“If I’m to get the diary, what were you getting?”
Chase gave him his profile and they both stopped to listen.
“In the locked wing, Claystone has a study. In there is something of value to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. That’s all you need to know.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s a small chest. It has a lion’s head stamped into the leather. You’ll know it instantly.”
Sam shook his head. “She is unbelievable.”
“Granted. But she’s hardly the villainess you think she is.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Why would I lie?”
“For your own gain. How do I know you’re not setting a trap?”
Chase folded his arms. “You don’t. If you’d like to leave, go. I like working alone, anyhow. But fetching the diary is your job. Mine is the chest.”
“So, your offer to help was a ruse.”
“Yes. Obviously. Let’s get on with it, shall we? Or would you like to tuck tail and run?”
Sam had never wanted to hurt a man more than he did Tristan Chase. He should have known better than to trust him.
“Unlatch the gate. I’ll create a distraction to lure the guards and dogs. You make for the wall as soon as it’s clear.” He handed Sam a tool. “To force open the lock.”
“What if you’re caught? What then?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just get yourself out of the house.”
Sam felt a pang of worry, which he shouldn’t. Not for this sly rat.
“How precisely am I to getoutof the house?”
“Improvise. This plan has gone to hell. Get what you need and get out. Here.” He unwound the scarf around his neck. “Keep that pretty face covered. You’ll be easy to identify.”
Sam wound the scarf tightly, his heart pounding as he thought about what would happen if he scaled that wall and fell.
“Get ready.” Chase faded into the darkness with an unnatural silence. Sam checked to make sure he couldn’t be seen and turned back to the gate, unlatching it and jamming a stick under the gate to keep it from swinging closed again. Then he followed the wall to the side of the house. Wet leaves and branches hooked on his clothing, but he kept his pace slow and careful. He couldn’t see the guards or the dogs.
Some twigs snapped, filling the darkness and Sam froze. It hadn’t come from him, but somewhere on the other side of the gazebo.
The dogs bayed in alarm. The huffing and swearing of the two men were moving away from Sam. Sam waited a moment more and then darted between shrubs to get to the main path. He reached the back of the house, putting his foot on an ivy-threaded trellis. The thin wood groaned under his weight. Sam began to climb. Every time he reached with his left arm, he clenched his teeth. He’d made it past the ground floor and was nearing a window on the first floor. There was the low light from an oil lamp shining through the curtains and Sam could hear the voices of many people. He kept climbing, the damp leaves and trellis squeaking as he went. By the time he reached the second floor, he was drenched in sweat and rain water, and each breath felt like he was breathing glass from his left side only. He cameto a wider stone ledge—a window ledge—and tried to grip it with wet hands.
“I’ll bloody kill you next time I set eyes on you, Chase.”
The trellis wobbled, and Sam was certain it was going to break away from the brick. Sam chanced a look down, his heart stalling. A black shadow climbed up below him with unnatural speed.
“What are you waiting for?” Chase whispered.
Sam cursed the heavens as he fished the tool out of his pocket and jammed it under the sill where he could only guess the lock was, hoping this house was like his own estate.
The wood creaked below him, but the window wouldn’t budge.
“Wiggle, then push with the butt of your hand.”
