The Harlow Hoyden (18 page)

“What if I give you my word of honor that I will break into Sir Windbourne’s apartments?
Will you let me go alone then? Surely the Duke of Trent’s word is to be trusted, even if the man isn’t,” he said with a cynical bent to her lips.

“Yes, I would trust that,” she lied. The mission was too important to trust to anyone other than herself. “But I cannot in all good conscience let you take the risk. You do not live under the constant threat of Sir Waldo as your brother-in-law.”

Recalling the kiss, the duke wasn’t so sure about that. “But if I exonerate you of all responsibility?”

“Fine person I’d be to let you go into danger alone. Besides, you cannot exonerate a person just because you wish to. It’s more complicated than that.”

Yes, he was beginning to see that it was all much more complicated than he thought. “All right.” Trent covered his eyes and sighed. “We’ll
break into Windbourne’s apartments together. Tell me what your plan is.”

Emma riffled through her reticule and withdrew a folded sheet of white paper. “Here is Sir Windbag’s town house,” she said pointing to a rough sketch of Half Moon Street. “It’s located on the south side of the street, and as this is a corner, he does not have a neighbor here. This is a pantry window and the most vulnerable
part of the house. It is located off the kitchens and is only used for storage of pots and pans. After ten o’clock, the kitchen servants can be found playing cards in the servants quarters, here. They will be a good distance from the pantry.”

She took out another drawing. “Here we are in the pantry. From there we need to proceed to here.” She indicated a room on the other side of the house.
“This is Sir Windbag’s study. The most dangerous part of our mission will be getting from the kitchens to the study, for we have to go through the dining room and past the drawing room. These are the areas my source has indicated are the most likely to be occupied. However, if we time the matter precisely, we shouldn’t have a problem. At eleven, Windbag’s man Jamison goes upstairs to lay out his master’s
bedclothes. At the same hour, the butler visits the lower quarters to check on the household staff. From eleven o’clock to eleven forty-five the ground floor is completely deserted. We will make our move then.”

She unfolded a third map; this time it was an illustration of the study. “I have indicated in red the areas most likely to contain secret information: the cabinet of files to the left
of the desk, the top desk drawer and the wall safe hidden behind this painting of Windbag’s ancestor. I have keys for the drawer and the cabinet. I could not get my hands on the combination for the safe. However, I have interviewed one of the best thieves in the country and he has demonstrated his technique for cracking safes. I am reasonably confident that I can do it.”

As the duke listened
to this rather remarkable speech, he went through a series of emotions. First shock, then horror, then grudging respect, then finally pride. Cousin Philip was right. Miss Emma Harlow was indeed an out-and-outer. Not one of his female acquaintance—or indeed any of his male acquaintances—could have done it more beautifully. She had compiled the details of enemy territory like a five-star field marshal
and integrated the information like a first-class strategist. Trent didn’t doubt that had England had the Harlow Hoyden on the front lines, Napoléon would have been ensconced on St. Helena years ago.

“Miss Harlow,” he said, examining her maps, “it would seem that you’ve covered every aspect of the crime. I can’t imagine why you need me at all.”

Emma dimpled. “To watch my back, of course. I’m
not such an widgeon that I’d enter a villain’s apartments without backup. The first thing one must realize about a well-orchestrated plan is that nothing ever goes according to orchestration. What if the butler should hear us creeping about and discover us? I will need you to plant him a facer. I understand from Philip that you are very good at that sort of thing.”

“Tell me, how long have you
been planning this?” he asked, staring at the details on the maps. A skilled craftsman had made these. “Surely you didn’t acquire all this information since Windbourne’s return this morning?”

“No, I’ve had this scheme in the works from the moment Lavinia announced her engagement to Windbag eight weeks ago. At first, I merely disliked him because he was so damnably boring, but even then there
was something suspicious about his manner,” she explained.

“But how did you discover all this?”

“Really, your grace, there’s not a bit of information in the world that can’t be had from a houseboy for the price of a meat pie,” she said.

“And your interview with the best thief in the country? How did that come about?”

“The docks are a veritable breeding ground for thieves. If one goes
down there with enough coin in one’s purse and a respectful demeanor, one can learn all sorts of useful things.” She sipped her tea daintily.

The thought of Emma strolling the docks with gold in her pocket chilled Trent to the bone. “I trust you didn’t go down there alone.”

“No, I had the sense to bring a footman with me. Sylvester isn’t very intelligent, but he’s large and intimidating, and
he’s the perfect thing for whenever I need extra protection.”

“Is that often?”

She blinked at him before answering. “No, usually I’m quite content to take my pistol. Only sometimes do I require the services of Sylvester.”

This, like everything else she said, astonished the duke. “Promise me you will not bring it tonight. The last thing we need is a mishap with a smoking gun and a winged
butler. Pistols are not to be toyed with.”

She laughed at his attitude. Of course she knew guns weren’t to be toyed with. “I am an excellent shot. Perhaps when this is all over, we could go to a gallery and I can demonstrate my prowess.”

The duke was determined to never let that happened. Women did not go to shooting galleries to show off their prowess. Indeed, women did not have prowess.
“Of course,” he said.

“Very good,” she said, standing up and putting an end to the interview. “I should be getting home before I’m missed. I will see you tonight? I will be dropping from the second-story window on the east side of the house. Have your carriage near there at ten-fifteen.” When he sought to interrupt, she forestalled him with a raised hand. “There’s no need to concern yourself
about my safety. There’s a very durable and thick tree next to my window, and I’ve been climbing up and down it for years.”

“You are wild, Miss Harlow, as everyone says.”

“I am free, Lord Trent.”

He decided not to linger over semantical points. “And Windbag,” he said, voicing his last concern, “how do you know he will be away from home?”

“On that point I know nothing for certain but past
behavior indicates that after visiting with Lavinia, he will visit his club and gamble. He is a devoted follower of faro, though his skill leaves a lot to be desired—as does the rest of him.”

The duke made a mental note to seek out Pearson and inquire of his plans for that night. Hopefully he could be convinced to visit Windbourne’s club and take up a hand or two of faro. There was no reason
to leave anything to chance. He walked her to the door and helped her into her pelisse. “I’ve asked Harmon to bring my coach around.”

“That isn’t necessary, your grace,” she insisted.

“I’m afraid it is. Ladies do not travel in hacks.”

“Pooh, they are the safest of conveyances, and if I return home in one of yours, my family will get suspicious. Now we wouldn’t want that to happen, would
we?” she added.

“Miss Harlow, considering all the things you’ve accomplish right under their noses, I must say it’s unlikely that your family will notice anything amiss.”

Emma conceded the truth of this remark. If her family had been inclined to astute observation, she would have led a much duller life.

Because her recent doldrums had taken away Emma’s interest, such as it was, in the social
whirl, she was unaware of that evening’s social commitment.

“But you must recall that we are dining at the Winchesters’,” said Sarah, when she came upon Emma in the dining room devouring a collation of cold meats. “We talked about it only last evening. You were staring at your plate and insisting you couldn’t finish another bite, even though you hadn’t finished a first one yet, and I said that
I hoped you’d get your appetite back by the time we went to the Winchesters’ tomorrow. You assured me you would, but I recognized it for the bald-faced lie it was. Although, here you are eating,” she said, almost as an afterthought.

Emma had no recollection of the conversation to which her dear sister-in-law referred, but she didn’t refine too much upon it. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but you must pass
along my regrets to Lord and Lady Winchester. I have a crushing headache and would like nothing better than to climb into bed, which I’ll do as soon as I finish this snack.”

Sarah’s initial impulse was to argue further, as Emma was always searching for an excuse not to attend dull social functions, but she restrained herself. It was the first time she had seen food pass Emma’s lips in a week
and although she seemed to be recovering from whatever bug she suffered, her cheeks were still quite pale. “Very well,” she said, thinking that a good night’s sleep might be just the thing.

It was Emma’s intention only to lie in bed and read Sir Walter Scott, but as soon as her head touched the pillow she was out cold. Four or five sleepless nights caught up with her all at once, and when she
opened her eyes several hours later, it was not only dark but rapidly approaching the ten o’clock hour as well.

“My goodness,” she gasped, jumping out of bed, with an awful sinking feeling that it was very late indeed. The candle on her side table had been extinguished, which meant Sarah or Lavinia or one of the upstairs maids had been in to check on her. She lit a candle and looked at the clock:
nine forty-five. She only had a half hour to get ready, and she didn’t know what to wear. Although she had given the details of the break-in a tremendous amount of thought, she hadn’t settled on an outfit. She had only one black dress, but it was of a billowy cut that would surely interfere with her climbing in and out of windows. She pulled a storage box from the deep recess of her closet and
extracted a pair of dark-brown trousers. They were homemade and roughly sewn, for the Harlow Hoyden was hardly an accomplished seamstress, but the holes were in the right places and they fit comfortably. Emma had never worn them in the city before, and she knew Sarah would be most upset to discover she’d brought them with her. They were not decent in the country, of course, but no one was ever
there to notice or comment. Emma tossed on one of Roger’s old shirts, which she had stolen from a laundry pile years before. Her shoes were another cast-off item of Roger’s. She had managed to get her hands on them at the exact right moment, for had she waited another year, Roger’s shoes would have been too big.

She finished dressing, located her safe-opening kit and glanced at the clock. It
was precisely ten-fifteen. After extinguishing the candle and arranging some pillows to look like her sleeping form, Emma climbed through the window. As she had said, the tree beside the house was a trustworthy oak, and Emma moved down among its branches with easy familiarity. Thanks to her misspent youth, there wasn’t a tree whose heights Miss Emma Harlow could not scale.

As soon as she dropped
to the ground, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She resisted the urge to jump, even though she felt a fleeting glimmer of fear. It was the duke, of course, not some assailant.

“All is well?” he whispered in her ear.

She nodded and indicated that she would follow. He placed his hand on the small of her back. The Duke of Trent had no intention of letting her out of his sight for the whole of
the adventure. He led her to a hired cab that was stationed on the street corner.

Grosvenor Square was quiet and pretty in the late hour and Emma thought it was a shame that she wasn’t allowed to take constitutionals after dark. She regretted, not for the first time, that the world was such an unsafe place for a woman.

It was only when they were in the cab and on the way to Half Moon Street
that Emma felt comfortable enough to speak. “Good evening, your grace,” she said, looking at him in the dim light of passing street lamps. He was dressed as plainly as she, though in clothing indicative of his sex, and she couldn’t help but notice how nicely he filled out his jacket. Without any affectation or tailor’s padding, he was as impressive a specimen as ever.
Really,
she thought
, he is
so perfect. How could Vinnie withstand his charms?

“Good evening, my dear, I see you’re behaving as unconventionally as ever. Tell me, who is your tailor?”

Emma laughed. “You’re looking at her, and since I have no illusions of my skill with a needle, you do not have to cut me down. I made them because it was necessary for them to be made.”

“What’s the news from home? Will Lavinia be seeing
Windbourne this evening?”

“We were engaged to dine at the Winchesters’ this eve. I can only assume that as Miss Harlow’s betrothed he was invited as well. Sarah did not mention it. I’m surprised she went. With Roger here, she has been inclined to stay close to home.”

“How is he doing? Miss Harlow informed me of his accident. I’m very sorry,” he said, talking her hand. “It must be a terrible
thing to adjust to.”

“Yes, but Roger is adapting marvelously. He has never been the sort to complain about anything other than boredom, and the loss of an arm is indeed terrible but it is better than the loss of a leg or one’s life. Sarah could not bear it if he’d died.”