His heart was beating so hard it vibrated his chest. The room was dark, but enough light was coming through the windows to help him see the outline of the furniture so he wouldn’t trip. He moved toward the desk at the other end of the room.
He bumped into a stool in front of a tall bookcase, making a slight noise as it scooted a couple of inches over the wood floor. He paused a moment and then continued to the desk. He opened the top drawer, but it was difficult to see what was inside. Thrusting his hand in, his fingers came into contact with what felt like several pens and a glass bottle of ink. He felt around some more, feeling papers. Nothing else seemed to be inside.
He closed the drawer and opened a smaller, deeper one on the right. He could see nothing in the dark drawer, but he put his hand in and encountered what felt like smooth leather. It was a book. His heart thumping harder than ever, he pulled it out and held it up to the light coming through the window.
It was similar to the stolen diary, but it was not the one.
Voices sounded from outside in the hall. One of them was a man’s voice—Mr. Wilhern’s.
His chest tightened as he dropped the book back into the drawer and closed it as quietly as possible. It gave a slight squeak. Nicholas held his breath.
Mr. Wilhern was still speaking in the corridor, just outside the study door. Should he try to hide? Or should he leave and claim that he had the wrong room, that he thought he’d been entering the retiring room? He moved carefully and silently toward the door. He wasn’t sure there was anywhere to hide. So he waited.
The voice speaking with Mr. Wilhern was Miss Grey’s. He tried to concentrate on what they were saying.
“Did you see anyone walking down this hall?” Mr. Wilhern demanded, his voice gruff.
“No, Uncle,” Miss Grey answered. “But we heard a commotion outside in the street. I hope it is not—”
A quick explosion, like a gun blast, sounded from the front of the house. Then another and another. Mr. Wilhern’s heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, growing fainter as he moved away from the door, no doubt to find out what was causing the noise.
Nicholas let out a pent-up breath of relief. That sound was McDowell setting off firecrackers in the street outside, to give Nicholas a distraction in case he needed it. But he had very nearly been too late. Did Miss Grey realize she had interrupted her uncle as he was about to come into the room and catch Nicholas going through his desk?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Julia placed her hand over her heart, which was beating as fast as the firecracker explosions outside.
Her uncle’s study door was opening. She stared down the hall, straining her eyes to see who would emerge. But she already knew. Mr. Langdon had slipped into her uncle’s study as she had been coming back from her room, to which she had retired to repair a bit of lace that had come unsewn from her cuff, to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. The sight of him sneaking into her uncle’s favorite room was so strange, she had frozen in place. After all, why was Mr. Langdon going into her uncle’s study, alone, during a party? Was he lost? But if he’d made a mistake, he would have immediately come out.
A few seconds later, her uncle had stomped down the hall, a strained expression on his face. The look made a lump come into her throat, but when he stepped toward the study door, something caused her to call out to him and stop him. She’d stammered and then asked, “Have the men already rejoined the ladies? It seems very early for that.”
She rarely made conversation with Uncle Wilhern. At first he didn’t even look at her, glancing distractedly up and down the hall. But then, he stared hard at her and asked her if she’d seen anyone walking in the hall.
Her answer had not been a lie exactly. She had not seen Mr. Langdon walking in the hall. She’d only seen a glimpse of him entering the study. She wasn’t sure what made her withhold that bit of information from her uncle, except perhaps that she didn’t want Mr. Langdon to experience her uncle’s gruffness. He could be quite impolite when he was angry. At the very least, it would have been awkward for Mr. Langdon, and something made her want to protect him.
Now he was leaving the study. She peeked at him over her shoulder as he very gently closed the study door. He turned in her direction and his eyes met hers.
He froze in midstep. His mouth opened and then closed, as if he didn’t know what to say.
“Miss Grey,” he said and then cleared his throat. “I got lost looking for the retiring room, and then I heard some loud noises from the street outside.” He closed the distance between them and smiled.
Something seemed to pass between them in that moment, as if he saw in her face that she knew he was not telling the truth. There was tension around his mouth as he stared into her eyes as if trying to delve into her thoughts, questioning whether she would reveal his secret.