Footsteps.
Oh pooh.
Withdrawing her picks, she rose and shoved them into the concealed pocket in her skirts. Surely whoever it was would not be coming in here? Why would they? Goodness knew, she had no reason to be in Mr. Harding’s private quarters.
The footsteps neared and she remained frozen in the middle of the room. How would she explain her presence here? What if it was Mr. Harding himself? She could not arouse his suspicions.
Or worse. Mess up her very first investigative case.
The doorknob gave a slight squeak, and she darted behind the chaise then crouched low. As the door eased open and the tap of shoes on wooden floorboards sounded, she pressed herself down and under the gap between the chaise and the floor.
She wrinkled her nose at the dust lingering in the narrow space, feeling a tickle at the back of her throat. What terrible housekeeping. She held her breath and tried not to imagine the spiders that could be keeping her company or how dreadful she would look once she got the chance to escape. Slipping away from the ball would be of utmost importance. No one could know of her actions.
First, however, she needed to see inside that safe. She had promised Jane she would not fail.
A floorboard creaked nearby. Highly polished shoes moved their way past her vision before vanishing. She pressed her cheek to the cool floorboards and concentrated on breathing as slowly and silently as possible. Every breath seemed to rasp louder than a foghorn in her throat and she swore her heart made as much sound as a timpani drum. She felt it thud against her bodice as though it might escape its confines anytime soon and announce her presence to whoever was in the room.
It had to be the Mr. Harding. Who else would be here unless someone else had also decided to pick the safe? Unlikely. No one had believed Jane’s suspicions about her brother’s death. Cassie shook her head. After all, who would believe the word of a woman, most especially a grieving woman?
She believed her though. It was the edict of her mother’s investigative society really. Never to doubt a woman’s word. As was far too common. But she lived by those words too. For all those who declared women false and hysterical, there were too many real stories, most of them gone unnoticed or ignored.
The shoes came past her again, the buckles flashing briefly in the lamplight. Perfect. As soon as Mr. Harding was gone, she would—
The shoes returned to directly in front of her. She bit back a gasp.
“Good evening, Cassie.”
∞∞∞
LUKE FASHIONED HIS face into some form of disapproval. Or at least he hoped that was how it looked. Seeing Cassie’s wide eyes and dust-laden coif made his lips twitch. Little Cassie Fallon had always been a handful and she hadn’t changed, even at three and twenty.
What a shame he had a history of rather liking handfuls.
He swiftly cast his gaze away from two distinct handfuls that were rather too much on display given her prone posture on the floor. He uttered the words that had become somewhat of a mantra since Cassie had grown into a resplendent young woman.
She’s Anton’s little sister. And far too good for a lowly viscount.
Far too good for him that was, despite her insistence on getting into the sort of mischief one did not expect from a well brought up young lady.
“What the devil are you doing?”
Her throat bobbed as she wriggled her way out from the shadows. “Um...”
She scowled and took his offered hand, revealing grubby white gloves. Dark smears that looked rather like oil streaked her elegant cream gown. The expensive silks, gold trim and glittering emeralds at her neck and wrist offered a bemusing contrast to the dirt and dust. He plucked a cobweb from her fair curls and flicked it aside while she straightened her skirts.
“Well?” he prompted.
“I could ask the same of you.” Her chin lifted, emphasizing the sharp point of her heart-shaped face.
“I saw you slip away.”
“Oh.”
Her gaze darted from side to side, wide blue eyes hunting the room for something. Most likely an excuse. Cassie was no liar, but she had a reputation—at least amongst family and close friends—for bending truths to ensure she got her own way.
Some who did not know her would call her spoiled, but Cassie had about the strongest heart he’d ever seen in a privileged young lady. There was seldom a soul she would not go to the ends of the earth to aid. Which was why he assumed her deceit and mysterious behavior had to do with some needy wretch who asked for her aid.
What sort of aid she intended to find in Mr. Harding’s private chambers, he did not know. Nor did he especially want to—the less he become involved in Cassie’s affairs, the better. Especially when...