The Miss Mirren Mission by Jenny Holiday

Author:Jenny Holiday [Holiday, Jenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: entangled, Historical, Jenny Holiday, The Miss Mirren Mission, Historical romance, Regency Romance, London, spy, aristocrat, Earl, abolitionist
ISBN: 9781633751965
Google: LOoMBwAAQBAJ
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 25059741
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Breaking into the Mannings’ London town house was going to be easy. Or so Emily told herself as she stood on the back terrace, attempting to pick the lock to the French window that led to Mr. Manning’s study. And, really, one could hardly call it “breaking in” in the criminal sense. She certainly had the moral high ground. Tossing an ineffective hairpin into a bush, she looked around for a better tool. A rock might do—she could just break the glass. Sarah’s letters indicated the family was all in Somerset, and even if someone belowstairs heard her, she knew exactly what she was looking for and could be in and out before they made it up to investigate.

“It’s settled then,” she whispered, fear surging through her as she stooped to pick up a rock from a planter filled with large decorative stones.

To her surprised delight, her first blow shattered the glass near the window’s handle. She wrapped her shawl around her arm to protect it from the shards, reached through to unlatch the window, and stepped into the study. The fading twilight was enough show her the way to the desk. It was very similar to Mr. Manning’s desk in Somerset. Holding her breath, she opened the top right drawer.

Ah! There it was! Pleased with herself, she grabbed the red-leather-bound book. Spying was not so very terrifying.

A muffled thud startled her, and she ducked so the desk obscured her. Correction—spying was, in fact, quite terrifying. The noise sounded like it came from outside. Willing her thundering heart to slow, she crawled over to the window and peeped out. Nothing was in evidence, so after a few moments’ pause she made her way outside, still crawling because it seemed safer. She offered a prayer. Please don’t let there be anyone out there. Not only because it was imperative she avoid detection, but because she had very little time to spare and couldn’t afford to be detained. She would have to hurry if she wanted to make it home in time to change before Catharine and James Burnham arrived to escort her to the ball. Though she had walked to the site of her crime, she would have to hire a hack to take her home. At least Angela had already arranged her hair. She patted it, hoping her adventure hadn’t threatened her coiffure.

Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to combine a major social obligation with an evening of espionage. Real spies probably did not try to go to balls when they were working. Still on all fours, she glanced around. There was nothing out of place on the terrace. Cautiously, she rose and peered over the edge. The garden was deserted, so she took a deep breath, clutched the book to her chest, and ran.

…

Blackstone was, uncharacteristically, indecisive. Was he just going to let her break in? Surely the noise would draw a servant. And she could seriously injure herself. Miss Mirren was an intelligent woman, but her talents apparently did not extend to accurately assessing risk.

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