One detail wasn’t adding up to her, however, and she mulled over it as she walked silently down the quiet street.
If Wessix were indeed as impeccably clean and paranoid as Emerson — Blueberry — had suggested, then why had he been able to cope with the rather unsanitary conditions of the pub that evening? Those details often sorted themselves out eventually, but she filed it in the back of her mind for a later dissection of facts.
The gate of the Burberry estate was closed, but it was of no consequence. With a quick search, she withdrew a hairpin from her coiffure, and made quick work of the simple lock.
Truly, locks only worked on keeping the honest in and the dull out. Any thief worth his salt should be able to pick a lock, especially one as simple as that. She’d have to mention it to Blueberry. In fact, it didn’t bode well for her opinion of him that he hadn’t taken notice already.
If she had a gate, it would be with a lock that didn’t need a key…
But a combination.
One can pick locks. It was much harder to pick one’s brain.
The gravel path was loud, so she took to the silent grass as she made her way around the back of the stone building. Several lights shined from the rooms, while even more were darkened, pointing to the area where Blueberry might be residing. She noted that one wing of the house was completely dark, and only the third-floor rooms held any semblance of light, so she made her decision to start there. A servants’ entrance was easy to find, and to her disappointment, it wasn’t even locked.
Had the man no sense of self-preservation? What if she had ulterior motives? Wanted to steal the silver? She shook her head in disapprobation. The stairs were dark with one lone candle sputtering on a ledge from the second floor as she followed the light. The house was silent, as if everyone were already in bed — including the servants. Perhaps it was indicative of the places she visited where the servants and the people never really slept. Always on guard, always aware… What would it be like to simply be at peace? To not sleep with one eye open or one hand on the trigger? To simply… rest.
She hadn’t realized what a luxury it was until it was gone. A moment’s hesitation had her foot hovering above the last step to the third floor. But no, this couldn’t wait till morning. She silently opened the door and peeked out into the hall. Seeing no one, she moved with soft steps into the carpeted passageway, her gaze darting from said hallway to the next place where she could duck in and hide should she hear or see something.
Several doors lined the hall, but none spilled light onto the red carpet till the last door on the left before the hall ended in a main stairway. A shuffling noise alerted her, and she all but relaxed as she walked toward the door. Peeking around the edge, she noted the way Emerson’s brows were furrowed as he scribbled something on parchment. His broad shoulders were impossibly large as he nearly loomed over the antique desk. His light hair reflected the glow of the candles, giving it almost a fire-like quality that gave her pause.
He was quite beautiful, for a man.
Poor bastard was utterly clueless as well. But she could remedy that.
“Evening.” She gave as a greeting as she walked into the room. She had anticipated three reactions, and he’d given her all three at once.
One. She expected him to leap to his feet.
Two. She assumed he’d draw the pistol he kept in his drawer to the left.
Three. He’d aim, swear, and then growl some nonsense about the hour.
She was only disappointed on one count.
The gun had been in the right-hand drawer.
Odd. She could have sworn he was left-handed.
“Now that we’ve done with the niceties… ” She smiled. “…I thought you were left-handed?”
“Am I to expect this on a regular basis?” he asked, his tone only slightly above a growl.
“When it’s important, yes.”
“And my left- or right-handedness is important?” he asked with some sarcasm.
“Not at the moment, but I am curious. I rather thought your pistol would be in the other drawer.”
“How did you know—”
“This is why I stopped you when you called yourself brilliant.” She held up a hand to halt him.
If looks could injure, she’d be black and blue. It was quite amusing.
“I can shoot with either, but I find that most anticipate my dominate hand so assume I’d go that direction. It’s a mode of defense to be able to use the hand less expected.”
Jaxsen nodded. “Well done. I’m impressed. It takes excessive discipline to be accurate with both.”
