Robert stepped over the threshold first, and Ian followed. From high above, silvery moonlight drifted in from the opening at the ceiling, faintly illuminating rows upon rows of square recesses where birds used to nest. He didn’t see Willoughby.
And then he noticed a crumbled part of the wall that created a dark alcove a few feet off the ground, and metallic eyes glinting at him from within. Ian startled.
Robert noticed the eyes at almost the exact same time and yelped.
Willoughby leaped down gracefully from his hiding spot with a hiss. He stared at Robert warily.
While Robert had a standoff with the cat, Ian moved past them to peer into the alcove. If there was anything back there, it was too far back to see. He reached in tentatively, and his hand brushed something cool and metallic and then something soft and smooth. He made a sweeping gesture, pulling all of the objects toward the front of the opening.
His breath caught.
It was like a pirate’s treasure trove, though most of the things were worthless. Willoughby seemed to hoard anything glittery that caught his eye—discarded nails, paste jewels that must have fallen from bracelets and necklaces. And cloth—there was a mountain of cloth, and Willoughby had a taste for silk.
Ian rummaged through it. It was all there. The bracelet, the glove, the handkerchief. There was more there, and Ian wondered if people all across the Highlands were missing their possessions.
He snorted, wondering how one little cat could cause so much trouble.
…
“Well?” Robert asked.
Ian handed him the small pile. “It’s all here.”
His hand passed over the soft fabric of the handkerchief and gloves before it clenched around the biting metal of Miss Hale’s bracelet, which he’d more or less accused her of misplacing on purpose. Good God, he felt like a cur.
“Willoughby, you rotten scoundrel.” He glowered at the cat.
Willoughby seemed to realize Robert’s lack of goodwill toward him, because with ears flattened against his head, he streaked from the dovecote, fleeing across the lawn.
Ian frowned. “You scared him.”
Robert realized he was still holding Miss Hale’s bracelet in a clenched fist, and he probably would look threatening to an animal, but damn it, it wasn’t as though he was the one at fault. “That cat is a thief. What are we going to do with all of this?”
“Would they believe ye if ye told them the truth?”
Robert thought of Worthington’s increasing frustration and suspicion toward him. “I doubt it. Maybe if they caught Willoughby in the act. Otherwise, Worthington will probably just think I’m trying to make a fool of him.” But catching Willoughby in the act didn’t seem an easy feat—he was aloof on the best of days, and Robert had just scared the cat away with his anger. He’d probably be even more skittish now.
“I think we need to put everything back,” he decided. “Somewhere in their rooms. Maybe somewhere unintuitive, so they’ll think it was misplaced when they unpacked.”
“It might work,” Ian allowed. Though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“I don’t have any better ideas, do you?”
Ian shook his head.
“We’ll ask for Georgina’s help in the morning,” Robert said.
Robert felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Once this was resolved, he could go back to focusing on Ian. They could spend time together without anything hanging over their heads.
Without anything immediate hanging over their heads. There was still the matter of his brother’s return, which was something they didn’t talk about. Robert didn’t think anything would have to change, but he wasn’t sure how Ian felt about it.
A life together wouldn’t be easy anywhere, but Llynmore presented its own challenges. When Theo came back, if he suspected there was something between them…Robert wasn’t sure how he would react, or what he might do. But Ian’s livelihood was at Llynmore, and if he wanted to stay, then Robert would stay. They would simply have to be careful.
Even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation, if the alternative was not seeing Ian, he’d pick it every time.
He would tell him that, he thought. They would settle the matter with the Worthingtons, and then they would talk about the future they envisioned for themselves. And Robert would force himself to be honest, even if it terrified him—he would let Ian know that all of the visions he had of the future included Ian, included them, together.
They left the dovecote, so close when they walked that their shoulders brushed now and then. On impulse, he reached out to take Ian’s hand and threaded their fingers together. In the corner of his vision, he glimpsed the curve of Ian’s mouth. Warmth filled his chest, and he tipped his head back to look at the stars. Thanks to Ian, he could find the North Star now, every single time.
The guiding star. The binary. Two stars that shared the same orbit.
He always felt peaceful when he found it. Hopeful.
Like everything he worried about might just fall into place.
Chapter Seventeen
While Georgina led the guests on a walk, Ian left the bracelet in Miss Hale’s room, and Robert put the stockings in the Worthingtons’. He was headed toward Miss Worthington’s room with the gloves and handkerchief when the sound of voices stopped him.
Ian came out of Miss Hale’s room, his brow furrowed. Robert took hold of his elbow and pulled him around the corner to hide, just before Georgina’s loud voice came from the stairwell.
“I feel quite dreadful about this. Do accept my heartfelt apology.”
“Keep your voice down.” That was Mr. Worthington, who sounded tense and was speaking nearly as loudly as Georgina. “My daughter is in pain.”
“I’m fine, Papa,” Miss Worthington answered, clearly exasperated.
“You were nearly sucked into a bog!”
“I think you’re exaggerating,” she said. “And I did step off the trail. It was my fault.”
“Does your ankle feel better?”
There was a pause.
“No,” she said. “Still swollen.”
“It must be a sprain. A few days of rest will be just the thing. I’m sure it will be good as new as long as you keep your weight off it.”
Robert stared at the items still clutched in his hand, and then at Ian, his heart sinking. A sprain? She might be confined to bed for a week or more.
“It’s fine,” Ian said, though that little notch between his eyebrows spoke otherwise. “We’ll put it back when she’s better.”
They went down to the other end of the hall and separated. Robert watched him fade into the shadow of the stairwell, stomach tight and uneasy.
The more Robert thought about it, the more he realized it would be a mistake to wait so long. For one thing, the longer they waited, the more likely Worthington would get the sheriff involved, if only to save his own pride for threatening such a ridiculous action in the first place. And for another, Robert was now in possession of the gloves and handkerchief, and he certainly didn’t want to get caught red-handed with them.
And perhaps the biggest consideration, the thing that finally spurred him into action, was Ian’s worry. Robert could tell he was troubled by the delay, even if he didn’t say it, and the knowledge was like a punch to the gut. That strange protective instinct that seemed to be spurred on by the other man roared to life inside him. He wanted Ian to be able to depend on him. He wanted to show him that he could.
He would take care of it now, he decided. Tonight. Robert would settle the matter and Ian wouldn’t have to trouble himself with it at all.
Which was how Robert found himself creeping into Miss Worthington’s room in the dead of night, clutching a pair of silk gloves and an embroidered handkerchief.
If he ever saw that cat again, he would be tempted to strangle it.
Though he admitted he was a bit concerned about Willoughby. The cat hadn’t returned to Llynmore that day, and for some reason, Annabel loved the troublesome creature. He hoped searching the moors for a missing pet didn’t become the next task to occupy his time.