As he swung into the corridor leading to the workroom, he spied a swath of golden light pouring out the door. Good. She was hard at work. Once this lot sold and Sanjay was taken care of, he’d see that she received extra payment for being so diligent.
“Miss Dalton, I—”
“Oh!” She slapped a hand to her chest, gasping.
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He pulled a chair beside her, alarmed to note the paleness of her skin. Odd that this plucky woman would suffer such a fright from a mere casual entrance. He peered at her closely. “Are you all right?”
She pasted on a brave smile yet fidgeted with her pen. “Never better, now that I know it’s only you in the room with me.”
“Who else would be here?”
“Exactly what I’d like to know.”
He narrowed his eyes. “A puzzling response. Care to expand?”
She nibbled her lower lip, scanning the room, yet she said nothing.
“Miss Dalton?”
She snapped her gaze back to him. “Oh, don’t mind me. One too many hieroglyphics swimming about in here.” She tapped the side of her forehead. “But what are you doing up at this late hour?”
“Looking for you. I was hoping you might help me with something.”
“How can I be of service?”
He pushed the notepad across the tabletop toward her. “I realize you’re busy with notating your own work, but I wondered if you’d like a break from detailing pottery shards and amulets to take dictation from me.”
“You wish me to play secretary”—she shot a pointed lookat the wall clock, then arched a brow his way—“at this time of night?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. I have a meeting with the viscount tomorrow and won’t sleep a wink if I don’t capture my thoughts on paper.”
She studied him for a long moment. “Why not simply write them yourself?”
He shoved back his chair, uneasy with that all-seeing gaze of hers. He couldn’t answer such a question. Not honestly, at any rate. Yet neither would he lie. So how to skate on the thin ice of grey without breaking through to black or white? She’d made it very clear she despised deception—as did he—but the last time he’d confessed his shortcoming to a woman, he’d been humiliated.
“I, em...” He strolled a few paces, thinking hard, then doubled back. “Well, to be frank, I find it easier to think aloud and allow someone else to capture my words, else I am prone to losing my train of thought.”
“And you don’t mind sharing those thoughts with me?”
Ah, but he’d share far more than that with her if he could.
He cleared his throat, banishing the rogue desire. “You’ve proven yourself a woman of integrity. I highly doubt you’ll leak my political platform to the press tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t, but even so, I ought not be privy to such confidential information. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather write this yourself?”
“Completely certain.”
She dipped her pen into the ink and held it poised above the paper. “Then let us begin.”
Relief eased some of the tension in his shoulders but not all.
He still felt like a cad for not being completely honest with her.
Brudge whumped to the ground flat on his back, gasping for air like a landed halibut. Why must manor homes such as PriceHouse always be guarded by the requisite stone wall? Was it some sort of code amongst the wealthy? A status symbol? Or was it just a way to annoy honest thieves like himself?
After a few more breaths, he staggered to his feet. Oof. He was getting way too old for such rough-and-tumble jobs like this one. If Scupper were here, the tall oaf could’ve caught him, or at least broken his fall. But that whiner still moaned like a nursling in nappies about his sore teeth. Big baby. At this rate, they’d never get their hands on that statue.
Unless he was successful tonight.
