Lady Rogue by Theresa Romain

Author:Theresa Romain [Romain, Theresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-03-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Callum’s heart thudded, too loudly. The footsteps were drawing close, then closer. Too close upon the floor of the corridor. The dogs were a riot of sound, bark after bark. To shield her, Callum pushed Isabel behind him. Each movement was silent as a breath. Each breath was caught, trapped, stifled.

The barking continued—but the footsteps went past the doorway. Their owner spoke up at last: “Quiet now, ye damned beasts! Wouldn’t be no need to check all the doors if it weren’t for you shoving ’em open with yer great dirty bodies.”

The accent was too thick to belong to any member of the family. So, one of the servants, keeping vigil while his fashionable employers were about their entertainment.

“There! Eat it and be quiet.” A rrruff, then clicking claws as the dogs evidently pounced upon some treat. “Don’t be wakin’ the whole house.” Keys jingled. Heavy-soled shoes shifted, headed back the way from which they’d come.

It was like attending a play with his eyes shut. Callum strained for every noise, every clue, even as he held Isabel still and taut behind himself. Was that it? Could they proceed?

The footsteps crossed before the music-room door again—and the barks and snarls resumed. Callum gritted his teeth. If the servant opened the door, there might be just time to hide in the shadows behind the pianoforte. Better that than coshing the man. He was innocent, only doing his job.

No, not even that. Whatever he was supposed to do for the dogs, he gave up on it. “Ahh. Be damned to ye, then. Hobbes can lock you away himself. I’ve no wish to lose a finger.”

A whistle and a throw, then an object struck a wall down the corridor. “There!” called the man over the noise of the dogs. “Fetch, and if ye break yer necks, all the better.”

It was impossible to track the sound of his steps after that. Had the man gone away? The dogs returned to the music room, pacing before the door. Whining. Scratching at it. The servant, whoever he’d been, said no more. He must have returned to his bed.

“We were lucky,” whispered Isabel, “that the servant hated the dogs. If he’d noticed they were interested in this room . . .”

“It’s the aniseed,” muttered Callum. “I told you they don’t follow calmly.”

“Nor will they resist it.” With nimble fingers silvered by moonlight, she teased open the satchel she carried and pulled out a paper-wrapped parcel. The clawing at the door intensified when she unwrapped it to reveal a half-dozen small cakes.

“Any one of these should cause a dog to fall asleep,” she whispered.

Would one fit under the door? He wasn’t eager to open it, exposing them to the large dogs. Maybe it would fit, if he squished it flat. He re-folded the paper about the cakes and pressed them between his palms. Isabel made a sliding motion, her brows lifted: she understood.

“Two cakes at a time,” she suggested. “No more than that, in case one dog gobbles everything.

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