Lady Rosabella's Ruse - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,18

he crossed slowly.

Wherever she was going, it had to be important to risk traversing this bridge.

By the time he reached the other side, all sign of her lantern had disappeared. Cursing under his breath, he wandered around seeking a path. Without her light to guide him, it took him a good few minutes to find the track, only to discover he’d gone in a circle ending back at the bridge. This time he used his brain and sparked his tinderbox. In the brief flash it provided, he found her footprints in the mud, heading off to the right.

He pressed on through the tangle of brambles. A wet branch slapped him in the face. He grabbed for his hat. He cursed at the trickle of chilly rain running down between his collar and his skin. Any owner of a property who let his woods grow wild ought to be shot.

The woods ended at a lawn. And beyond the lawn there had to be a house.

Got you!

He frowned. Why so much secrecy? He couldn’t imagine Lady Keswick caring if her lady companion had a special friend at her neighbour’s house. He could even imagine the old girl encouraging the lass.

Perhaps she had. Then why not admit it?

He forged on. The house was there, he knew, he’d seen it on the map, but strangely, it was utterly dark. Even if all the occupants were abed, which they couldn’t be if she was meeting someone there, then there ought to be some light in the corridors and stairways.

The house must be empty.

The crunching of gravel beneath his feet signified he’d reached a drive, albeit a rather weedy one. And at the end of the drive, he found a house. Of Mrs Travenor there was no sign. How far ahead of him was she? He must have lost sight of her at least a half an hour before. He went around to the back of the house and stopped.

Here were the lights he sought. A lantern hanging beside a back entrance to the house. It bounced off slick cobbles.

Of Mrs Travenor there was no sign.

He crossed the courtyard, searching for a clue to her whereabouts. He scanned the back of the house. There. A light. On the second floor. It wasn’t very bright, but it had to be her.

She’d gone inside. It was the only explanation.

What in hell’s name was she doing?

He walked carefully up to what was clearly the kitchen door and put his ear to the crack at the jamb. Nothing.

Slowly, he depressed the latch. The door opened silently. He stilled, breath held. No cry of alarm. No footsteps coming his way. He opened the door enough to allow his body to slide through and closed it behind him.

Now he really was in the dark. In the pitch-black, with the echoing sound of footsteps somewhere deeper in the house.

It seemed Mrs Travenor was up to no good.

A sense of disappointment slid through him, bitter edged and sharp. He hesitated. He could just walk away and forget what he’d seen. Or he could catch her in the act and, damn it, see her brought to justice. Clearly she’d been using Lady Keswick as her dupe to gain access to this empty house and now was about to make off with some sort of loot. His gut knotted. He almost preferred to think of her in the arms of a lover than this.

He fumbled around as quietly as possible until he found the stub of a candle. Taking his time in order not to alert her to his presence, he lit the wick. The light revealed an abandoned kitchen. Clean. Tidy, but definitely not used recently. A narrow set of stairs led upwards. Perfect. He’d take the servants’ stairs to the second floor, where he’d seen the light, and catch her in the act.

This was impossible, Rosa thought, staring around the library at chairs and tables covered in sheets and walls lined with empty bookshelves. Where did she start?

She set her lantern down on the red-leather-covered rent table in the middle of the room. It had a keyhole within its central circular section. Would her father have hidden his will in there? It seemed unlikely. Any fool would look there first, and Grandfather wasn’t a fool.

She pulled on the knob beside the keyhole. It lifted easily. She groped inside, feeling nothing but dust under her nails. Ugh.

Walking around the table, Rosa pulled open the three drawers beneath its top where Father would have kept his