Page 83 of The Countess Caper

Sometime between her sneaking out to the kitchen with Roarke and now.

She shifted, ready to sound the alarm. But she noticed her green boots, the ones she had taken to hiding her father’s watch inside of after the first housebreaker, tossed with the others. Worse, when she grabbed the left boot, the watch was gone.

Her father’s watch was gone.

Not just gone. Taken. Deliberately.

She could not make sense of it. Did not have time to. Because in its place was a rolled-up scrap of parchment. She scanned it, going cold.

Lady Winifred Eaton.

Lady Fontescu.

Lady Beville.

Miss Weatherby.

The paper trembled in her grip. Icy sweat gathered at the base of her skull.

Iris.

Rue.

Holly.

Bryony.

She felt sick. Someone knew the identities of everyone at Magpie House. The threat was clear. And still she stayed silent, struck dumb. She wanted to scream, wanted to ring the bell. Anything.

She didn’t.

Go to the crossroads past the bridge. Tell no one or I tell everyone.

She moved like an automaton, half frozen, half jumping ahead to every option she could think of. Which were very few. The best she could do was buy time. She dressed quickly, slipped on those green half-boots, and left Magpie House before the sun had finished climbing over the horizon. She stopped long enough to slip a note under Rue’s door. She also slipped a dagger in each boot and tucked one into her stays. Roarke would no doubt be furious that she did not wake him, but if she had, he’d be walking by her side.

If he didn’t tie her to a chair instead.

This was her responsibility. She had made promises. Her friends deserved to be safe. And she had no idea why her father’s pocket watch might endanger them. Why her very presence might suddenly be a risk. She did know she would get it back. And she would destroy whoever was threatening them. She assumed they wanted money. It had to be simple blackmail. But why her? Why now?

None of it made any sense.

The morning was far too beautiful for the rage she felt inside her chest. Dew sparkled in the tall grass; birds sang with their whole little feathered chests. The wind smelled of fallen apples and rain. She hurried, the hem of her dress growing damp, her nose cold. She was no closer to figuring out who would want her old family keepsake.

And she was out of time.

“I had so hoped you’d be reasonable,” a man said from behind her. “But I did not count on it. I am happy to be surprised, cousin.”

George.

She whirled, curses on the tongue, no less confused.

But he was already on her, stuffing a sweet-smelling rag over her nose and mouth.

She woke inside a carriage.

She was slumped in the corner, her hands tied together.

“You’re awake,” George said, sounding annoyed that she had made him wait.