“Of course.”
Mishra quickly folded the paper and tucked it into a pocket of his trousers. Then he looked back to Phin with a sharp, earnest expression. “This must be handled carefully. Who else knows you have this?”
“Just the two of us and the man who sent it to me. At least…as far as I know.”
Mishra nodded, his expression firm, then he quickly ushered Phin back through the shop. Opening the front door, he glanced out over the lane before nodding.
Amused by the man’s dramatic response, Phineas smiled as he stepped outside. But when he turned back, intending to ask when he might expect to hear from him, the door was firmly closed in his face. Then he heard the lock turn as Mishra closed the shop. In the middle of the day.
*
Phineas reassessed hisassumption that Mishra was being unnecessarily cautious when he returned home to discover his private rooms had been ransacked. That someone had dared to breach his home in the light of day and none of his household had even been aware of the break-in, suggested the thieves were highly experienced professionals.
As he wandered through the colossal mess that had been made of his bedroom, adjoining sitting room, and personal study, he noted how the would-be thieves had not bothered to conceal the evidence of their attempt. His possessions were tossed about in a disastrous mess.
And yet…a cursory assessment suggested that they hadn’t actually taken anything. His collection of exquisite rare books remained practically untouched. He didn’t possess much in terms of jewels or other valuable accoutrements, but what he did have was all still there. Even the handful of gold coins he’d left scattered on his valet stand was undisturbed.
Not just some random burglary, then.
A targeted search. And a warning, perhaps.
With a scowl, he returned to his bedroom and strode directly to the decorative trunk that sat at the foot of his bed. It was one of the first things he’d purchased for himself during his grand tour as a young man—the traditional journey of maturation and exploration that had inspired his insatiable wanderlust.
Large enough to easily fit a grown man inside, the trunk had traveled with him over endless lands, through dozens of countries and nearly every continent. Withdrawing his beloved knife from his boot, he lowered to a knee, but he didn’t bother opening the lid. He could already see that the valuable textiles he kept inside had been tossed to the floor in handfuls and heaps. Instead, he trailed his fingertips gently over the elaborately carved motifs that adorned the lid until he reached the corner where a talented craftsman had carved a cluster of oak leaves and acorns. With the tip of his knife, he—gently and very carefully so as not to leave even the slightest bit of scarring on the wood—pried loose one of the leaves and palmed it in his hand.
Returning the knife to his boot, he stalked back to his personal study where he sat at his desk and reached for the wooden cigar box he kept off to one side. It was also carved with oak leaves and acorns in a style that perfectly matched the trunk. When he opened the box the scent of tobacco drifted into the air. The cigars were nestled neatly within. With a soft hum of satisfaction, he closed the box again and tipped it upside down, resting it on its lid. On the bottom was a small, oddly-shaped notch in the corner. A notch that perfectly fit the stem of his carved oak leaf, and which, when the leaf was turned, caused a soft click as the bottom of the box sprung gently open.
Nestled within a bed of cushioned velvet was a large jewelry box. Though he was relieved to see the box where it should be, Phin was not fully satisfied. Setting the box on the desk, he opened it to ensure its contents were undisturbed. The glint and glimmer of dozens ofjewels set in the most delicate gold met his eyes. A sigh slid from his lungs as the tension he’d been holding since returning home slipped free.
With a reverent hand, he lifted the necklace into his hands. The weight was beginning to feel familiar. And though he could’ve sat there admiring the piece for hours more, he quickly assured himself it had not been tampered with in any way before returning it to the box and the box to its hiding place. When the bottom was resecured, he turned the cigar box upright and gave a gentle shake. There was no odd shifting or subtle sound to suggest the box held anything but cigars.
Finally satisfied, Phin returned it into its usual position on the corner of his desk then leaned back in his chair. Narrowing his eyes as though he could see through the wood to the necklace of gold and jewels nestled within, he sighed.
Then, he tilted his head as a slow smile curved his mouth. “You’re going to be a bit of trouble, aren’t you?” he murmured warmly.
It was extremely likely that whoever had ransacked his rooms had been looking for the necklace. It seemed Barnaby’s warning had been more a bit of foresight. That the attempt to steal the necklace had occurred so soon after it landed in Phin’s hands was alarming. Had the burglars chased the necklace all the way from India? Or was there someone in London who’d been anticipating its arrival?
He’d need to speak with Iago about implementing the proper measures to ensure any future attempts at finding and stealing the necklace remained unsuccessful. But if he was to effectively protect the artifact, he’d need to know more about it…and those who might be after it.
Hopefully, Mishra would be able to shed some light on the issue.
Chapter Six
Eleanor sat stifflyin the carriage as it rolled back through town to her parents’ house in Mayfair. Her mouth was pressed into a firm line and her brow was furrowed over her gaze in an expression of frustration and displeasure she typically only allowed herself in moments of solitude.
Just when she’d thought she might have gotten some control over her social discomfort, she had to encounter a man who made it worse. Why did his presence—his focused stare and easy smile—trigger such a deep and strange new panic inside her? Why did she feel so exposed under his gaze? And why—despite all of that—did she find him so intriguing?
Glancing down at her gloved hands where they linked tightly in her lap, she wished again, as she had so many times before, that she didn’t struggle so much with things others managed so easily. If only she could be as comfortable around people as Bridget, who adored casual encounters with strangers and had never met anyone she couldn’t instantly charm. If only she weren’t so easily intimidated by basic conversation. If only the Viscount Waring didn’t have such an intense and unusual effect upon her.
If only…she were someone else entirely.
She sighed.
It was not the first she wished fervently that she could’ve been someone who wasn’t expected since birth tobesomuch by so many people. Someone free to find their own purpose.
Someone bolder, more confident. More witty and poised and naturally amiable.
Someone…a bit more like the viscount himself.
