Lucas’s heart beat wildly in his chest.
At length, the front door creaked open and scraped loudly against the cottage’s dirt floor. A rough male whisper uttered, “You said she’d be here at nine.”
“And she will,” responded Crane’s voice. “Will you relax?”
“‘Relax,’ he says,” grunted the first voice, who could only be Wakes. “They know ’bout the counterfeits, Crane. I’ll not relax ’bout nothin’ ’til this is done.”
“We’ve got no choice but to stay the course, do we?”
Footsteps sounded outside, and then the door rasped open once more.
“What took you so long?” Crane sneered.
“I did m’ best,” a feminine voice hissed. “If ye think it’s so easy t’ sneak these out o’ t’ ’ouse wit’ no one seein’ ya, then ye try it.”
“No sense getting all worked up.” Crane sniffed. “Do you have it all?”
“It’s ’ere. Take it.” Some sort of fabric rustled, and the sound of porcelain clinking captured his attention. “’ere are t’ originals for t’ ones ye brought, and ’ere is t’ next piece for you to replicate.”
“I thought we said no more,” Crane growled. “This stops now.”
“I can make that,” Wakes said after several moments, ignoring Crane’s comment. “I’ll need a drawing.”
Light emanated from the floor below and cast shadows on the ceiling as a candle was lit. Lucas listened intently as Crane outlined the specifics of the piece that would need to be forged—the details of the images. The size of the handles. The thickness of the rim.
Motion caught Lucas’s attention from the corner of his eye. Cunningham gave the signal.
It was time.
Lucas and the constables flooded from the loft, and havoc erupted.
“Listen up!” shouted Cunningham over the confusion. “You are under arrest for larceny and conspiracy to commit fraud.”
Men shouted. Tabitha screamed. Porcelain crashed.
Using all his weight, Lucas rushed into Crane, pushing him back against the wall. The constable named Patterson lunged forward and slammed his fist into Crane’s jaw.
Somehow in the midst of the shuffling and shouting, shoving and heaving, Lucas braced his knee against Crane’s back on the ground, and the constable bound his hands behind his back.
Chest heaving from exertion, Lucas looked over his shoulder to see Wakes in a similar situation.
Then someone shouted, “Where’s the girl?”
***
Olivia paced the damp, dark stable. With each step her boots sank farther into the soggy mud. She grimaced at the strong scent fromthe constables’ horses, which were secured behind her, and rain dripped on her from a hole in the ceiling’s thatch.
She’d agreed, reluctantly, to remain in place. But how could she possibly do that? She’d heard the wagon wheels approach. She’d observed a glow coming from behind the cottage’s thin window covering. She’d heard voices blurred by the night’s wind.
But nothing was happening.
Minutes slid by at such a glacial rate that she completely lost track of time, and frustration at not being included pressed her. Of course she understood Mr.Cunningham’s reasoning behind making her stay in the stable. She was not daft. If the altercation became physical, she had little hope of defending herself against a man. But here in the stables doing nothing, Olivia felt helpless.
She hated it.
Yet in the very same heartbeat, she also knew she wasn’t helpless. What was more, she knew she wasn’t alone. She did have a partner... in Lucas. She trusted him, more than she had trusted anyone since her father. Had he not proven that he believed in her, that he valued her?
Her own reservations were crumbling. Her stubborn desire to become completely self-reliant was diminishing, and in its place blossomed a dream of building a future with Lucas. But even though she cared for him, and she knew he cared for her, she did not want him to fight her battles for her.
