Page 93 of The Scot Who Loved Me

“Not someone more elevated? Such as a Greek god?”

“Well...if that’s the direction you’re going, then Apollo. Sun, light, and all that male beauty,” his cousin said archly.

“I was thinking Hades.”

Cecelia hummed thoughtfully. “The Underworld? Perhaps it’s all that black and gold he’s wearing.”

“No. It’s not the black and gold. It’s the manwithin.” She smiled softly. “Hades was leader of the unseen, but tonight, he will be seen. Tonight, he leaves his mark.”

His cousin’s gaze sewed a line from him to Anne. A perceptive woman, she knew their history and understood the current running deeply. Where it landed was anyone’s guess, though he had a certain destination in mind.

Their carriage rolled forward and Cecelia checked the window. “That was fast. We’re already third in line.” She fussed with her gloves. “Do we all remember what we’re doing?”

“Looking at paintings and drinking champagne,” he said.

“Not too much champagne,” Cecelia cautioned. “And whatever you do,do notdrink the red wine.”

“We know. We’ve been through this a thousand times.” Anne reached for Cecelia’s glove-worrying hand. “We’ll be fine. When the countess checks on the herd of guests gathering in the retiring rooms, that’s our cue. Will and I will go to the study and get our gold.”

In a matter of minutes, Cecelia would signal their arrival to Aunt Flora, who had been in the Countess of Denton’s kitchen since noon. Aunt Flora would add drops of a stomach-upsetting tincture in red wine, which footmen would serve on shiny silver trays. Aunt Maude, who was working the retiring room, would tell a footman to alert the countess about the growing, indelicate situation. The threat of her event going awry would impel her to investigate. Once Lady Denton entered her ground-floor retiring room to check on her guests, the theft was in play.

Will patted his chest. “I’ve go’ the Wilkes Lock key.”

“Right over your heart,” Anne said.

The carriage rolled to a stop and the door’s click could be a pistol shot.

The race was on.

Cecelia took a bracing breath and exited first. She fairly glittered, a fireworks display of red and blond. She swept up the steps to Denton House, glomming on to a man’s arm with a small laugh. No butler would announce the guests. The art salon wasthatkind of event—elegance with a hint of loose morals.

Anne decamped the carriage, a languid roll to her hips. Dark peacock green dressed her. If her gown had other embellishments, he couldn’t say. He was following her silken hips to their place in line.

Anne craned her neck for a look ahead. “It appears Lady Denton is alone in the receiving line.”

“She would be.” Will offered his arm, and Anne set her gloveless fingers on his black velvet sleeve.

“But Mr. MacLeod—”

“Is either tucked away in a pub, or he’s go’ his feet up in his room, minding his own business.”

“And you know this because...?”

“It’s what I did. Lady Denton’s bold about keeping a private footman, but she doesna flaunt them. But you already know this, Mrs. Neville.”

“How would I know that?”

“Because my cousin isn’t the only person cultivating information, is she?”

Anne’s head angled toward him, and doorlamps cast her face in a half light. She was shadows, softness, and secrets. But her eyes were emeralds, the fire and depth of which he’d yet to fathom.

“What do you mean?”

Ah, there it was. The velvet blade of her voice.

“I mean your visits to Mr. Pidcock to check on me these past five years. Were you checking on me when I lived here at Denton House?”

Her lips parted. The tiny opening between them was the most tempting spot on her body, and that was a feat because her breasts were pearled fruit spilling from her bodice, the ever-present medallion tucked between them.