Page 35 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
“I’m relieving Lady Willingham of her rather vulgar diamonds.”
Ellie took a step back. “That’s stealing! I can’t be party to this!”
“It’s justice,” Ambrose countered. “Willingham was Barclay’s second for the duel. He could have denounced Barclay as a cheat, and exonerated me, but instead he kept his mouth shut when Barclay paid him off, and let me be unfairly exiled for years.”
He held a necklace up into a patch of moonlight, where it glittered softly. “This setting is extremely ugly. It doesn’t do the diamonds justice. Lady Willingham can buy something nicer to replace it, and the inhabitants of the Traveler’s Rest will be most appreciative of her generous donation.”
He tucked the jewels back into his coat.
Ellie frowned, torn between wholehearted disapproval and reluctant admiration for his twisted—yet overall commendable—morals. She’d often decried the inequality of wealth in the world, but she’d never done anything quite so drastic about it.
“What areyoudoing here, Harry?” Ambrose asked. “If it’s not breaking rule number four?”
Harry opened his mouth, but the other man raised his hand, exactly as Harry had done to Sergeant Morris.
“Wait! No, don’t tell me! Let me guess. I bet it involves that rather lovely prayer book Willingham has stored in his safe.” He waved toward the darkened study they’d just entered. “Through there.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ellie’s mouth dropped open in shock.
How on earth did Ambrose know about the book?
“Your reputation for omnipotence is as impressive as ever.” Harry grinned. “And yes, you’re right. I’m just surprised you’re not after it yourself.”
“I want nothing to do with it,” Ambrose said. “Willingham’s working for Bonaparte’s brother, Joseph—the one who went over to America. When I paid Willingham a little social visit last week, he actually tried tohire meto travel all the way to Saint Helena and deliver it, in person, to Bonaparte himself!”
“But why?” Ellie asked.
“The emperor thinks it’s his lucky charm, apparently. Joseph’s sure that if the book’s returned, his brother will escape his imprisonment and return to conquer Europe again, just as he did from Elba two years ago.”
Harry sent Ellie a look that clearly saidI told you so.
“That’s extraordinary,” she muttered.
Ambrose shrugged. “People have the strangest fancies. I told Willingham I wasn’t interested. Do you know how far Saint Helena is? Four thousand, seven hundredmiles, give or take. I looked it up on a map. If old Boney was still on Elba, I might consider a nice trip around the Mediterranean, but I’ve no wish to spend weeks at sea, getting tossed around like dice in a cup.”
“So the book is still here?” Harry asked.
“As far as I know. Unless Willingham’s managed to find someone else to deliver it.”
“We’re being paid to return it to the owner, William Bullock.”
Ambrose swept his arm in a gesture for Harry to precede him into the study. “Have at it. Annoying Willingham and thwarting old Boney will combine revenge and patriotism very neatly. I’ll let you discover the safe yourself.”
Harry stepped into the study and peered around while Ellie wished she’d brought her spectacles so she could see better in the dark. It wouldn’t do to light a candle in case someone saw the light beneath the door and came to investigate.
Harry crossed to the glazed bookcases and studied the contents, presumably to see if Willingham had concealed a safe behind a row of books or a wooden panel.
Ellie, however, stopped in front of one of the paintings, a rather indifferent seascape, and inspected it closely. The frame was dusty.
“Willingham clearly doesn’t let the servants come in here often to clean,” she said. “Presumably because he values his privacy. But that’s a mistake, because it means he’s left his finger marks in the dust here, on the frame.”
She pointed at the telltale marks, then reached out and lifted the picture from the wall. A small iron safe was set into the paneling behind it, and her heart gave a triumphant leap. Her father had something very similar in his office at home.
Harry came to stand beside her. “Impressive.”
“Is rule number sevenalways carry a set of lockpicks?” she whispered.