Chapter Fifteen

Ellie pulled back in alarm. She would have avoided their host entirely, but Harry clearly had other ideas.

"Come on, Carlotta, stop stalling. You know what they say: procrastination is the thief of time. Take a deep breath."

"I don't think I can in this dress," she grumbled.

The subtle pressure of his arm was inescapable, so she imagined herself a sultry Italian temptress.

"Willingham!" Harry made an elaborate bow in front of the Englishman, then straightened. "Your ‘little party' is magnifico! I was expecting twenty people. Instead, you 'ave two 'undred."

The older man smiled, clearly flattered. His rather protruding eyes swiveled to Ellie—or rather, to her cleavage; he barely spared her face a glance. "Glad you could come, sir. Who's your charming companion?"

Harry tugged her closer to his side in a clear display of possession. "May I present Carlotta Pellegrini. In Italy she is famous contralto." He turned adoring eyes on her. "To 'ear her sing is to 'ear the sound of the angels."

Ellie smothered her instinctive laugh. To hear her sing was more akin to listening to dogs howling, but she managed to look suitably self-important and disdainful, as befitted a goddess of the stage.

She took a deep breath so her breasts swelled above the neckline of her bodice, and watched in satisfaction as Willingham's gaze followed the movement. She was beginning to see what Tess meant when she said that most men were easily manipulated by showing a bit of skin.

Willingham kissed her hand for a second longer than was polite. "Enchanted, madame."

Ellie tugged her fingers back, and sent him a scornful look.

Willingham was undeterred. "Perhaps the lovely Carlotta will treat us to an impromptu performance this evening?"

Ellie pretended not to understand, but trod on Harry's foot beneath the concealing folds of her skirts.

"Carlotta speaks no English," Harry said easily. "But I can answer for her. Alas, she must save her voice for a special, private performance for the prince regent tomorrow evening."

Willingham's face fell. "Ah well, another time perhaps." He waved a hand to indicate the baize-topped tables in the room behind him. "There are few good games of vingt-et-un and hazard on the go. Perhaps we can play a hand or two a little later?"

His eagerness to fleece Harry was painfully obvious, but Harry sent him a wide, guileless smile. "Of course. But first I 'ave promised to dance with amore mio ."

He bent and pressed a casual kiss to Ellie's neck, just below her ear, and it took all the acting ability she had not to gasp in shock.

Luckily, Willingham was paying more attention to her jewels than her face.

"Of course," he murmured, his eyes lingering on her emeralds with an avaricious gleam. "One should never disappoint a lady."

His emphasis on the final word indicated he thought the term "lady" was generous, for an opera singer who was clearly also Harry's paramour, but Harry ignored the unsubtle snub and patted the older man on the shoulder.

"Until later, then."

He ushered them away through the crowd, and Ellie let out a relieved sigh when they left the main ballroom and found a relatively secluded corner in one of the smaller salons.

Her neck still tingled from the touch of Harry's lips, but she forced herself to concentrate on the business at hand. He'd only done it to make their performance more believable. It had been an act, nothing more.

"Daisy's going to look for the book downstairs," she said. "Which means it's up to us to search upstairs. Do you think we can sneak up there without being seen?"

Harry looked down at her, and her heart did an odd little flip. He really was stupidly handsome.

"Oh, I'm sure we can."

He reached up and straightened a stray curl that had escaped from her coiffure, and the brush of his knuckles on the side of her cheek made her knees a little weak. Everything inside her seemed tight, on edge.

Did he know the effect he had on her? Was he doing it on purpose? And if so, to what end? Did he just like the added frisson of danger that flirting on the job provided?

"Just to be clear, if we find the book, we're going to steal it, yes?" he whispered.

" Reclaim it on behalf of the rightful owner," she corrected.

His eyes twinkled at the prospect of a spirited discussion. "Aha! So, we're allowed to steal something that's already been stolen, as long as we're planning on returning it to the right person?"

Ellie narrowed her eyes at him, certain she was walking into a verbal trap. "In this particular instance, yes."

"Which would make it a case of two wrongs actually making a right."

She sighed at his inversion of her previous logic. The man had a brain as sharp as a defense lawyer's. William Garrow would have hired him on the spot.

"I'm willing to bend the rules just a little in this instance," she conceded.

His delighted laugh warmed her insides. "Ha! You're about to do a bad thing, for a good reason. You're practically Robin Hood. You're halfway to scoundreldom already."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Scoundreldom isn't a word. And I wouldn't celebrate just yet. This isn't the start of a glittering criminal career; we're simply giving justice a helping hand."

"If that's how you want to think of it." His shrug and raised brows indicated his skeptical amusement.

He took her arm and ambled toward the nearest doorway, which led into an even quieter corridor. A few couples lingered about, clearly taking the opportunity for a little privacy, and Ellie averted her eyes as they passed a couple kissing in a curtained alcove.

Harry took her hand, threading his fingers through hers, and when she glanced down in surprise he whispered, "We need to look like an amorous couple trying to find somewhere for a tryst."

She nodded. "I think we should search the bedrooms. Willingham won't have hidden the book anywhere guests might venture, like the library, or the drawing room."

"Agreed. He and his wife keep separate apartments, on the floor above."

"How on earth do you know that?"

"Rule number six: Always talk to the servants ."

"You have rules?"

"For thieving? Of course."

"What are the others? How many are there? Do all thieves have them, or just you?"

He tapped her fondly on the nose. "So many questions, Miss Law, but now is not the time. I'll tell you another day."

The sound of music grew fainter as they ventured farther along the hall. A footman carrying a tray laden with wineglasses rounded the corner, and they ducked into a room containing a billiard table to avoid being seen.

They reached a second stairway without encountering anyone else, and Ellie lifted her skirts as they ascended the stairs, careful not to trip on the beautiful green silk.

The upper hallway was clear, but her heart pounded with the threat of being discovered. Harry opened the second door on the left and slipped inside, drawing her behind him, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them with a satisfying click.

The room was dark, and empty; the doorway to an adjoining room was faintly visible in the pale gray moonlight.

As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she could see the walls were lined with shelves of leather-bound books. A few gilt-framed paintings hung in the gaps, and a heavy wooden desk was positioned at an angle to the door.

"This is Willingham's private study," Harry whispered. He released her hand, and she mourned the loss of warm contact. "His bedroom's through there."

"I'll—" Ellie froze as a soft, yet very distinct thud sounded from the adjacent room.

She shot wide, panicked eyes at Harry. Someone was in there!

Harry clearly thought the same. But instead of retreating, to her horror he slipped silently through the doorway and disappeared into the gloom.

A succession of more muffled thuds followed, then a faint crash, as if a wordless altercation were taking place. Ellie glanced around the study, desperately looking for something to use as a weapon, and snatched up the brass fire poker that stood to the side of the fireplace. She rushed through the doorway to see Harry and a dark-clad figure wrestling in the moonlight.

Harry's arms were wrapped around the stranger's head, but the other, stockier man had him around the waist. As she watched, the man issued a grunt, swept his leg around the back of Harry's knee, and the two of them toppled sideways onto the mattress of the four-poster bed that stood in the center of the room.

Harry let out a low growl of frustration. His assailant twisted his ear in a painful-looking move, but Harry retaliated by tugging the man's hair, then elbowing him in the stomach.

Ellie didn't dare try to help. The two of them were rolling around so much, they were just a blur of limbs; she was just as likely to accidentally strike Harry as she was to hit his opponent.

"Oof! Get off, Harry, you great popinjay!"

Ellie stilled at the unexpected sound of the stranger's deep voice, as did Harry. The fight on the bed came to an abrupt end.

"Hugo?"

Harry released the man and sat back, astonishment evident in his tone.

The stranger pushed himself off the bed and stood, panting with exertion, then, to Ellie's amazement, he started to laugh.

"Damn me, I must be getting old if the likes of you can ambush me! You've still got a cracking right hook, my lad."