It made him want to offer her more. If not his heart, then at least his name. To do that, he first needed to get to the bottom of the hellfire.
He found De Witt’s study at the end of the hall. Closing the door behind him, he lit a lamp, shadows flickering over the bookcases as he headed to the large desk. He scanned the leather blotter: a tray of writing implements, green glass paperweight, and stack of correspondence. Sifting through the mail, he paused at the cream and gilt card.
An invitation to the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville’s masquerade three days hence.
The De Witts were fixtures in Society, and it wouldn’t be unusual for them to be rubbing shoulders with thecrème de la crème. Yet finding a connection between Ransom and the suspect was an odd coincidence, one that didn’t sit well in Harry’s gut. For now, he tucked the fact away.
With the help of his picks, he bypassed the locks on the drawers and sorted through papers and ledgers. Nothing there. Frustrated, Harry shut the last notebook. He’d found naught of use, nothing to tie De Witt to the hellfire.
There has to be more. I know that cunning bastard is behind this. If I were him, where would I keep the evidence of my nefarious activities?
He surveyed the room for possible hiding places. Moving along the bookcase-lined wall, he removed volumes at random, rapping his knuckles against the wood. On his third try, a hollow resonance made his ears perk, his pulse accelerating. There was an empty space behind that bookcase—an antechamber, perhaps? But how to get in?
He pushed the bookshelf; it didn’t budge. Some mechanism must be locking it in place. He examined it, inch by inch, and didn’t find any hidden levers. From another room, a clock chimed midnight; he couldn’t afford to dally. As he weighed the pros and cons of removing the barrier with a mild explosive (not subtle but effective), the door opened.
He pivoted, his hand plunging into his greatcoat pocket. He whipped out his pistol, aimed it at the figure emerging through the door.
“Don’t shoot, Bennett,” came the familiar, feminine voice. “It’s me.”
“Tessa?” He stared at her trouser-clad figure in disbelief. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Shh,or you’ll wake the house.” Beneath her cap, her eyes were huge. “I’m here to help you.”
“Goddamnit.” His shock turned into pure rage. “You gave me yourwordthat you’d stay put.”
“I know I did, but I got so worried that I couldn’t just sit there and wait. And I only intended to keep watch for you,” she rushed on. “Then I saw suspicious characterslurking outside. Three of them, I counted, and they have the shifty look of Peel’s Bloody Gang.” Her mouth curled in disgust. “They’re not in uniform, but you know how those spying bastards work. De Witt probably greased their palms to watch his lair.”
If Harry wasn’t so infuriated, he might have been impressed with her surveillance skills. She’d only missed on one point: it wasn’t De Witt who was responsible for the watch, but Harry. Ambrose and his partners, Lugo and McLeod, were keeping a lookout for him. The three men had whistles that made a distinctive sound like a gull’s call, and they were to sound a warning if the De Witts returned unexpectedly.
Harry hadn’t heard any whistles going off, which meant that Tessa had somehow got by the seasoned investigators. And he couldn’t tell her about Ambrose without revealing his own identity.
Leashing his anger, he bit out, “How did you get past them?”
“Child’s play.” She made no effort to appear modest. “I gave a crossing sweep a guinea to create a distraction. You know, the pretend-to-get-hit-by-a-carriage trick? Works every time. The Peelers were so busy helping the lad that I snuck right by them and into the house.”
Bloody hell. Looking at her beaming face, he didn’t know whether to shout at her for risking her neck or congratulate her for duping three experienced investigators. Since they were in the middle of breaking into a house, he could do neither, and his fury mounted to a dangerous degree.
There was a wriggling in her jacket. Swift Nick poked his head out to hiss at Harry.
She quickly pushed the ferret back into her pocket. “Hush, Swift Nick. We’re in the middle of a break-in.”
Harry breathed through his nose, his hands bracing his hips as he strove to control his temper.
She peered up at him through her lashes. “Are you, um, angry?”
With Herculean effort, he wrestled his emotions into place. Forced himself to focus on what he needed to do. He would deal with the lying chit in due course.
“We’ll discuss that later,” he said coldly. “Time is of essence. There’s an antechamber behind that bookcase, and I’m trying to find the mechanism to open it.”
Even in the dimness, he could see her eyes light up. “Let me have a look.”
She dashed to the bookcase, repeating his earlier actions. “Hmm, there’s no obvious switch.”
“I know that.” Impatiently, he surveyed the room. “It’s likely hidden in the study somewhere.”
“If it was me, I’d want it in a convenient place. The desk, perhaps?” She trotted over, started rifling through the stack of papers. Brows lifted, she held up the invitation he’d seen earlier. “The De Witts move in Ransom’s circles?”
“Apparently,” he said. “Leave everything as you found it. We don’t want to raise suspicions.”
