Page 42 of To Steal a Lyon’s Heart (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #85)

Chase left him on the floor, investigating the room in total darkness with a predator’s sure gaze.

Sam drew in a breath and rolled to his left, pushing himself to his knees and then his feet. Tomorrow he’d be too sore to leave his bed.

Chase had a slight hobble.

“You’re hurt?”

“Bloody hound got a nip of my calf. I’m fine.”

“Oh, so you climbed the trellis lame and bleeding,” Sam said somewhat bitterly.

Chase shrugged.

Sam’s pride took a hit, but he decided not to care just now.

He had no use for climbing trellises in the rain in future.

As long as he could satisfy Daisy, what more did he need in life?

Holding his left arm to his side, he scanned the room.

It was covered in wall-to-wall shelving—as if a stately library had been cleared of books—and its vast space was filled with an assortment of relics and morbid objects encased in glass.

Weapons, bones, sculptures, anything and everything that one could imagine.

Including what Sam was sure was a human skull.

And to think Daisy would have been subjected to this family.

Who was worse, Lord Claystone, his wife, or Cliffton?

Chase hobbled up the stairs to the second level of the former library and began reviewing the items up there.

“You said the chest was in the study.”

“Leave no stone unturned,” Chase replied gruffly.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find Lady Claystone’s diary.”

It wouldn’t be in here. This was Lord Claystone’s madness on display. If he’d learned anything about women from his sister, it was that their secrets were kept close, near their most private possessions.

Sam moved to the door leading to the hall.

He turned the lock and opened the door slowly.

The noise of many people came from the main stair, a party in full swing.

He eased out into the hall, spotting no one.

Sam stealthily moved down the hall, which was lit by a lone oil lamp on a side table.

He tested one door and found a gentleman’s bed chamber.

Lord Claystone’s, no doubt. He would want to be close to his treasures.

Farther down he found another door. This bedroom reeked of perfume and powder.

Sam entered, the room softly lit by the fire in the hearth and two lamps.

Sam hurried in and closed the door. He went for the bed first, digging under pillows and sliding his hand under the mattress.

Then he peered under the bed. Nothing. Nary a speck of dust. He sighed and went into the dressing room, the darkness suffocating after that brief stint in light.

Sam went by touch, digging through undergarments and stockings.

“Where would a lady like the countess keep her diary?” he mused aloud.

Sam snapped his fingers. Her writing desk—because she wouldn’t conceive of anyone daring to invade her privacy. She held her world in a tightfisted grip.

The door to the hall suddenly opened, and Sam dove into a wall of gowns. He tucked his knees up against his chest and hoped it was Chase, but the chatter that entered the room told him otherwise.

Two maids came into the dressing room. One opened a jewelry box under the watch of the other and placed something inside. Then they turned and left.

Sam rested his head against the wall at his back and waited a moment more.

This night couldn’t end fast enough. He climbed out from behind the gowns, wincing as he stood.

He was too young to feel this weak and sore.

He stalked into the bedroom to inspect the writing desk.

Sam opened the top, then the drawers, but one was locked.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He couldn’t count on luck for anything. He’d probably used up all he had for his lifetime.

The door opened again and Sam froze, but this time it was Chase with a small chest under his arm. Suffice it to say he’d achieved his goal.

“I think it’s in this drawer,” Sam said.

Chase sauntered forward. With his free hand he pulled a ring of small tools out of his pocket. “This one. Slide it in and give a good wiggle and shove.”

Sam took the tool. It was long and thin with a hooked tip. “I can’t imagine your lovers enjoy that very much,” he said dryly.

“Women are more complex than a lock. I thought you’d know that already. Poor Daisy.”

Sam snarled at him over his shoulder as the lock clicked. “Don’t use her name. You are not on familiar terms with her.”

Sam opened the drawer. There, a red, leather bound soft sided journal sat. He picked it up, about to finger open the pages to be sure it was indeed the diary.

“Don’t open it,” Chase warned.

“How do I know if it’s the diary, then?”

“Take this.” He handed over the chest and took the journal from Sam. He fanned through the pages, stopping on one. “It’s definitely a diary.”

Sam raised a brow. “Good. Then take this back and give it to me.”

Sam tucked the diary in the pocket of his inner coat. The weight of it reminded him of the future he was desperately trying to cling to and the woman waiting for him at home. “Let’s go.”

Chase checked the hall. “It’s clear.”

“You’re dripping blood,” Sam whispered. “Here.” He handed Chase a handkerchief and Chase pulled up his trouser leg and tied it tightly around the weeping puncture wounds. His leg was already bruising.

“This way.” Chase headed in the direction of the treasure room.

“No. I’m going out the kitchen door,” Sam said. He’d come this far, somehow successfully. He wouldn’t risk breaking his neck now.

“That’s where those men and those blasted dogs are. If they’ve managed to get out of the root cellar.”

“The dinner party is in full swing,” Sam argued. “Someone would have raised an alarm if the guards got loose and they suspected an intruder in the house.”

“How do you intend to walk out of any door looking like a street ruffian?”

Sam looked own at his attire. He was dripping water from his coat onto the rug. No doubt it would be glaringly obvious someone had been here who didn’t belong. But Chase was right—he couldn’t blend in with a dinner party like this.

“Create a diversion.”

“Like what? Get mauled by a dog in the front hall?”

“We need a pig,” Sam said.

“A—what for?”

“A squealing pig running through the house will draw everyone.”

Chase huffed in annoyance. “And where are we supposed to get a pig? Does she keep one in the dressing room?”

Sam snapped his fingers. “That’s it.”

“What now?”

Sam walked to the hearth and closed the chimney flue. Then he loaded up the fire with logs, the hungry flames greedily consuming the dry wood and smoke building until it started pouring out the hearth and filling the ceiling.

“You’ll burn the place down,” Chase warned.

“Not if we get help as quickly as possible. Check the hall again. Go to the stairs and yell fire.”

“Then what?”

“Then just follow me.”

Chase cursed, limping as he followed Sam out of the room. They split in the hall. As Sam suspected there was a linen closet near the back stair.

“Do it,” he waved at Chase.

“Fire! Fire!” Chase yelled.

The screams and yelling were immediate. Footfalls thundered up the stairs.

“Get in here!” Sam said. They tucked themselves inside the closet as a stampede of people entered the hall and the countess’s bedroom.

“Buckets!” Someone cried.

Sam peeked out. People ran back and forth, footmen coming with pails of water. It was a panicked melee.

“Head down. Let’s go.”

Chase followed him, and Sam squeezed past the servants that came up the stairs with pails of water, all of them too frightened to consider who was coming down the stairs or for what reason.

They followed a current of people out into the stable yard where a groom pumped water into buckets as a chain of people formed.

Once past the mews, Sam and Chase took off into a run.

Each breath burned as if he’d inhaled too much smoke, but Sam didn’t stop running until the cart was in sight, and only then did he slow enough to hop in the back, turning to help Chase, who was a few strides behind him, jump in.

“Go!” Sam yelled to the driver.