A minute passed, two, and no shade appeared, as of course Anna had known it would not. Her spine sagged with disappointment, and her head fell back to rest against the smooth leather. She was alone. There was no one to help or advise her, no one to save her from what she already knew was inevitable. Though she might delay it, as she had tonight by hiding, there was no real salvation; sooner or later she would be forced to accede to Graham’s demands.
“I can’t! I just can’t.”
Tears puddled in her eyes. Closing them tightly in what she knew would be a futile defense, she pulled her knees up to her chin inside the voluminous white nightdress she wore and wrapped her arms around her legs. Crying would serve no purpose, she scolded herself. Certainly it would not bring back Paul. If tears could accomplish that, he would have been resurrected long since.
What sounded remarkably like a soft footstep behind her chair caused Anna’s eyes to open. Paul? The thought popped into her mind again. But no, of course not! A ghost would shimmer and float, not walk, across the creaky plank floor.
If there was a presence in the room with her, and her every instinct told her that there was, it was assuredly not a ghost. What then—or more properly, who?
At the thought of being discovered by Graham, Anna shuddered, and instinctively she made herself as small as she could. It was possible that, in the gloom of the library, with her chair facing the fire while its tall back was presented to the rest of the room, she might contrive to pass unnoticed. Possible, but not likely, at least not if the trespasser were Graham. The only reason for his presence in the library at such an hour would be that he was looking for her, Anna had fled her room as soon as the house had grown quiet for the night to avoid him should he decide to come seeking her. Locked doors were useless in keeping him out, as she had learned to her dismay: Graham possessed a key to her chamber. Indeed, just the night before she had awakened to find him climbing into her bed. Only her strenuous physical objections, and last desperate threat to scream and awaken his wife, had caused him to leave her, finally, relatively untouched.
But he had not left without telling her that she would share his bed—or leave his house forthwith.
Tonight she had feared he meant to put the matter to the test. Although in her heart she knew the conclusion was foregone, she could not bring herself to surrender to the hideous inevitable—yet. Miracles happened every day, as her gentle father had reminded her until the moment of his death. Anna wasn’t greedy; all she asked for was a small miracle. Just enough of one to save her from Graham and provide for her and Chelsea. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask of a God who had already taken from her almost more than she could bear.
There was another footstep, as quiet as the first. Anna was just registering that it didn’t sound like Graham’s deliberate tread when, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a man. A tall man in a billowing black cloak who glided past her chair almost as silently as would have the shade he assuredly was not.
Anna froze, her breath suspended as her eyes locked on him. She had never seen the man before in her life!
He was tall, with black hair. The cloak made him seem massive as it rippled behind him, drawn, Anna saw, by the draft from the partly open door that led into the hall. The door that she had taken such care to close earlier. That, then, explained the draft. But nothing could explain the presence of this man. There were no houseguests at Gordon Hall just at present. A house party was planned for this, the Christmas of 1832, a little more than a fortnight away, but none of the guests would arrive for several days yet. And, anyway, this man was certainly not one of Graham’s cronies, who tended to be as thick-headed and dandified as he was himself.
Nor, she was quite certain, was he a servant, which left only one breath-stopping possibility: dear Lord in heaven, she was faced with a housebreaker!
Screaming was the most immediate course of action that occurred to her, but it had two drawbacks: first, the criminal was far closer to her than any help she could summon, and would certainly be upon her in an instant if she disclosed her presence, of which he was obviously unaware. Second, a scream would certainly bring Graham along with the rest of the household. Under the circumstances, she would almost rather deal with the housebreaker than with her brother-in-law.
Almost.
Anna only hoped that the housebreaker was not a murderous sort. Huddling in her chair, her eyes never leaving him, she scarcely dared to breathe.
II
H
e was lifting books off the shelves that flanked the fireplace, placing them in neat piles on the desk nearby. Clearly he had no inkling that he was being observed. Unmoving, her arms clasped so tightly around her knees that the circulation to her legs was in danger of being cut off, Anna watched as he pressed the bare wood of the wall behind the shelves where the books had been. It took him several tries, but finally there was a thud and then a creak. To Anna’s amazement, a small panel slid open where only seconds before had been a wall of seemingly solid walnut planks. Anna’s eyes widened. She’d played freely at Gordon Hall for most of her life, and she’d had no inkling that such a hidey-hole existed.
How had the housebreaker known?
He thrust both hands into the hole, and withdrew them holding a small leather case. Although Anna couldn’t see his face, his bearing radiated satisfaction. Turning, he set the case on the desk, opened it, and stared down at the contents. There was an air almost of reverence about him as he stood there, head bowed, looking at the case’s contents, which were hidden from Anna. Frowning, she tried to guess what the case could contain. Not the Traverne jewels, which were most lately the possessions of Graham’s wife, Barbara. They were safely locked away in Barbara’s bedroom in the same spot where they had been kept secured for generations.
What then was this? Something small enough to fit into a case no larger than a cigar box, secret enough to be secured in a hidey-hole that she had had no inkling existed, and valuable enough to attract the attention of an obviously well-informed housebreaker. What?
Anna watched, fascination momentarily making her forget about being afraid, as the man lifted a flat velvet envelope from the case, opened the flap top, and peered inside. Whatever he saw must have pleased him, because he was smiling as he set the pouch on the desk, folding back the sides and feeling whatever lay within to lift it in his hand. He seemed almost to gloat as he turned slightly toward the fire to examine his prize more closely, thus affording her the first glimpse of both the object and his face.
Anna’s first thought was that he looked like a gypsy. His skin was swarthy, the thick slashes of his eyebrows as inky black as his hair, which was secured by a thin black ribbon at his nape. His features were boldly masculine, looking more as if they’d been hewn from teak with an axe than delicately sculpted from fine marble as Paul’s had. He was a big man, massive of shoulder, broad of chest, tall. Although it was too dark in the library to be absolutely sure, she thought he looked almost dangerously handsome in a wild, rough way.
But handsome is as handsome does, as her father the vicar had often said, and this man was a thief. It was more than possible that, if he discovered her, he might do her bodily harm. That thought brought Anna back to a precise awareness of the precariousness of her position. She stayed perfectly still as he lifted his hand so that whatever he held might catch the light from the fire. The faint orange glow revealed that the objects were a brilliant green—and Anna had to stifle a gasp as she realized just what he held: the Queen’s emeralds!
Anna had seen them only once before, as a child. She and Paul had ducked behind the curtains in this same room when his father had entered unexpectedly with a guest. The guest, a stocky bewigged man of middle years, had apparently, from his dress and manner, been some sort of solicitor. The details of their conversation escaped her now, if indeed they had ever registered, but she would never forget the magnificent necklace, bracelet, earrings, and stomacher that the solicitor had held up, one by one, to examine, all the while shaking his head in clear disapproval. The two men had had some sort of disagreement about the gems, but neither she nor Paul had paid much attention. They were too intent on trying not to make a sound that would reveal them to Lord Ridley, who would have certainly caned Paul for spying and sent Anna home along with a stern note to her father demanding that she be punished for her misdeed.
In the years since she’d first gotten a glimpse of the Traverne family’s dazzling treasure, Anna had heard the story many times. Paul had gotten it from Graham, and what Paul knew she knew soon afterwards. It seemed that the emeralds were part of a cache that had once belonged to Mary Queen of Scots, who had given them to an admirer to finance an attempt to overthrow her cousin Queen Elizabeth’s throne. Mary had lost her head instead, and the jewels had vanished, only to turn up centuries later in the possession of Lord Ridley. Just how he had come by them was not known, but he guarded them zealously. Indeed, until this moment Anna had almost forgotten their very existence. That long afternoon spent hiding behind the curtains with Paul could almost have been a dream.
But clearly the emeralds were no dream. They were as real as she was, and about to be stolen by the thieving rogue from whose hands they now dripped!
In her indignation, some small sound must have escaped Anna. The would-be thief looked up suddenly, and over the gleaming condemnation of the emeralds his eyes locked with hers.
For a hideous moment Anna simply stared into eyes that by firelight seemed as black and fathomless as the darkest midnight; she was too frightened to so much as summon the breath for a scream. Her limbs seemed to be frozen, and her heart stopped as well. Dear God in heaven, what would he do to her?
Though he; too, was perfectly still, he recovered from his shock more quickly than she did. His eyes never left her as he scooped up case, pouch, and emeralds, and thrust them together into some inner compartment of his capacious cloak. His mouth curled into an expression that was half snarl, half sneer, and his eyes glittered like twin pieces of jet as they moved from the small white triangle of her face over her barely clad form and back to her face again.
Though Anna didn’t know it, she looked very young and very scared, perched as she was in the enormous chair. Her silver-blond hair, unconfined, tumbled over the lavender shawl and prim white nightdress to end in a riot of waves at her hips. In her pale face her eyes were huge, framed by lush dark brown lashes that enhanced their remarkable color: a green as vivid as the emeralds concealed in his cloak. Her body was even more slender than usual because she’d had little appetite since Paul’s loss; except for the maturity of her breasts, which were at that moment hidden by both the shawl and her hair, she could easily have been mistaken for a child.
“Well, if it isn’t a Christmas angel. What are you doing belowstairs at this time of night, sweetheart?”
He sounded sane, if a little mocking. Anna felt her heart start up again. Her eyes never left his face. Her throat was so dry that speech was an effort.
“If you leave now, I won’t scream.” Her attempt to bluff him would have been more convincing if it hadn’t been made in a creaky whisper.
“Generous of you. But I have no intention of leaving until I’m good and ready. And I must warn you: if you were to scream, I’d have to throttle you, and you’re much too pretty to meet your end like that.”
Despite the matter-of-fact tone, it was a very real threat. Anna looked into those fathomless eyes and realized he was perfectly capable of doing exactly as he said. He would choke the life from her if he had to, probably with about as much compunction as he would swat a fly. In fact, Anna decided as the shock that had held her in thrall began to thaw, he would likely throttle her anyway. After all, was she not the only witness to his crime?
If she had any sense, she would act to save herself at once, while she still could. Once he got his hands on her, she would be helpless. The sheer size of him told her that.
Her hands closed tightly over the arms of the chair. Her knees stiffened, ready to send her catapulting from her seat. She would run for her life, and scream for it too. Her body tensed, her mouth opened—and he reacted before she could so much as move. With a curse he lunged toward her, his hands outstretched to wrap around her neck.
III
H
is hands closed on air as Anna sprang upward with the speed and agility of a hunted hare, screaming as she went. To her horror, only the veriest squeak emerged instead of the terrified shriek she’d been counting on. Fright had closed her throat! Squeaking again, frantically, she dodged around the side of the chair, trying her best to force out enough air for a scream.
“Come back here, you little …”
Cursing, hissing threats, he grabbed at her again, his arms long enough to reach around the barrier of the chair. Anna ducked, but his fingers closed on the shoulder of her nightgown. She felt the brush of those hard fingers against the soft skin of her neck, and at the last second managed to jerk away. His fingers caught in the neckline of her night rail, her shawl having been lost in her first desperate leap. The material gave with a loud rip. Cool air caressed her skin as she whirled, ducking free of the hot grip of his fingers as they slid across the smoothness of her now-bare shoulder. She tried again to scream. The sound that emerged would have shamed a terrified mouse.
“Keep quiet, you bloody little vixen!” His growl was terrifying, his grabs at her vicious. No gentleman, this! But of course he was not a gentleman. He was a thief, and clearly a violent and dangerous man who was presently bent on doing her bodily harm! If she could not save herself, she would no longer have to worry about Graham, or Chelsea, or anything else. In the morning the servants would find her cooling corpse sprawled on the floor of the library!