Page 9 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock (The Rogue’s Alliance #3)

“P erhaps I should steal the clock,” Bones said from the coach’s driver’s box as Cecil exited the conveyance.

He shook his head. “If noticed, I would be able to explain why I’m lurking on this street. You could not.”

“An excellent point, my lord.”

Cecil walked from Brook Street, where he’d left his carriage, to Grosvenor Square. The square was quiet this time of night, with most members of the ton attending entertainments of the marriage mart.

The moon was full, the newly installed gas street lamps glowing in the semi-darkness. He walked along until he was at one end of the square and the entrance to the mews. It was lucky that Carstairs was the second townhouse in from the corner.

Cecil slid along the wall behind the first back garden. Everything was quiet. He continued along, encountering no stable workers. When he reached the coach house behind Louisa’s abode, he could hear snoring within the building. His good fortune was holding.

He accessed the rear garden through a gate and found a pair of terrace doors unlocked. He wouldn’t have to find a way to tell Louisa her family needed to be more security conscious- they would determine that once she discovered her clock missing later that evening.

Cecil entered a smallish reception room and stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the low light. The door to the room was open, and he crept forward, hearing no sounds around him.

Bones had described the configuration of Carstairs gleaned from conversations with a footman who’d wanted to impress him with the scope of his employer’s residence. It was common for servants to be prideful of their employers’ wealth and social standing.

Cecil entered a corridor, and to his left was the servant staircase. He mounted the stairs slowly, hoping the steps wouldn’t creak. His luck still held, and he arrived at Louisa’s bedchamber door undetected.

He heard a throaty chuckle somewhere down the corridor; it sounded as if a woman was enjoying her evening. He quickly opened Louisa's bedchamber door and slipped inside. As he moved forward, he heard a gasp.

“Oh my!” The husky voice was Lady Louisa.

Rushing to the bed, Cecil placed a hand gently over the mouth of the lady, breathing deeply of her signature scent of citrus and light musk.

Their eyes met in the gloom, her expression defiant. After Cecil spoke to her, she attempted to bite him. He held back a chuckle- if he laughed at her, she might do worse.

He released the lady, and while she lit a candle, he had a moment to take in her appearance. Her hair had come loose from whatever arrangement it had been in. Lustrous copper waves shone in the candlelight. Her lips were plumper than he remembered, her color high; she looked delightful. He shook himself. He needed to remember why he was in her bedchamber.

Surprise at finding Louisa at home could be the only reason he’d mentioned his brother. He should have lied and said he merely wanted the clock as he couldn't accept that she had won it from him.

He must tread carefully. Edith wouldn’t forgive him if something were to happen to her friend that he could have prevented. He didn’t think Nathaniel would either.

“Your brother knew about the clock?”

Her question dragged him out of his reverie.

“He did.” He was not going to discuss his brother’s death.

“It’s one of a pair,” Louisa explained.

Cecil nodded. “That is the legend.”

“You can’t solve the riddle without both clocks.”

She had him there.

“I had hoped that examining the clock more closely would lead to a clue about the whereabouts of the other clock.” He paused. “Or that your clock would give me enough information to guess the identity of a man who founded the RA.”

“And if I reported the clock stolen, the Rogue’s Alliance would look elsewhere for it?”

He nodded.

“You want me to give you the clock, I suppose.”

“Exactly,” he replied smoothly.

The lady raised her chin. “Why should I? I have five male family members in this house, plus numerous servants. I’m safe in my own home.”

“Do you remember hearing about the murder of Lady Sandhurst’s maid? The young woman was killed in a house full of servants in the middle of the day.”

The story of the murdered maid seemed to take the wind out of Louisa’s sails. The lady was quiet for several moments, the ticking clock on her end table the only sound in the room.

“I could tell my parents the clock was stolen,” she finally replied. “I will hide it elsewhere in the house after you leave my bedchamber.”

He wasn’t surprised that she would fight him on the matter.

“I could take the clock,” he said softly.

She lowered her chin and glared at him. “I could scream.”

They looked at one another for several moments. Louisa was as stubborn as he. He felt his lips curl into a reluctant smile. “You won’t let me leave the house with your clock?”

She shook her head.

“How am I to examine it? Shall I stay in your bedchamber a while longer?” The intimacy in his voice took him aback. She was the last woman he would flirt with.

“You are to visit Carstairs on the morrow.” Her cheeks had turned rosy. “I will let on that I’m disappointed in the clock and that the bloom is decidedly off the rose.”

He frowned. “Leopold won’t let me in the house. And if he did, I would need a chaperone we could trust.”

“Bring along Edith,” she suggested with a wave of one hand. “I mean to tell her about this meeting anyway.”

“And what about Leopold?” He raised a brow.

“I’m curious as to why he dislikes you so. He has never mentioned you.”

His lips curled. “He wouldn’t.”

“So you must tell me.” She sat forward on the edge of the bed, her exotic scent reaching out to him.

He didn’t know what harm it would do to explain why he thought Leopold disliked him. “Are you familiar with the Honourable Sophie James?”

She nodded. “Lord Sidmouth’s daughter.”

“Your brother was enamored of the lady some years ago, during her first season. She preferred me.”

“That is all?” Her eyebrows knitted.

“She called him ‘spots,’ and for some reason, he thought the nickname originated with me.”

“My brother did have spots, as I recall.” She paused. “There has to be more to his animosity toward you.”

“He wasn’t happy I had no interest in the lady he thought so highly of. She was, and still is, a feather head.”

The lady across from him chuckled. “I hate to agree with you, but you’re correct. Beautiful but brainless.”

Cecil suppressed a grin. Being alone with the lady was having a strange effect on him. He sobered. “If you retain possession of the clock, you and your family may be in danger.”

“I will think about how I want to proceed,” she replied calmly. “Call on me tomorrow.”

“Is that your final word?” he asked in clipped tones.

“It is, Lord Wycliffe.” She rose to her feet, brushed by his chair, and walked to the door of her room.

He stood up. “My employee, Mr. Bones, will watch the house while you are in possession of the clock.”

“And has he been doing so before now?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

“He has.”

Cecil thought she looked more pleased than irritated by the idea, but he didn’t understand why.

“The terrace doors downstairs are unlocked, and your groom is asleep in the mews. Neither bodes well for your safety.” He bowed. “I’ll take my leave now. Good evening, Lady Louisa.”

* * * * *

L ouisa waited several minutes before slipping out of her bedchamber and going downstairs to the drawing room. She locked the doors to the terrace and then returned to her bedchamber.

She spied her reflection in the Cheval mirror in her dressing room as she entered the space, candlestick in hand.

Her hair was down and curling in riotous abandon about her shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright. Louisa smiled softly at her reflection, raising fingertips to her mouth where Lord Wycliffe’s hand had rested.

She placed the candle on her dressing table, sat on the matching bench, and removed her stockings and garters. Lucy would grumble about her crushed dress, but there was no way Louisa could get her dress off alone. It was too early in the evening for her to ask the assistance of another maid without explaining why she was at home. She thought of the extra pair of hands that had been in her room moments before and blushed.

Returning to her bedchamber, she blew out her candle, pulled back the coverlet on her bed, and crawled under it.

Louisa squinted through the darkness at her clock. Lord Wycliffe hadn’t examined it at all before he left her room. Perhaps he’d been so shocked at her being in her bedchamber that she had rattled him. She smiled. It was nice to imagine that she had sent Cecil's world spinning, perhaps affected the viscount's equilibrium as he'd affected hers.

Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep, her thoughts returning again and again to what it had felt like being touched by the viscount, how it had felt being alone with him.

Lord Wycliffe would call on her tomorrow with Edith in tow. How much would Nathaniel tell Edith? The viscount must surely know that she would tell Edith everything she'd learned tonight.

As for her brothers and parents, she didn't want them to comprehend the significance of her clock. At the very least, her father would make her get rid of the timepiece. Another consequence might be her removal to the countryside, without the clock, for her safety.

Although it couldn't be helped, Leopold would not be happy with Lord Wycliffe visiting the house. Such a visit might arouse his suspicions. She would have to set the stage for her disenchantment with the clock at breakfast tomorrow.

Louisa had expected a timepiece with obvious clues to the riddle, so it might not be too difficult to convince her family of her disappointment.

Closing her eyes, she realized her stomach discomfort had disappeared. Now the only thing keeping her awake was the memory of being alone with Lord Wycliffe in her bedchamber.