Page 129 of For a Scot's Heart Only

Thomas was tight-lipped and serious about the night’s business. Theclip-clop, clip-clop, clipof horse hooves the only noise. They were west of London’s west end, a veritable wild land for the City’s well-shod residents. No street lamps guided the weary traveler and the stillness, unnerving for a woman about to commit a crime. But she was ready. Dressed in black, her braid properly tucked into her shirt. She looked like a slender man, with her arms around Thomas. His steadiness calmed her, but his silence she could do without.

“You’re imposing in the saddle,” she said. “And you’re a good rider. I think your talents are wasted on the sea.”

He coughed a laugh. “Life at sea is never a waste.”

“Ah, he speaks.”

“I still have my wits about me.”

“I wouldn’t know. You haven’t said much.”

He angled his head to her, his profile etched in the night. “Because you’ve been talking enough for both of us.”

She set her cheek against his back. “Very unlike me. I think it’s your effect.”

“Mary...” He touched her hand under his coat. “If you’re nervous, don’t be.”

“You’re not angry with me?” she asked.

“No. Why would I be?”

She didn’t have a suitable answer, mostly because she was frustrated with their impossible situation.

“I shouldn’t have embroiled you in this,” she said.

“I’m here with you as I should be.”

No, he shouldn’t.

Thomas carried the weight of his family business on his shoulders. West and Sons Shipping employed dozens of men, a number that expanded when whaling season was upon them. Everything he’d done was honest and lawful... until tonight. She wanted to ease his burdens, not add to them. But what could she give him? Her heart was her sole offering, and that organ was breaking, little bits at a time.

“Prepare yourself,” Thomas said. “We’re almost there.”

Ever vigilant, he was scanning their environs. She sat up and took note when the horse turned down a new lane. Small hairs on her nape stood on end. The lane was dark, familiar. The back end of Upper Brooke Street.

“That’s Denton House at the other end,” she said.

“I know it. I rode by when I mapped our escape today.”

Is that what he’d rushed off to do after breakfast?

“My, my, what a thorough criminal you would be.”

Grosvenor Square was the bright jewel ahead, the address of London’s wealthiest denizens. Candle lamps hung from well-equipped carriages crossing the square. People had other places to go. This was good, yet she couldn’t shake her dread.

A white curtain showing through an open window caught her eye.

She pointed to it. “That’s our window.”

“I see it.”

Thomas steered the horse to a nearby tree and leapt from the saddle. She followed him, landing with a softthudon stamped earth. Horses nickered and a stableman’s shushing soothed them. The mews were around the corner.

She froze. Had Lady Denton moved her mews?

Thomas stoically pinched the black scarf around her neck. His scarf was already up over his nose. A nod and she raised hers too. She could hear her heart banging in her ears, the stillness dreadful. Thomas passed a coiled rope to her and crept forward on stealthy feet.

Darkness cloaked them as they approached the window. She craned her neck. Had it always been that high off the ground? Or the tree, that close? Last August she’d parked a dray in this very spot. Anne and Will had climbed through the open window and took the seventeen hundred gold livres hidden in Lady Denton’s study. Part of the Lost Treasure of Arkaig. But this time, they didn’t have the advantage of climbing onto a tall dray to reach the window.