Chapter 21

Theresia turned the brass door handle of the yellow room and was met with immediate tension. It was locked. She should have been frustrated, but she was too excited by this sudden turn of events. Why Rolland had rescued her from the drawing room and her haunting memories, she could only guess. But whether she found her vase tonight or not, it pleased her to have a few moments with just the two of them, without expectations or pretense. She turned at his approach. "Finally caught up, did you?"

"Did you think to search the room or hide in there from me?"

She smirked. "Wouldn't accomplishing both tasks at once be the most efficient?"

"It would be if your destination wasn't locked."

"You saw?"

He nodded. "Not many of the bedchambers have doors that lock from the outside since locks are expensive and the keys are hard to keep track of. Lucky us. We found one of the few in Ashbury Court. Can I borrow your hairpin?"

"Since it's for a good cause." She started to lift her hand, but he beat her to it.

His fingers slipped under her curls at the side of her coiffure. Standing stock-still, her breath caught as he played with a ringlet, sliding it through his gentle touch. He swallowed before what seemed like a reluctant but purposeful effort to search for a pin. Her heart raced as his fingers touched her scalp, sending a ripple of heat down her neck and arms. After a small tug, a pin released. A large curl came with it, sliding down by her face. He stared at her hair, making her self-conscious.

She tilted her head and said shakily, "The unkempt-do will be all the rage next Season. I'm simply ahead of the fashion."

The swirl of brown in his eyes darkened, and he chuckled. "Next you will tell me that every debutante must break into her neighbor's room to catch a husband."

"Are you suggesting I sneaked into your room to trap you into marrying me?" She leaned toward him, defying him to say otherwise.

Rolland's mouth slanted in a devilish smirk. "I wouldn't put anything past you."

"What does that say about your intentions now, then?" She had no idea why breaking into someone's room made for the perfect opportunity to tease him, but how else could she explain her sudden boldness? If she was going to be brave again, she might as well put herself completely on the line and demand to know what he was thinking. She had to know if this was about the vase or about spending time with her.

"My intentions?" He blinked, but not before she caught the indecision in his eyes.

She recognized it for what it was since she waged the same battle. She leaned against the door. "Yes, Captain. I demand a full report."

"My intentions are to cheer you up."

"What?" She had expected him to give her a businesslike response like he always did, not this.

"When you spoke of Bohemia to the Havershams, I could tell you were upset. I thought this might distract you."

She stared at him in awe. He should be thinking about the revealing information Mrs. Haversham had leaked about her traveling plans with her husband. It had sounded very much to Theresia like they had been trying to flee the country. Instead Rolland had thought of her. She swallowed. "I miss the place I was born and the life I had there. How do you know me so well?"

It was hard not to be smitten by the dark tuft of hair on his forehead begging her to push it back, his tanned skin that carried summer with him wherever he went, and the way he looked at her like a puzzle he was determined to solve.

He looked away and dug the pin into the lock. "I don't know your history, but I know you well enough to know what motivates you." There was a click, and he pushed the door open. Then he held out the pin to return to her. Was it just her, or did his fingers linger in the exchange? Either way, she had another ripple of gooseflesh, this one down her whole body.

Rolland glanced down either side of the corridor and motioned for her to enter. "I'll stand guard by the stairs and cough if I hear someone coming. You'll have to act quickly to avoid being seen. Try not to take more than a minute, and avoid anything personal. Sometimes it is impossible, but everyone is deserving of their privacy."

Even those who are murder suspects , she added in her mind.

She nodded her agreement and darted inside the bedchamber. Much like her room, the color was a dominant theme. A yellow quilt draped the four-poster bed, complimentary drapes dressed the single window, and above the escritoire was a lovely painting of butter-yellow primroses. Theresia's eyes glossed over the elegant trimmings. Instead she sought out places one might hide a vase. With hurried efforts, she checked under the bed, in the closet, and even in a hatbox. Nothing. She had not believed Miss Yearsley to be connected with the man who'd carried away her vase, but now she could be certain.

A jewelry box sat open on her dressing table, and Theresia's gaze swept past it on her way to the door. Not two steps later she froze and whirled around. There, in the jewelry box, was a pair of crystal earrings. They were a small teardrop shape, but undeniably bohemian.

Her breathing slowed as her mind caught up with her discovery. Crystal earrings did not mean Miss Yearsley had her vase. She was jumping to conclusions.

Slipping from the room, she closed the door, hearing the lock click into place once more.

She glanced over at Rolland, who waved her toward the next room. Saving Miss Haversham's room for last, as she was technically not on the suspect list, Theresia moved across the corridor to Mr. Stewart's room next. Despite having teased Rolland earlier, she knew it to be the green room after having eavesdropped on some maids, but she hadn't seen it for herself yet. Pushing open the door, she was surprised to see the color theme here was not consistent. The coverlet on the bed was a floral print, the drapes a sage hue, and the rest of the room rather common in comparison to the other rooms she'd seen.

"Let's see what you're hiding, Mr. Stewart. Are you a thief or a killer? Or neither, perhaps?" Mr. Stewart seemed innocent at first glance, with his cheerful yellow side-whiskers and desire to aid the government in congress, but he wouldn't be here if he was without suspicion. She shivered and began her search. The closet held nothing but clothes, spare boots, and handkerchiefs, so she moved to the only other enclosed space—his trunk. She heaved the heavy lid upward only to nearly drop it shut again. A shotgun lay across the top of his things next to a flintlock pistol. She'd never seen a gun up close, and the immediate image of Mr. Stewart shooting someone overtook her. Her stomach clenched and a wave of sickness followed. This man's room was mere feet from her own.

Coughing echoed in her ears.

Coughing.

Rolland!

She dropped the lid of the trunk and raced toward the open door, taunting her. Darting toward it, she shut it and bolted into the corridor at the same time she heard Mr. Stewart's voice speaking to Rolland. Heart racing, she peered at them. Rolland's tall figure hid Mr. Stewart's view of her, but even after she silently shut the door behind her, she knew she would be seen as soon as she darted across the corridor to her door. There was only one thing to do.

"Gentlemen," she called, moving toward them. Rolland turned, allowing them both to see her. She remembered only then to add her limp. "I wonder if I could request a favor from one of you. I would like a book from the library. I have called for my maid, but I am not certain she's the best choice to make a selection for me. I am not fastidious, but I would prefer a novel."

Both men spoke at once, each volunteering. It was almost comical to see two men so eager to serve her. What would the other young ladies at the seminary think of her now?

"Would you do me the honor, Mr. Stewart?"

A single fair brow rose above his otherwise steady gaze. "I would be happy to." His response held a question in it. Was he surprised she'd asked him or suspicious by it?

All she could see in her mind was his guns, and her heart began to race. "I admit I am curious to know your taste, with your passion for politics."

"Reading is a favorite pastime of mine, Lady Glass. You shall not be disappointed. I will return in a few minutes. Excuse me." He dipped his head and jogged back down the stairs.

Rolland leaned against the stair post. "Very cunning, milady."

She motioned him away from the stairs, eager to discuss her findings.

He approached her with curiosity lining his features. "What is it?"

"Why would Mr. Stewart travel with a shotgun and a pistol?"

Rolland's posture relaxed. "For hunting and protection. The same reason many men travel with guns."

Her shoulders lowered. "I didn't think of that." She'd been at the seminary too long, and her experience with men was so limited, it embarrassed her.

"Did you discover anything else?"

"No vase and no bloody gloves to frame him as a criminal."

"What of Miss Yearsley's bedchamber?"

"No skeletons." She paused. "But... no, it's hardly worth mentioning." She shook her head, changing her mind.

"What is it? However small it is, it could still be a clue."

"I found a pair of bohemian crystal earrings in Miss Yearsley's room."

"It could be coincidence." Rolland scratched his square jaw. "If she wears them, I want you to compliment her and ask her about them."

Theresia agreed.

His posture relaxed. "It sounds like a successful mission to me. You're crossing people off your list, which ought to make you happy."

She sighed. "I suppose."

He leaned down and gently tapped her cheek with one finger. "Shouldn't you at least reward this herculean form for not truly stepping on your foot and for my impeccable guard efforts with a smile?"

Her lips inevitably curled into a grin, but only because her body responded of its own accord to his touch. "It was a risk for you tonight as well. I am indebted to you." Gravity seemed to pull her closer to him, and the air around them thickened.

"I will claim a favor another time, as I must return to the drawing room before I am missed. For now, hurry to your room and be certain to lock the door behind you." His words said one thing, but his eyes said another.

"After I collect my book from Mr. Stewart, though, right?"

The mention of Mr. Stewart made Rolland scowl. "You practically invited him to your room. Your behavior could give a man the wrong idea."

She tilted her head, not terribly pleased by his chastisement. "I've never given you the wrong idea."

His eyes narrowed and his head lowered a fraction more. "Not even the second time you broke into my bedchamber."

"It's petty of you to keep bringing that up." She turned toward her room to hide her grin, although there was no masking the smile in her tone. She needed a little space to cool the heat in her cheeks.

She heard him chuckle and glanced over her shoulder to see him begin his descent down the stairs. He wasn't quite as serious as he had been before, and the thought lightened her heart. Despite another night passing without the vase in her possession, Rolland had truly managed to cheer her up. She reached up and felt the ghost of his finger on her cheek. He was everything a good man should be.

Perhaps there was an Englishman she could trust after all.