“But you think he’d take me to his bed?”
Ashley laughed again. “He’s a man, isn’t he, and a rake at that.”
“A reformed rake, now that he’s the earl,” Josie added.
“A rake is a rake is a rake.” Ashley stood. “How’s that for poetry?”
“Horrible.”
“It’s the best I can do on short notice, and now, I’m going home.”
“And I’m going to call on my good neighbor, Lord Westman. Sure you don’t want to come along? I think between the two of us, we could figure out a way to get from this window into that.” She pointed at the Westman’s town house again.
“Not tonight. But give the earl a kiss for me.”
Josie watched with annoyance as Ashley opened the door and went out. Now what was she supposed to do? She’d been counting on Ashley to give her courage.
Josie sighed. Some pirate she was. Afraid of heights. Afraid to steal a map that was rightfully hers to begin with. Her grandfather would have been mightily disappointed.
Josie parted the curtains again. It was evening now, and her mother would be sitting down to tea before long. Westman’s window was dark. He’d probably gone out for the evening. Josie smiled.
“Grandfather,” she whispered, easing the window open. “This one is for you.”
Chapter Two
Stephen put his head in his hands. The worry and the fear and the feeling of impotence twisted around themselves and clenched his gut.
The feelings were so knotted up, he had no hope of untangling them.
His feelings were not unlike the ledgers, bank statements, and assorted investment documents spread on the desk before him.
Reaching across the desk, Stephen lifted the decanter and poured a full glass of brandy. It was going to be a long night, and before he even began adding profits and subtracting debts, he knew the final sum.
His family was deeply in debt. And he’d helped put them there.
Stephen sipped the brandy, closed his eyes, and fingered the papers detailing his recent investments. Very profitable investments. Five years working with the East India Company had taught him something of business. Stephen was going to repay all he’d lost and more.
Maharajah stood and growled, the hackles on his neck rising into a spiky collar. Stephen opened his eyes to see what had roused the dog who had been sitting so patiently beside him all afternoon, but the room had grown dark without him realizing it. He hadn’t thought to light a lamp or a taper, and now he could see little more than the familiar shadows.
But Maharajah was growling at something. The dog let out a small yip, and Stephen closed his hand on Maharajah’s fur. “Quiet, boy,” he murmured. Without the benefit of his sight, Stephen strained to hear and was rewarded with the sound of something scraping against the outside of the house.
Rising and moving toward the window, Stephen used the stealth techniques he’d learned from trackers in India. He moved silently and steadily while his thoughts flew. What was out there? A thief? With the rampant crime in London nowadays, it shouldn’t surprise him that the thieves were so brave as to attempt to enter private residences in Mayfair. The house was not terraced, which made the exterior more vulnerable, but there was a gate around the perimeter, and no one had ever attempted to breach it before.
He’d sent his housekeeper away earlier when she’d tried to bring him tea, so the library curtains were open, exposing the window and the room to the night. Stephen stared at the window and blinked when a hand appeared at the glass. Bloody hell. Someone was attempting to break in.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he glanced around the room for some sort of weapon. There was a pistol in the drawer, but it would take too much time to go back to the desk, unlock the drawer, and extract the piece. Instead, he hefted a solid candlestick.
Ducking down, he moved to a place beside the draperies, crouching in the shadows just as the thief managed to slide the window up. Stephen stared in disbelief. No wonder thieves were targeting Mayfair. Even his own windows weren’t locked. Talk about an open invitation.
Stephen heard a faint, “Yes!” from outside and deduced that the thief was pleased by his good fortune as well. Not for long.
There was the sound of boots scraping against the exterior. As Stephen watched, the thief hooked one arm inside the casement then thrust a leg inside. Stephen raised the candlestick and prepared to strike. His other hand was clamped on Maharajah’s muzzle, but the dog, though tense, was silent. Even the animal appeared to understand the importance of surprise in this case. Every instinct in Stephen wanted to move now, but he held himself in check.
Move too soon, and the thief would escape the way he’d come in. That would not do. Stephen intended to catch the man.
The thief’s foot touched the floor, and then he swung his head inside, crouched low to fit his shoulders, and pulled the other leg over. Both feet on the floor, the thief stood still for a moment, surveying the room. Stephen frowned. Why, the thief was just a child, far too small and slim to be a man.
Stephen raised the candlestick but hesitated. How could he hit a child?
