“Ought we to knock?” she asked.
He seized the knocker and rapped.
They waited.
He put his ear to the door. “Nothing is stirring in there.”
He rapped again, with the same results.
He tried the doorknob.
The door was locked.
He pressed his lips together in thought.
“Perhaps one of the neighbors will know whether Mrs. Parker has returned?” she suggested.
Marchand scanned the street, then returned to staring at the door.
“Give me one of the five hundred and eighty-two pins you use to hold your hair in place, Miss Woodville. But be careful, because one wrong choice and the whole structure will come down.”
“Nonsense.” He was more or less correct, of course.
“The hairs that have already escaped their confines prove my point. The rest seem just as anxious to do that.”
She gave a short self-conscious laugh. The curls at her temples were purposeful, but she was not going to stand here and explain hairstyles to a rogue on a dead earl’s former mistress’s front stoop.
He watched her pull a pin with fixed avidity, as if he was picturing with relish all of it coming down.
Which made her feel not unpleasantly warm. Her hand was a little clumsy as she handed it over, and she was ostentatiously careful not to brush his fingers. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Use it to protect myself from your advances, of course.” He dropped to his knees and guided the pin into the lock.
“You’re going to break into thehouse?”
He jiggled and maneuvered it for a few moments with seeming deliberation. This obviously wasn’t the first time he’d done such a thing. “Yes.”
“But... what if the neighbors notice?”
He paused and looked at her. “What if they do?” He sounded amused.
Oh, God. As she’d said to him the night before, he’d proved he was all too capable of the unexpected.
What did she know about this man?
“What if there’s a bolt on the inside?”
“Then I’ll go in through the servant’s entrance, or a window,” he said distractedly.
“And are we going tostealthe vase?”
He stopped to fix her with a reproving stare. “For heaven’ssake, Miss Woodville. No, we’re not going to steal it. What kind of monster do you think I am?” His affront was wholly feigned. “We’ll ascertain whether it’s even in the house, and then... decide how to proceed from there. But I definitely think something is a bit off, and I want to know what it is. I’m worried she might have been robbed, or otherwise harmed. Call it an instinct.”
He returned to jiggling.
And then something gave with a click.
She caught her breath.