Bellmoor was a massive estate.
Agnes’ heart pounded madly as she dismounted her horse and lashed it to the fence that ran along the back edge of the grounds. If anyone notices a horse here, there might be trouble. She needed to move quickly.
She wore a plain dress of the sort a maid might wear, but she had no idea what clothes were typically worn by the women who served at Bellmoor. Hopefully, this garment would blend in well enough that she wouldn’t be stopped. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and ran across the lawn, heart racing in time with her feet.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m no better than a common burglar!
That wasn’t true, of course. She was no criminal. She would return the book when she had finished with it—once she’d hadthe chance to read it.And I wouldn’t be doing this at all if it hadn’t been removed from the bookshops. I would get it honestly if there was any way of doing that—but there isn’t. This is the only path that’s been left open to me, and I’m going to take it.
She hesitated when she reached the house. How was she to get inside? There would be a door that the servants used, of course, but she didn’t know where to find it. She couldn’t linger here for too long.
A stroke of good fortune appeared in the form of a footman, jogging toward the house from the direction of what looked to be the stables. Agnes slipped behind a bush and watched as he approached, noticing the place where he entered. As soon as he had disappeared from view, she hurried forward and found the door he’d passed through.
Last chance to turn back.
It had never been a real possibility. She opened the door and went inside.
Immediately, she relaxed. She was surrounded by hustle and bustle. The members of the duke’s staff were all hurrying to do something, all too busy to notice the appearance of one extra person. Nobody so much as looked in her direction. She kept her head down and hurried through them, down the hall, trying her best to look like she knew where she was going.
Luck was still on her side. She quickly found the door that led out to the main part of the house . Here it was quiet—there was no one to be seen. She wondered whether the duke was even home. If he wasn’t here, the risk would disappear altogether. She would grab the book and be on her way, and nobody would be any the wiser.
Dorothy had given her an idea of where to find the library and where the book would be. And sure enough, it was right where her friend had said—on a shelf in the corner, out of the way. She picked it up and held it close, her breathing coming quickly. She had actually done it. She had gotten the book. Now all that was left to do was to get out…
A hand grabbed her arm.
Agnes cried out and nearly dropped the book. She spun around and found herself face-to-face with a man she had never seen before.
Unknown to her, and yet she knew at once that this could only be the duke. She could tell by his fine clothes, but also by the way he held himself, as if he had never known a moment of doubt in all his life. He was used to people obeying him, used to having his own way in every situation. That was what she interpreted from the way he stood and glowered down at her.
He was tall. Muscular—his shirt fit him well enough that she could see the lines of his muscles. His hair was dark, his eyes bright blue. She could imagine those eyes looking very merry indeed, shining with mirth and laughter. But they weren’tshining like that now. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. She shivered, registering his anger.
Though I did break into his house, hehas every right to look at me like this, every right to expect to be deferred to. Oh, why did I do this!For the first time, she wished she had listened to Violet, that she had just stayed at home instead of coming here and trying to lay claim to this book. Why had she thought this was a good idea?
The man was still holding onto her arm. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was very tight, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to break it. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice a growl. “You don’t work for me. You don’t belong here. What are you doing in my house?”
She found her own voice. “Let go of my arm,” she managed. “You can’t—you can’t just grab me like this.” In spite of the fact that she knew it wasn’t going to work, she tried to pull free, but it was as she’d expected. His grip was too strong. She was just thankful that he had grabbed her right arm. The book was in her left hand, and if he had gone for that side, he would have seen what she was holding. He would have either taken it back or caused her to drop it.
She marveled at herself.Am I still thinking of walking out of here with this book? Even now?
She was. And that realization helped her summon some of the courage that she had temporarily lost. She wasn’t completely at this man’s mercy. She had hope.
His laugh was harsh and unkind. “You’re going to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own house? You haven’t even told me who you are.” And yet he did release her arm, and she took a quick step backward. She tucked the book into the folds of her skirt, wondering whether he had noticed it. He hadn’t said anything about it—was it possible he hadn’t seen?
Might I still get away with it?
This was frightening, but it was exhilarating at the same time. She knew, even as she stood there, that this moment was one she would replay again and again in her mind for as long as she lived. Perhaps someday she would tell stories, laugh about the day she had come face to face with the Duke of Bellmoor.
But how does that story end? When I talk about this years from now, will it really end in laughter? Or will I hang my head in shame and wish I had never come into his house like this? I’m not a burglar—but I won’t lie to myself and pretend that I didn’t do anything wrong by coming here.
“Take off that hood,” the duke ordered. “Let me see your face. I want to know who’s sneaking around inside my home.”
The hood! This was perfect—an unexpected piece of fortune. She was still obscured by the hood of her cloak. The thick fabric hung in her eyes—he couldn’t see them. Hecouldn’tsee her face, no matter how much he might have wanted to. She ducked her head and didn’t respond to his demand. A smile crept across her lips. No matter what he might think, she still had the upper hand here.
“I’m going to call the authorities,” he said. “They’ll make you show yourself, and you’ll be taken to jail for breaking and entering.”
But she didn’t think he would. That was a gamble, and a very serious one, but if he meant to do something like that, he’d have done it already. He wouldn’t stand here threatening to report her to the authorities; he would simply do it. That thought sparked hope within her. She was going to be able to walk away from this.
She just needed him to see it. She needed to make him realize that his threats weren’t serving him.