The faded dollhouse sat innocently in the center of Lord Westwood’s desk, unaware of the tragedy it had caused. A light coating of soot dusted its peeling roof, falling onto the desk and circling the dollhouse with a morbid gray ring.
Three pairs of eyes looked up as Lord Westwood entered the room. Sam wriggled discontentedly in his arms, her mouth screwed up in frustration. He set her lightly on her feet near the doorway.
“Stay,” he murmured, turning to close the door.
Sam rolled her eyes and pushed off the door frame, slogging across the floor. She was halfway to the desk when Lord Westwood caught her, scooping her back into his arms.
“My brother will hear of my displeasure.” Sam shoved Lord Westwood’s shoulder.
“As your brother has given consent for our marriage, your happiness is no longer his concern.” Lord Westwood grinned, placing his forehead to Sam’s. “It’s mine.”
“I’m unhappy.” Sam jutted out her chin, folding her arms.
“Noted,” Lord Westwood replied, carrying her to the desk. He lowered her to the floor, cupping her elbow to steady her.
“All of this trouble for such a decrepit plaything,” Wilhelmina said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She poked one of the grimy windows.
“It’s not the dollhouse itself, but what is hidden inside,” Sam replied. The words carved up her raw throat, and her stomach rolled. She leaned forward, planting her hands on the desk, and inhaled slowly. She waved away Edward, who had rounded the desk to place his hand on her back, and lifted her head, turning it toward Wilhelmina. “What you cannot see, what is hidden inside this dollhouse, is our family ancestral jewelry.”
Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed. Cobwebs crawled into the corners of her mind, and the world tilted. Reaching behind her, she fumbled for Lord Westwood’s hand. He materialized next to her, pushing Edward aside and wrapping a comforting arm around her waist. Sam curled into him, exhaling softly.
Edward’s eyes narrowed at their intimacy. Stiffly, he turned toward the desk, struggling to hold his tongue, and focused on the dollhouse.
“How do you propose we open it?” he asked to no one in particular.
“Is there a key?” Wilhelmina asked, glancing at Samantha, her brown eyes hopeful.
Sam shook her head. “It was lost years ago.”
“We could smash it open,” Edward said, tapping on the roof with his knuckle.
“Lucy would prefer we try to save her dollhouse,” Sam replied with a tremor. Lord Westwood’s thumb skated over the nape of her neck, drawing small circles over her spine.
“I can open it,” Mr. Reid said, winking at Sam as he rounded the far side of the desk. Humming, he bowed to the dollhouse as one would do prior to a duel.
“Watch this,” Lord Westwood whispered in Sam’s ear, his mouth sending shivers over her skin.
Edward studied Mr. Reid with a skeptical frown. “Is this one of your less-than-desirable abilities Benjamin warned me about?”
“Could be,” Mr. Reid replied absently, his tongue trapped between his teeth.
“It has come in handy on more than one occasion,” Lord Westwood murmured, nibbling on her ear. She moaned, the sound drawing Edward’s irritated glare.
Clearing her throat, Sam straightened and craned her head toward the desk.
“Mr. Reid, I would be keen to learn that particular skill if you would be a willing instructor.”
“Whether he is willing is not the matter under discussion,” Edward said, his exasperation seeping through the room.
“Actually,” Wilhelmina chimed in, her eyes glowing as she watched Mr. Reid fiddle with the small lock, “I would like to learn as well.” She winked at Sam.
“The female members of this family do not need an education in the art of lock picking,” Edward roared, purple coloring his face.
“Edward, you sound a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps you would like to lie down.” Mr. Reid glanced up from his task with a grin.
The lock clicked, and Edward swallowed his waspish response. Mr. Reid swung open the front of the dollhouse, and the hinges creaked, protesting forced movement after so many years of inactivity. The upstairs was a menagerie of faded furniture and little dolls, sitting forlornly in their abandonment. However, in the downstairs area, crushing the dining room table against a large picture window, was a lady’s purse.
“That’s Mother’s,” Edward and Sam said simultaneously.
Edward tugged the velvet bag free, carefully brushing the soot and dust from the sack. Pulling the strings until they loosened, Edward gently opened the top of the purse, then turned the bag over, spilling its contents onto the desk.
“Oh,” Wilhelmina breathed, her face coated in brilliant colors.
Sparkling in the candlelight was a mound of jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets, and rings painted rainbows over the study walls and the rooms’ inhabitants. In the center of the pile rested the diamond and sapphire necklace Mrs. Hastings wore the evening of her husband’s murder.
Sam took a tentative step closer to the desk, reached out slowly, and brushed her fingers over the necklace. Edward laid his arm over her shoulders, drawing her into his embrace and effectively separating Sam from Lord Westwood, who acquiesced his position without complaint.
Sam lifted the necklace, holding it to her throat, and glanced at Edward with gleaming eyes. Franklin wanted the jewelry, and they had it. If they wanted to catch him, they needed a way to communicate that fact to him.
“I have an idea,” she said, her voice pitched with exhilaration.
“No!”
Edward’s head snapped up. Lord Westwood’s palpable anger rolled across the desk like thunder, his dark face focused solely on Sam.
“No!” Lord Westwood repeated, slamming his fist on the desk.
Sam offered him a partial smile and a shrug. “It would work.”
“I’m not concerned with the efficacy of your plan.” His green eyes flashed. “The answer is no.”
“I don’t believe I asked for your permission.” Sam rose on her toes, attempting to match Lord Westwood’s stature as the air crackled between them.
Edward’s head swiveled between Lord Westwood and Sam. “Did I miss something?” he asked Wilhelmina, who shook her head with a similar puzzled expression.
“Actually, Benjamin, it is an excellent idea,” Mr. Reid interjected thoughtfully.
Lord Westwood looked as though he would murder his brother where he stood.
“I said it was out of the question.”
“Are you forbidding me?” Sam asked with raised eyebrows.
“Careful, Benjamin,” Edward warned with a grin, clearly, enjoying Lord Westwood’s frustration.
“You will not find the situation as amusing in a few moments once you grasp the details of her plan,” Lord Westwood replied, his voice thick with anger. He glared at Sam, who returned his hard stare unblinkingly.
“It is my life!” Sam stamped her foot. The corner of Lord Westwood’s mouth twitched. He was laughing at her! She longed to strike his smug face, her annoyed fingers curling in response, but she settled for a seething glare.
“If your brother agrees to your proposal, I will withdraw my objection,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Damn.
“Miss Hastings.” Lord Westwood bowed and gestured widely. “We are all patiently waiting to hear the details of your brilliant idea.”
Sam took a deep breath and turned her attention to Edward.
“The Shirely masque is approaching.”
“We don’t expect Franklin to make social appearances in the near future,” Edward interrupted.
“I remember the discussion.” Sam cut him off, earning a reproachful glance from Wilhelmina. “However, the accomplice working with Franklin may attend.”
“That is a possibility.” Edward nodded his agreement. “Please continue.”
“The only way to draw Franklin out of hiding would be to show him we have what he wants.” Sam laid the necklace on top of the glittering jewelry piled in the center of the desk.
“How do you propose we get the message to Franklin?” Edward touched the largest stone with his fingertip.
“I will wear Mother’s necklace to the masque.” The words hung between Sam and her brother.
“No.” This time the refusal came from Edward.
“Are you forbidding her?” Lord Westwood goaded, his quiet anger unnerving Sam.
“I am.” Edward crossed his arms in finality, his stance mirroring Lord Westwood’s. earlier posture.
Lord Westwood’s eyes slid to Sam. “Your brother has also refused your plan. Would you care to appeal to anyone else?”
“I shall wear it.” Wilhelmina’s determined voice surprised everyone. Edward’s head nearly popped off his shoulders as he whipped around to stare at his wife, his state of shock so great, no sound came from his hanging mouth.
“If both of you wore pieces from the collections, that would definitely garner someone’s attention,” Mr. Reid said. He had moved to the other side of the desk, out of reach of both Edward and Lord Westwood.
“Thomas, think very carefully about which position you favor,” Lord Westwood cautioned, his voice dangerously soft.
“The position which feeds me,” Mr. Reid said evenly.
“Wilhelmina and Sammie would be putting their lives at risk,” Edward replied, his anger equal to Lord Westwood’s.
“Our lives are already in danger.” Wilhelmina placed her hand over Edward’s. “Our children’s lives are in jeopardy. I refuse to spend the rest of my days hiding, sequestered in a country estate. I’m certain you would never allow anything to happen to Samantha or me.”
Edward stood quietly for some time, contemplating his wife’s arguments. He locked eyes with Lord Westwood and shrugged. “From a logical standpoint…” His voice trailed off as the dark cloud over Lord Westwood’s features detonated.
Lord Westwood stormed from the room, slamming the study door behind him. The crash resonated through the house, windows vibrating with his fury. Sam took three steps after him and paused in hesitation. She turned toward Mr. Reid, a question in her eyes. Mr. Reid nodded and disappeared out the study door.
“I should return the dollhouse to Lucy,” Wilhelmina said quietly, breaking the silence suffocating the study. She gathered the toy from the desk and followed Mr. Reid’s exit.
Edward pulled Sam into a tight hug, resting his chin atop her head. They remained motionless for several minutes, lost in their thoughts, until Edward broke the silence.
“It’s exceedingly difficult for a man to allow his heart to walk around outside of his body. He wants to protect it at every moment. Give him time, Sammie. We have asked too much of him. Today was one of the worst days of Benjamin’s life, and it may not be the last.”
Sam lifted her gaze to Edward. “We must try to capture Franklin before he has the opportunity to murder someone else.”
Before he kills you or Benjamin…
“I realize that, Sammie. However, offering yourself as bait, hours after Benjamin risked his life to rescue you is like slapping him in the face. Does his sacrifice mean nothing to you?”
“Of course, it does, Edward. I have already expressed my gratitude.”
Edward pursed his lips, and his eyes narrowed as he contemplated Sam’s statement.
Realizing her admittance, Sam rushed on. “I can’t sit here and wait for Franklin to attack again.” Sam swallowed a mournful lump, fighting the tears springing to her eyes, and buried her face in Edward’s checked waistcoat. “I cannot endure your death nor his.”
“It appears Benjamin cannot bear yours either,” Edward replied softly, stroking her head.
“What should I do?” she asked, her muffled voice hiccupped.
“Allow Thomas to handle this matter. He understands Benjamin best.” Edward rested his chin on Sam’s curls. “You’ve had an extremely long and trying day, Sammie. Perhaps you should go upstairs to rest.”
Nodding, she squeezed Edward once, then released him with a heavy sigh. She dragged toward the study entrance and paused in the doorway.
“Mother hid some letters in her desk. When Franklin and I struggled, they scattered all over the study. Do you think you could send someone to fetch them? I would very much like to read them.”
“I will see to it,” Edward said, giving Sam a little shove toward the staircase. “Now, please go to bed. At least I will not have to worry about you there.”
“Are you certain about that? It is Lord Westwood’s chamber,” Sam murmured as Edward closed the study door. She darted up the staircase in the moment of silence she was afforded before Edward ripped open the study door.
His thunderous voice rippled through the entrance hall.
“If he touches you, I will kill him prior to the wedding, Samantha!”