“If he doesn’t,” I said, “I’ll find another way. A house this size will have service stairs.”
Nicky glanced around, ensuring we were still alone. “When you’re finished, come back. I’ll be here waiting for you. We’ll leave together.”
The promise carried more weight than reassurance.
I inclined my head. No more was required.
The staircase rose before me, broad and well lit, its banister worn smooth by generations of hands. I mounted it steadily, neither rushing nor lingering, forcing my breathing into an even rhythm. With each step, the noise below thinned, dissolving into a distant hum.
On the first floor, I made a show of drifting in and out of rooms, lingering just long enough to appear aimless. Only then did I continue upward to the second floor, which opened onto a wide landing devoid of laughter, voices, or music.
The guard stood precisely where Nicky had said he would. Tall, gruff, and unshaven, his broad-shouldered build ensured no one would get past him. “Guests are not permitted on this floor.”
“Oh, please, sir,” I said, pitching my voice into mild distress. “I’m in desperate need of the facilities. The lower floors are quite occupied, and I fear that if I don’t?—”
His gaze swept over me with unconcealed disdain. “Females.”
I shifted from foot to foot. “Please. Take pity on me.”
He hesitated only a moment before jerking his chin toward the right, where a narrow door stood at the far end of the corridor.
“There,” he said. “Do not go farther. And do not take all night.”
“Thank you,” I replied, already moving, and hurried toward the door he had indicated.
The lavatory was small and plainly appointed, clearly meant for servants rather than guests. A single window stood above the basin, cracked open for air. I crossed to it and lifted it fully.
The river lay some distance away, the barges we had arrived in barely discernible even beneath the full moon. Steele would be approaching from that direction. The plan he and Finch had devised the day before placed me in the least danger.
I was to find an open window and signal with my scarlet cape. Once done, I would descend to the ground floor and, together with Nicky, leave the house. One of Finch’s associates would be watching for us and take us to their rendezvous point.
I followed the plan to the letter. After retrieving Cosmos’s pistol from the cape’s hidden pocket, I drew the fabric free and waved it out the window. Once. Twice. Three times. Our agreed upon signal.
Satisfied, I restored everything to rights and opened the door.
A man stood there. Half masked. In costume. Close enough that escape was impossible.
He regarded me for a moment longer than courtesy required, his head tilting slightly, as though adjusting his view.
“Lady Rosalynd,” he said at last. His voice was smooth, cultured. Amused. “What a surprise.” But then his mouth curved, slow and deliberate. “And yet,” he added, “it should not have been.”
My pulse skidded. There was something unsettlingly familiar in the cut of his features, in the intelligent coolness of his gaze—an echo I could not quite place.
“Are we acquainted, sir?”
“We have never met,” he said lightly. “But I know you.” His gaze lingered now, openly assessing, as though the mask granted him license. “Your reputation precedes you. You have a remarkable talent for inserting yourself into…unfortunate affairs.”
The smile returned, sharper this time. Interested. Far too intent.
“I had plans for you, Lady Rosalynd.” He reached out, and before I could step back, his fingers caught a loose curl, winding it around his finger with infuriating familiarity.
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “How very inconvenient,” he murmured, “to find myself fascinated by you.”
A man appeared by his side, as if materialized out of thin air. He was built like the guard—hard-eyed, watchful, dressed for purpose rather than display.
“The carriage is at the ready, Master,” he said. “The horses are at their traces.”
The man before me did not immediately respond. His gaze lingered on my face too long. “We have a complication, Jenkins.”
