribbon that came loose under her anxious fingers and fell from her gown. She leaned over to retrieve it, reaching back to use the wall for support.

She misjudged the distance in the near darkness and found only air. Without the slightest degree of grace, her bottom collided with the tapestry that hung from the wall. Instead of breaking her fall, the wall itself moved backward. Min fell into the empty space behind the tapestry with a muffled screech.

“Oh, that was graceful, Minuette.” She sat up and brushed herself off, muttering an angry reproach while she looked around. She breathed a small sigh of relief that she had somehow managed to hold onto her candle in her fall. Pale moonlight filtered through a window in the opposite wall of a small room.

The entrance must have been hidden from view by the tapestry that now fluttered over the open doorway. Based on what she saw in the meager light, no one had been in this room for years. She peered into the inky darkness, holding her candle high to light the space as much as possible. Misshapen white objects seemed to hover just out of reach of the soft glow. Creaks echoed from the ceiling and Min froze. “It’s just the boards settling,” Min assured herself. After several moments of quiet she moved farther into the room, letting the dim light fall on what appeared to be eerie sheet-covered furniture.

The space smelled of abandonment, musty and stale. A narrow window stretched from the floor almost to the ceiling. Min knelt on the small cushioned bench built into the recess of the window and pulled the heavy drapes away for a better view. She sneezed at the sudden puff of dust. With the hem of her nightgown, she cleaned a small circle of grime from one of the panes and revealed a breathtaking view of the lake.

Min smiled, thrilled at her discovery. “What is this place?” she whispered, looking around the room once again. A priest’s hole, leftover from Cromwell’s days? Or perhaps it was the hidden refuge of Edward Courtland and his mistress.

Her heart jumped with a jolt of adrenaline. A lover’s retreat. And perhaps the perfect place to hide a portrait of one’s lover. Or the necklace itself.

More low creaking from the attic rooms above filtered down. Min held her breath. Her eyes wide, she searched the ceiling as though she could see through it if she tried hard enough. The floorboards above her head creaked again. A stream of ice ran through her blood when a faint
whomp
rumbled across the ceiling.

Min’s heart thumped in painful lurches. She tried to calm down. It was probably just a really big mouse. Or one of the cats? Perhaps the old place really was haunted.

She jumped as a muffled
thud
reverberated across the rafters. The faint sound of breaking glass had Min running for the exit.

There was no visible handle on the outside so Min grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it closed behind her. She was careful to straighten the tapestry that hid the entrance. Backing away, she made sure there was no evidence of the room.

Footsteps.

Min froze in alarm.

Nearer…nearer…

If Min was honest with herself, she might admit that all the tales of ghostly lights and noises did have her a little spooked. But it certainly wasn’t the time for being honest.

Min held her breath as the footsteps came nearer. She blew out her candle and pressed herself into the wall near the window across from the tapestry-covered alcove, half burying herself in the curtains.

The footsteps grew louder and stronger until at last they stopped a few feet from where she hid. An invisible hand reached out and yanked the draperies aside, letting the strong moonlight spill into the corridor. Min could make out the large, dark shadow of a man. She tried to keep silent. Her breath came faster, her heart beating in desperate time to her panic.

The shadow lunged.

Min opened her mouth to scream, but the pressure of a very large hand cut off the sound.

Her head swam with the terror clawing its way through her body. She kicked and twisted as the shadow wrapped its arms around her. “Miss Sinclair! Stop!”

One of Min’s elbows connected to a muscled abdomen.

“Oof!” Whoever it was dropped his hand from her mouth and leaned against her, pressing her into the wall as he struggled for breath. The scent of pine and leather floated to her as she gulped large breaths of air and Min stopped struggling.

“Mr. Westley?” she whispered.

“Yes.” He exhaled deeply. “What were you trying to do, kill me?”

“Actually, yes. You frightened me half to death!”

“What are you doing wandering the halls in the middle of the night?”

“I could ask the same of you,” she said, her lingering fear making her bold.

Mr. Westley straightened and looked down at her. “I am an instructor here, Miss Sinclair. It is one of my duties to make sure my charges are safely tucked in their beds after curfew. What I choose to do after hours is my own business.” His eyes narrowed into dark slits. “Have I made myself clear?”

Min swallowed hard against the arguments piling up in her throat. Mr. Westley’s furious expression left no room for response, playful or otherwise. Any camaraderie he may have felt in the greenhouse was gone. She didn’t know this man at all. She felt like a stupid little girl being chastised for breaking the rules. And she realized that was most likely exactly how Mr. Westley saw her. She felt so foolish.

Min stiffened, tilting her chin in the air. “Perfectly clear, Mr. Westley. It won’t happen again.” Min tried to move around him but he didn’t budge.

“Minuette.” He leaned into the wall beside her, his voice a hoarse whisper.

She froze. Her name on his lips felt more intimate than his bare skin brushing against hers. The defeated tone of his voice tore at her very soul.

Mr. Westley sighed. Heat emanated from every inch of his body, from where his forehead rested so near to hers down to where his large, muscular leg pressed against her. The fact that she was clad in her nightclothes hadn’t escaped her attention, either. She wondered if it had escaped his…

“I’m sorry, Min…Miss Sinclair.” He took a deep breath and straightened, not moving away but no longer using the wall for support. “I don’t like being questioned.” His voice hardened a bit. “Nor do I enjoy being spied upon by young ladies with overactive imaginations.”

“I was not spying on you,” Min said, trying to keep her voice down while her emotions raged unchecked. She glared at him for a moment longer but finally decided to let it drop or they’d be there all night disagreeing. Neither one of them relaxed their stances, though. The tension between them didn’t lessen. If anything, it intensified.

Mr. Westley’s eyes raked over her, consuming every inch. Min shifted, her pulse jumping like she was prey being stalked in the night.

“Mr. Westley…”

“Call me Bryant.”

“What?” she asked, surprise stealing the last of her anger.

Bryant moved against her and Min’s shock melted into something much more dangerous.

“My name is Bryant,” he whispered into her ear. “Say my name, Min.”

Min shivered as his hot breath caressed her skin. “I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you can. There is no one to hear you but me.”

“But it isn’t—”

“You’ll whisper with me behind the curtains in the middle of the night, unclad, hair unbound, but you can’t utter one, harmless little word?”

“Hardly harmless.”

“Stop thinking so hard.”

He was right, she supposed
.
She’d said his name to herself so many times. Whispered it in her dreams. How would it feel to utter it out loud?

What harm is in a name?
“Bryant,” she breathed, hardly daring to say it aloud.

Bryant leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. Min tensed. Apparently she’d misjudged the power of one little word. She knew she should run. But she wasn’t sure she could.

Or wanted to.

He kissed her again, lower, between her eyes, the tip of her nose. Min clenched her fists, willing her body not to betray her by trembling. She should push him away, but she wanted only to pull him closer. She did neither.

Bryant hovered over her mouth, his breath teasing her lips. He turned his head away, jaw clenched. Min’s heart beat once, twice, while he warred with himself.

He turned back to her and Min lifted her lips to meet his.

They both froze at the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hall.

“Damn,” Bryant muttered, pulling away from her and ducking behind the drapes just as the eerie glow of candlelight floated toward them. Min stood against the wall, her robe open and her hair in disarray, fighting to control her rapid breathing. She jumped as Katherine became visible in the soft circle of light.

“Minuette?” Katherine raised an eyebrow as she took in Min’s strange appearance. “Whatever are you doing cowering in a dark hallway in the middle of the night?”

“I am not cowering; I simply didn’t wish to frighten you by suddenly appearing. I dropped my candlestick and was a bit lost in the dark.”

Katherine snorted derisively but held out her candle so Min could relight hers.

Min begrudgingly thanked her. “What are you doing up here?”

Katherine’s face puckered into a grimace. “I fail to see how that is any of your concern. And I could ask you the same question.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d walk a bit.” Min fought to keep her eyes from darting to the drapes. If Katherine were to discover Mr. Westley hidden in their depths… Min shuddered at the consequences.

Katherine stared at her, obviously not believing her answer.

Min lifted her chin a notch higher. “This is my home, you know. I have every right to go wherever I please in it.”

She breathed a quick sigh of relief when Katherine turned with a muttered, “Suit yourself,” and started down the hallway. When Min failed to follow, she turned around. “Aren’t you coming?”

She should go. She should thank her lucky stars Katherine had come along and she should toddle off to her room like a good little lady. Yet… “I’ll be along in a minute.”

Katherine shrugged and continued along her way. Min waited a few moments before she placed her candle on the ground and ducked behind the curtain.

She fell against Bryant, shivering when he wrapped his arms around her. Min tentatively raised her arms to drape them around his neck but Bryant grabbed her hands, holding them still against his chest. His heart pounded against her fingers. He released her with a slight growl, gently pushing her away.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sinclair… Min. I…” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I apologize for my behavior.”

A thousand responses flew through Min’s mind. She finally decided to simply tell him the truth. “I’m not sorry, Bryant.”

He looked at her a moment before a slow smile spread across his lips. He reached out and trailed his thumb along her jaw. “This isn’t wise, Min.”

She leaned into his hand. “I know.”

He drew her in again, leaned his forehead against hers. Min breathed him in. Reveled when he shuddered.

“Go now,” he rasped, straightening up, “before we…before we run into anyone else prowling the halls in the dark.”

His hands cupped her face, trailing down to linger at her neck. He leaned forward and brushed his lips across the pulse jumping at the base of her throat. Min’s heart thumped in an overwhelming rush. He pulled away, fists clenched. “Go. While I still have the strength to send you away.”

A storm of elation and anxiety flooded through Min so quickly she could do no more than nod. She poked her head out from behind the drapes and scanned the corridor. Empty. She emerged and grabbed her candle, then sped quietly toward her room, sighing in relief when she encountered no one else.

She didn’t recall the secret room until she’d reached the safety of her bedroom. She frowned, unhappy at Bryant’s ability to wipe what was really important from her mind. He was proving to be too much of a distraction.