When Emily looks over, I make a face that has her laughing. Then I motion toward the edge of the dance floor where there are chairs and small tables, telling her that I will rest there.
I follow the ghost. He leads me through those thronged at the edge of the dance floor. Everyone seems to be inside now, and it is quite crowded, the temperature rising enough that my brow beads in sweat.
I wind through knots of onlookers, so that if Emily is watching, I will seem to simply head into the room where elderly guests are resting and listening to the music.
From there, I pick up my pace, following the ghost down a hall and around a corner. When hands reach from an open doorway, I start to yelp. Then I see the white gloves on those hands and glare as Nicolas pulls me into the room.
He shuts the door behind us and puts his hands at my waist as he kisses me against the wall. I allow the kiss and then rap him on the arm.
“Whatever do you think you are doing, sir? You forget yourself.”
He chuckles and kisses me again.
“You do know that we have a robbery to conduct. Also”—I jerk my chin to the side—“we have a spectral audience.”
Nicolas bows to the ghost. “My apologies, sir. I simply could not resist a reunion with my beloved, however brief and inappropriate. I was watching her dance and seething with envy of her partners.”
“The grandfather with a limp?” I retort. “Or the young man with the unfortunate facial hair?”
“I saidenvy, crécerelle, notjealousy. One would think an Englishwoman—and a writer, no less, would understand the difference. I envied their ability to dance with you when I cannot.”
“Good. Jealousy is a tedious emotion, and not at all flattering.”
“Even in a very small dose?”
I consider. “The tiniest of doses, perhaps. A fleeting prickle, quickly banished upon the realization it is unwarranted.”
“Agreed. Now, if you will follow me, I have already ascertained the safest route to the office.”
25
Nicolas may have found the office, but he has not been able to enter.
“We require the key,” he says. “I presume the elder Lord Norrington can lead us to it?”
The ghost, who has been silently slipping after us, watching for trouble, now looks at me with dawning horror.
“There is a lock on the door?” He looks at it. “Oh, no. I-I did not see that. It must have been added after my death. I put everything of value in the safe and saw no reason to lock the door.”
“That is all right,” I say. “Do you know where your son might put the key?”
“On his person. He is endlessly suspicious, which is why I ought to have checked the door and foreseen this. He’s the only person with a key, and he will carry it on him at all times.”
“No matter,” I say. “It is not an overly complicated lock.”
I pull a pin from my hair. “It seems we will not be easily able to get a key, Nico, so I will need you to stand guard, with Lord Norrington here, while I prize it open.”
Nicolas grins. “Dare I ask how you acquired such a skill?”
“I needed it for a book.”
“Naturellement. The experiential method of fiction writing.” He kisses my cheek. “You are a wonder. Yes, Lord Norrington and I shall stand guard against, well, against Lord Norrington, as confusing as that may be.”
“Call me Lord Thomas,” the ghost says. “That shall make things simpler.”
I tell Nicolas, and then the two go in opposite directions to stand watch. We are in a quiet part of the house, with the bedrooms and such, and I am able to work in silence. Within moments, I have the door open, and we are inside.
Despite what I told Emily, I do not have a sitting room at home—I have converted it to an office, complete with a massive window and an attached seat for daydreaming. I have a desk, bookcases and an armchair. It is my perfect little space.