Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [128]
Still, he managed to find it, and after that it was quick work to reach the second floor.
The door to Dain's apartments was the first on the left. As Charity had assured him, one needed but a moment to slip in and another to cross the vast chamber and collect the icon. Most important, the icon was precisely where she'd said it would be.
Lord Dain kept the heathenish picture his wife had given him on his bedstand, Joseph the foot-man had told his younger brother…who had told his betrothed…who had told her brother…who happened to be one of Charity's regular customers.
But never again, Vawtry vowed as he exited the bedchamber. After tonight, Charity would share her bed and stunning skills with only one man. That man was the daring, heroic Mr. Roland Vawtry, who would take her abroad, away from Dartmoor and its unwashed rustics. He'd show her the sophisticated world of Paris. The French capital would seem like fairyland to her, he thought as he hurried down the stairs, and he would be her knight in shining armor.
Lost in his fantasies, he pushed open a door, raced down a set of stairs…and found himself in a hallway he didn't remember. He hurried to the end, which turned out to be the music room.
After going through half a dozen more doors, he ended up in the ballroom, from whose entrance he saw the massive main staircase. He started toward it, then paused, undecided whether to try to find the back stairs again.
But it'd be hours before he found it, he told himself, and the house was empty. He made for the stairway, hurried down and across the broad landing, round the corner…and stopped short.
A woman stood on the stairs, looking up at him…then down, at the icon clutched against his breast.
In that instant's flicker of Lady Dain's glance from his face to the precious object he held, Vawtry regained his wits— and the use of his limbs.
He ran down the stairs, but she lunged at him, and he dodged too late. She grabbed his coat sleeve and he stumbled. The icon flew from his hands. He regained his balance in the next instant, and pushed her out of his way.
He heard a crash, but didn't heed it. His eyes on the picture at the foot of the carpeted stairs, he raced down and snatched it up.
* * *
Jessica's head had struck the wall and, grabbing blindly for balance, she knocked a Chinese vase from its pedestal. It struck the railing and shattered.
Though the world was reeling perilously toward darkness, she dragged herself upright. Firmly grasping the railing, she hurried down, ignoring the colored lights dancing about her head.
As she reached the great hall, she heard a door slam, and masculine curses, then the hurried tap of boots upon stone. Her mind clearing, she realized that her prey must have been trying to escape by the back way and got himself lost in the pantry instead.
She dashed down the hall toward the screens passage and reached the pantry door as he was running out.
This time he dodged her successfully. But even as he was bolting for the vestibule, she had grabbed the nearest object at hand— a porcelain Chinese dog— and it was out of her hand almost in the same instant, hurtling toward him.
It struck the side of his head, and he staggered, then sank to his knees, still clutching the icon. As she ran toward him, she saw blood trickling from his face. Even so, the wretched man wouldn't give up. He was crawling to the door and reaching for the handle. When she grabbed his collar, he twisted about and flung his arm up, knocking her away so violently that she lost her balance and fell over onto the tiles.
Jessica saw his fingers wrap around the handle, saw it move…and flung herself upon him. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she slammed his head against the door.
He was pushing at her, screaming curses while he tried to twist free, but she was too furious to heed. The swine was trying to steal her husband's precious Madonna, and he was not going to get away with it.
"You will not!" she gasped, slamming his head