Page 34 of The Duchess Games

“Aye, Miss.”

“Oh, please call me Cat. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make more work for you. I can take them upstairs if you like. So you can get some sleep.”

Cook tightened her hold on the wriggling mass of fur and teeth and tiny meows. Cat may as well have threatened to use them for slippers. “These wee devils are mine now.”

Cat smiled. “What have you named them?”

“Salt, Pepper, and Egg.” She nuzzled the largest kitten. “This one’s Egg.”

“Perfect. He is rather round. I suppose I should leave you to it then.” It was odd to be awake with nothing that needed her immediate attention. No mending to be done, no knitting, no baking.

Nothing but the key tucked into her palm. Taunting her. Goading her.

Stealing a gentleman’s signet ring was beyond the pale. Stealing one from the duke? Well, she could hang in the market square for it. Who would feed her family then? But who would feed them now? Anyway, she had no intention of defrauding him.

A small ruse. Nothing that would hurt him. But it would make all of the difference to her. It had to be enough to save her family. Her animals. The village.

She softened her steps, glad that she hadn’t bothered with slippers. The house was quiet around her, but she couldn’t afford to take any chances. The key opened the duke’s bedroom but she hoped she would not have to venture there. Surely, he kept his ring in the library with his important things. Whatever those were. Ledgers, letters. Ducal things. Most gentlemen wore them daily as a sign of their title and prestige. They protected them from thieves.

Like her.

Except for Callum, apparently, who left his in the unlocked library, on his desk.

No key required.

Foolish, foolish man.

Or a confident one. Only an idiot would steal from the Duke of Tremaine.

Or a village girl.

The ring was simple heavy gold, the family coat of arms engraved on a blue stone cabochon: a simplified anchor and three acorns. She picked it up gently, as if he would somehow sit up in bed several stories above her head when she touched it. As if he’d know she was here. As if she was betraying the moment they had shared just last night, on this very spot.

A floorboard creaked in the hall. Panicked, Cat tossed about for a place to hide the ring. Her nightdress had no pockets. She wasn’t even wearing any shoes.

If she put the ring back down on the desk, she might never get close enough again to steal it.

Another footstep.

Her heartbeat was so loud in her ears that it nearly drowned it out. She couldn’t escape the study now, couldn’t pretend she wasn’t standing right here, utterly unbidden. So pulled the window open and tossed the ring into the garden. With any luck, she could retrieve it in a few hours. She tried to relax the line of her spine, the angle of her shoulders. Carry no guilt, be accused of no guilt. Ambrose repeated it every time she gathered the smugglers for a run.

All two runs.

Last year.

Each run this year had been aborted at the last minute, damn the revenue men.

“Miss Sparrow.”

She froze.

Of course, it was Callum who found her. His rough voice filled with disapproval, moving over every inch of her skin. She curled her bare toes under her nightdress. “Cal—Your Grace.”

Something flickered in his face, but it was too quick, and the corridor was too dark for her to read it properly. “What are you doing in here?” he asked.

She smiled carelessly, as if this was all perfectly normal. “I couldn’t sleep and I saw an owl pass by the window. I followed it here.”

“In my library.”