Page 41 of To Steal a Lyon’s Heart (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #85)

S am made it to the mews by seven, his blond curls stuffed under a plain brown cap. Chase stepped from the shadows, examining Sam’s attire of brown trousers and heavy black coat.

“Your boots are too clean.”

Sam scoffed. “Who’s going to be looking at my boots?”

“You’d be surprised how a little thing like clean boots can stand out amongst the lower class. Scuff them a bit. Tarnish that shine.”

Sam had never been a dandy, but he knew Petrov was going to be cross about the boots. Sam kicked at the ground, scuffing the toe. Chase kicked dirt and hay over his feet and Sam glared at him.

“Crease the toe. A working man wears the same boots day and night.”

“You’re not a workman. How would you know?

” Sam said. Usually, Chase had a rather ambiguous wardrobe.

Lord knew what his actual station was—or his name, for that matter—but his regular clothes were not the tattered rags of a pauper.

They were just as fine as Sam’s, if rather drab.

But tonight, he did look the part of a delivery man.

Sam rolled his eyes as Chase wrinkled his jacket.

“What’s next? Should I roll in horse shite?”

Chase chuckled. “Maybe next time.”

They arrived at the Claystone estate only a couple minutes later through a back alley, past Claystone’s hired men, in a cart driven by Sam’s own driver dressed in plain clothes. He’d wait down the lane to be ready for when they made their hasty retreat.

“This had better work,” Sam said.

“In case we get separated, remember, second floor, two doors down from the main hall.”

Sam nodded. He set aside his own pride and anger for one night. Chase had done a lot of work to help Sam make it into the house, subvert Lord Claystone’s private security, and get to the diary. For a task that was supposed to be his burden, he was playing second violin.

He could do this. Chase said they had approximately ten minutes during the changing of the guard to get to Lord Claystone’s secure rooms, information courtesy of Sir Henry Tidworth.

How they were going to manage that by climbing up the wall on a wet night, Sam wasn’t going to bother wondering.

Chase seemed utterly confident they could do it, and Sam, for once, wasn’t going to question the man’s varied skills.

At this point, Sam didn’t care to know who or what Chase might be, but he could admit the man had talents.

And after tonight they’d never see each other again.

He hoped. Not for a long while, at least.

Chase carefully and silently opened the gate. Sam followed him through the opening, closing it softly. Chase stood so silent and still he could have been a statue, then he looked at Sam, but the light was too weak to read his expression.

Chase nodded toward the dense hedges behind a gazebo, and they ducked into the deeper shadows. “There’s a guard at the double doors. He’s been sitting there smoking for at least the last fifteen minutes. He was there while I did my preliminary scouting ahead of your arrival.”

“So, what do we do? Wait?” Sam whispered.

Chase grumbled. “He wasn’t there the last time I was here. I don’t know that he isn’t stationed there for the night. We can’t climb up without him seeing us.”

“I still don’t understand the specifics of this plan. Claystone houses his collections in a locked wing of his house. Why would his wife’s diary be there?”

Chase remained silent.

“You don’t know if it’s in there.” Sam stated. He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Tadworth claimed that’s where all their secrets and treasures were kept.”

“But a woman’s diary is not a treasure, not to her husband. If anything, there are secrets in there she doesn’t want him to know.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

“The obvious location is somewhere in her room.”

“Wait, he’s getting up.” Sam and Chase leaned around the bush. The door opened and another of Lord Claystone’s security stepped out.

“I need to get closer to hear them. I—” The door opened again and out came... two hounds.

Sam swallowed. He wouldn’t speak, not when the dogs, with their uncanny hearing, would certainly pick up on their voices.

Chase waded back between the shrubs, grabbing Sam by the collar and pulling him close to whisper directly in his ear.

“New plan. You scale the wall. I lead those guards and dogs on a merry chase.”

“Are you bloody mad?” Sam whispered, his voice no louder than the soft breeze around them.

“You’re not up for running.”

“But you think I can climb?”

“This is our one chance, Alston.”

“No, it’s not. We can come up with another plan.”

Chase bared his teeth. “For reasons that are not your business, one of us must get into that house tonight.”

Sam stilled. “This isn’t about me at all.”

“Call it a happy coincidence.”

“If I’m to get the diary, what were you getting?”

Chase gave him his profile and they both stopped to listen.

“In the locked wing, Claystone has a study. In there is something of value to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. That’s all you need to know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a small chest. It has a lion’s head stamped into the leather. You’ll know it instantly.”

Sam shook his head. “She is unbelievable.”

“Granted. But she’s hardly the villainess you think she is.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Why would I lie?”

“For your own gain. How do I know you’re not setting a trap?”

Chase folded his arms. “You don’t. If you’d like to leave, go. I like working alone, anyhow. But fetching the diary is your job. Mine is the chest.”

“So, your offer to help was a ruse.”

“Yes. Obviously. Let’s get on with it, shall we? Or would you like to tuck tail and run?”

Sam had never wanted to hurt a man more than he did Tristan Chase. He should have known better than to trust him.

“Unlatch the gate. I’ll create a distraction to lure the guards and dogs. You make for the wall as soon as it’s clear.” He handed Sam a tool. “To force open the lock.”

“What if you’re caught? What then?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just get yourself out of the house.”

Sam felt a pang of worry, which he shouldn’t. Not for this sly rat.

“How precisely am I to get out of the house?”

“Improvise. This plan has gone to hell. Get what you need and get out. Here.” He unwound the scarf around his neck. “Keep that pretty face covered. You’ll be easy to identify.”

Sam wound the scarf tightly, his heart pounding as he thought about what would happen if he scaled that wall and fell.

“Get ready.” Chase faded into the darkness with an unnatural silence.

Sam checked to make sure he couldn’t be seen and turned back to the gate, unlatching it and jamming a stick under the gate to keep it from swinging closed again.

Then he followed the wall to the side of the house.

Wet leaves and branches hooked on his clothing, but he kept his pace slow and careful. He couldn’t see the guards or the dogs.

Some twigs snapped, filling the darkness and Sam froze. It hadn’t come from him, but somewhere on the other side of the gazebo.

The dogs bayed in alarm. The huffing and swearing of the two men were moving away from Sam.

Sam waited a moment more and then darted between shrubs to get to the main path.

He reached the back of the house, putting his foot on an ivy-threaded trellis.

The thin wood groaned under his weight. Sam began to climb.

Every time he reached with his left arm, he clenched his teeth.

He’d made it past the ground floor and was nearing a window on the first floor.

There was the low light from an oil lamp shining through the curtains and Sam could hear the voices of many people.

He kept climbing, the damp leaves and trellis squeaking as he went.

By the time he reached the second floor, he was drenched in sweat and rain water, and each breath felt like he was breathing glass from his left side only.

He came to a wider stone ledge—a window ledge—and tried to grip it with wet hands.

“I’ll bloody kill you next time I set eyes on you, Chase.”

The trellis wobbled, and Sam was certain it was going to break away from the brick. Sam chanced a look down, his heart stalling. A black shadow climbed up below him with unnatural speed.

“What are you waiting for?” Chase whispered.

Sam cursed the heavens as he fished the tool out of his pocket and jammed it under the sill where he could only guess the lock was, hoping this house was like his own estate.

The wood creaked below him, but the window wouldn’t budge.

“Wiggle, then push with the butt of your hand.”

Sam ground his teeth so hard he thought they might shatter. With one hand he gripped the slippery ledge, and with the other, he wiggled the knife, then smacked it, nearly sending himself backward off the wall in the process.

The latch clicked, the window rising just a hair. Sam could have melted with relief right back down to the ground, but as it stood, he feared escaping death twice in one lifetime wasn’t in the cards.

He gripped the ledge with his left hand and pushed with his right.

The window slid up enough edge his shoulders through.

The pressure on his chest made his rib feel like it was cracking all over again.

He wouldn’t be climbing out this window.

Whatever he had to do, he was walking out through a proper door.

Below him, Chase had already passed the first-floor window.

Sam considered kicking him in the face, but no.

Lord only knew what kind of debt he’d owe the widow then.

With a final push, he slithered to the floor, catching himself with his one good arm and tucking into a roll.

He lay there a moment, unable to breathe as his rib screamed.

Chase climbed through with an elegance that revealed he’d done this sort of thing hundreds of times.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

“I’m dying,” Sam wheezed.

“Take a minute. Wait here.”