They stepped into the bank, and a small man dressed in black and wearing spectacles approached. “My lord, how may I help you? Making a deposit, perhaps?”
Stephen scowled. He’d been afraid the visit would be less than pleasant. He’d taken out a loan when he’d returned from India to cover his family’s expenses, and a payment was due shortly.
“Actually, I would like to take a look at the vault. I believe I have an item in safekeeping.”
The bank manager raised his eyebrows and nodded. “What is it, my lord?”
“Something the first Earl of Westman left here,” Josephine provided, and the manager’s eyebrows rose again.
“Is this the lady’s item or yours, my lord?”
Stephen cleared his throat. “Both.”
The clerk’s eyebrows reached new heights. “Here, I have the key.” Stephen extracted it before the man could ask any more questions or think of reasons to protest.
“One moment.” The clerk spent a tense five minutes with another man—perhaps the bank’s senior manager. They consulted a large book, conferred, and the junior manager returned carrying a key to the vault.
“Right this way.” He motioned toward the back of the bank where there was an impressive set of metal doors. A narrow, spiral stairway led to the bottom floor, which housed the vault and the items left for safekeeping.
Stephen bumped into Josephine, and she elbowed him aside, taking the key from his fingers as she did so. “Ladies first, my lord. So kind of you always to remember that.”
Stephen clenched his hands, imagining her pretty white neck between them, and then he followed her through the metal doors the clerk held open for them and locked again as soon as they passed through. Two men stood guard at the bottom of the wrought-iron stairwell, and Stephen looked at them in surprise. They looked more like pirates than guards. One possessed only a single eye.
Ahead of Stephen, the vault was dark and smelled of camphor and old money. The manager paused to unlock the vault’s gate and then motioned them both inside, locking the gate again from the inside. Josephine glanced at him, green eyes shining like a cat’s in the dim light of the lamps. Her excitement was contagious, and Stephen felt his own pulse quicken.
This was it, the end to all his worries, the end to his reputation as a dissolute younger son.
The clerk walked down what seemed to be miles of boxes and doors, each labeled with a small name or number etched in black.
“That’s it,” Josephine said, pointing to what looked like a treasure chest. “That must be it.”
“Do you have the key, my lord?” the bank manager asked.
“I do,” she said and held it up.
“Very good. The chest may only be opened with your key.”
The clerk motioned to the box and looked at Josephine. With trembling fingers, she inserted her key and turned it. She heard the lock creak, and it stuck for just a moment, and then with a creak and a smattering of dust, the lock turned.
With exaggerated solicitousness, the manager stepped away toward the opening to the vault, his back to them.
Stephen met Josephine’s eyes. They were still shining like glorious emeralds. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips were wet and parted, and her breathing was fast and excited. If the clerk hadn’t been only a few feet away, Stephen would have kissed her. She was that irresistible.
Instead, he reached forward and lifted the lid of the chest. It swung on rusty hinges, much in need of an oiling. Something inside gleamed, and Josephine reached for it. But it wasn’t treasure, no gold doubloons. Instead, she pulled out an old haversack, one of her long fingers caressing its gold clasp.
“Shall we open it now?” she whispered.
“Better to wait, I think,” he said. He gave the clerk a pointed look. “Until we’re alone.”
“And when will that be?” she murmured. “I have to attend Catie’s ball tonight.”
“I’ll meet you there,” he whispered. “I’ll bring the sack, and you bring your half of the map. We’ll sneak away and open it together.”
“No!” she hissed. “No, if you take the sack, how do I know what you’ll find inside? I want to open it together.”
“We will. I’ll wait for you.”
She pursed her lips, and he could see the distrust in the crease between her eyebrows. Her eyes were narrow and wary, like a cornered cat’s.
