To Catch an Earl by Kate Bateman

Author:Kate Bateman [Bateman, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781250306128
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22.

Emmy shivered in the predawn mist as she slipped into the mews behind the Tricorn Club. She was wearing her dark shirt and breeches, with short stays underneath.

The Spanish had a word for this time between late night and early morning: madrugada. The English called it the witching hour. It was a strange, lonely time, when the great beating heart of London lay unnaturally still. The only innocent people awake at this hour were the sleepless mothers of newborns and the odd night watchman or ferryman. The night was for criminals like herself—the ne’er-do-wells and cutthroats, prostitutes and thieves.

The Tricorn’s upper windows were satisfyingly dark. It would have been nice to have waited until she was certain of Harland’s absence, but she didn’t have the luxury of time. She’d have to make sure she didn’t wake him; she’d leave the feather on his desk, not on his pillow. She wasn’t foolish enough to breech the sanctity of his bedroom just to make a point.

She inserted the iron key she’d pilfered into the lock on the back door. A tentative jiggle revealed it was not the right one, and she swore under her breath, even though she hadn’t really expected to be that lucky. She tiptoed down the set of steps that led belowground and tried it in the kitchen door instead. The metal tumblers creaked and ground, and she winced at the noise, but the lock opened with a yielding click.

Success!

The hinges didn’t squeak when she pushed open the door, and there was no growling Brutus to impede her progress this time.

She found herself in the club’s extensive kitchens. Copper pots, pans, and huge bunches of herbs hung from an iron rack suspended above an enormous kitchen work table. Emmy navigated the looming shapes and crept up the stairs into the private half of the house.

None of the wall sconces had been lit, but she recognized the sumptuous corridor she’d been dragged into by Harland. She glanced toward the door at the far end which opened into the public part of the building. He’d kissed her up against that wall. Her pulse rate increased even more.

Ears attuned for the slightest sound, she padded along, peering into a breakfast room and a sitting room. The heartbeat tick of a mantel clock measured out the seconds with satisfying regularity. No doubt this household ran with similar precision. Harland and Wolff were both used to military regimens. She’d bet every need was smoothly anticipated by their staff. Insubordination such as hers would not be tolerated. She bit back an irreverent snicker.

At the top of the stairs, she listened at the first door, but heard nothing. That was expected: Benedict Wylde’s rooms had been empty since he’d moved in with his new wife a couple of months ago.

Emmy had confided her plans to Sally that afternoon, and while the other woman had cautioned her to be careful, she hadn’t tried to talk her out of it. Instead, Sally had disappeared off to Covent Garden and returned with her friend Molly, the actress.

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