bloody well take on Stefan’s responsibilities, including his obligation to save her from Thomas Wade.
Her mind settled, Brianna had silently slipped back into her house and awakened Janet, who was sleeping in a chair beside Brianna’s empty bed. The maid had not been pleased with the daring notion, but grumbling beneath her breath, she had at last assisted Brianna in shoving what clothing she could fit in her valises.
In less than an hour, Brianna and Janet had been sneaking through the dark streets, avoiding the traffic as the nobles returned home after their night of revelry. There had been a brief stop in the stables to ensure that Edmond had not yet returned before they slipped through the back gate and followed the flagstone path past elegant statues and lavish fountains to the mansion.
If Edmond would not help her willingly, then he would do so unwillingly.
“Edmond is no prize, but he is certainly preferable to Thomas Wade,” she muttered.
“But if this man has promised to contact the Duke, then…”
“I cannot take the risk of waiting,” Brianna interrupted. “If Thomas should even suspect that I am attempting to flee, he will have me hauled off to Norfolk before I could do a thing to stop him.”
Janet heaved a heavy sigh. “I suppose that is true enough.”
“I will sell my soul to the devil before I allow that to happen.”
“Mayhap that is what yer about to do,” Janet muttered, removing a thin strip of metal from her pocket before efficiently setting about tripping the lock.
The maid rarely spoke about her childhood, but Brianna knew Janet had been the child of one of London’s most notorious thieves. And that, until she had fled the underworld, she had learned many tricks of the trade. Such talents had come in handy more than once.
There was a faint click and then the tumble of the locks before the door swung open. Brianna heaved out a deep breath of relief. She knew that Edmond would be returning at any moment, and she had to be firmly settled into the house before he arrived.
Lifting her heavy baggage, Brianna brushed past her maid and entered the kitchen. If anyone was to be shot as a housebreaker, it was only fair that she take the bullet.
Thankfully, there was no sound of gunfire as she stepped over the threshold and glanced about the long room.
There was nothing more threatening than the bundles of herbs hanging from the open-beamed ceiling, a stack of gleaming copper pots and the flicker of dying embers from the massive stone fireplace.
With a gesture toward Janet, Brianna silently crossed the stone floor, keeping her gaze trained on the distant door that led to the private servants’ quarters. She skirted the long wooden tables, her stomach rumbling at the scent of freshly baked bread and raspberry pastries that had been left to cool. It was tempting to linger a moment and indulge her sweet tooth with one of the delicate tarts, but with a stern effort, she continued onward, ducking through the arched doorway that led to the back staircase.
If she did not find herself in the gutter in the morning, she could enjoy all the tarts she desired. For the moment, only sheer luck would allow them to reach the guest chambers before being caught.
Darkness shrouded the narrow flight of steps, and Brianna cursed softly as she was forced to slow to a snail’s pace. Whatever her panicked sense of urgency, she would not risk breaking her neck by charging up the uneven wooden stairs.
Placing her hand on the stone wall, she struggled upward, concentrating on each step. By the time she reached the third floor, her breath was rasping loudly in the silence and her back was aching from the unaccustomed strain of carrying her heavy bags. She paused long enough to fumble with the door, her heart lodging in her throat as the hinges squeaked in protest.
To her fevered imagination, the sound seemed to carry throughout London.
Had she alerted the entire house to her presence?
With Janet pressed nervously against her back, Brianna forced herself to count to ten. When there was no rush of servants, no cries of alarm, she allowed herself to suck in a deep breath of relief and step from the stairwell.
The wide corridor was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight from the nearby candelabra, revealing the vaulted ceiling and fine plasterwork that had been painted a pale ivory. The Persian carpet shimmered with vivid reds and blues and gold, reflected in the framed pier mirrors that lined the walls.
She was attempting to recall which of the numerous doors led to the guest chambers when a hulking shadow detached itself from the wall to reveal a large man with a hawkish face and fierce pair of blue eyes. Brianna froze in shock. Although the man was attired in the Huntley livery, she did not believe for a moment that he was any simple servant. He looked like a soldier.
Or an assassin.
“What is this?” he growled, his thick accent unmistakably Russian. “What do you think to do?”
This had to be the oaf that Janet had confronted earlier, and with that accent most certainly one of Edmond’s men.
Damnation. There was nothing to do but brave it out.
“Allow me to introduce myself.” Once again dropping the bags, Brianna performed an elegant curtsey. “I am Miss Quinn, the Duke of Huntley’s ward. I will be staying here for a few days, as will my maid.”
Brows that matched the man’s thick golden hair drew together in wary disbelief. “I have been told nothing of a ward. You will leave now.”
Brianna tilted her chin to a haughty angle. She may not have royal blood running through her veins, but her father was first cousin to an Earl and she could feign a conceited self-worth when necessary. And sometimes even when it was not necessary.
“I most certainly will not be leaving. This is my home now.”
“You will leave, or I will toss you out.”
“You would dare to lay a hand on the Duke’s legal ward?” she said, her voice pure ice.
“I was told to keep everyone out.” The man began to walk toward her. “That is what I will do.”
Brianna was quite convinced that the man intended to toss her out. Even if it meant hauling her to the curb screaming and kicking. It was clearly time to reveal her one and only weapon.
“Before you take another step, I must warn you that I have given a note to a friend with instructions that, unless she hears from me first thing in the morning, it is to be posted to the London Times,” she said, her voice echoing through the wide corridor with as much courage as she could muster.
At least the menacing servant came to a halt, his pale eyes glittering with the wariness of a seasoned warrior. He clearly sensed that she was not bluffing.
“What do I care of this note?”
She felt Janet move to stand at her side, as if the maid was preparing to protect her from the man—a brave, if rather foolish, display of loyalty.
“The note will inform all of London that it is not the Duke of Huntley who is staying in this town house, but rather his younger twin, Lord Edmond,” she said,
