“To persuade a few members of Parliament to vote against a bill on building regulations. And while I’m in town, I’m taking in the sights of London.”
“What do you most want to see? The Tower? The British Museum?”
His head lifted. “I’m looking at it,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a few searing seconds before he took her into the refreshments room.
Chapter 12
Relentless noises slurried the air: conversation; laughter; the creaking of the floor underfoot; the clinks of silver, porcelain, and glass; the rattling of trays, the snapping of fans. Guests surrounded the long tables in the effort to obtain lemonade or ices. As a footman entered the room bearing a tray of desserts, Ethan reached out to snatch one before the servant reached his destination. The movement was so deft and quick that the footman hadn’t even noticed it.
Drawing Garrett to a corner where a tall feather palm occupied a terra-cotta pot, Ethan handed the glass dish to her. It contained a frosty mound of lemon ice, with a tiny mother-of-pearl demitasse spoon tucked at the side.
Garrett received it gratefully and took a bite of the tart, icy fluff. It melted on her tongue instantly, luscious thin coldness sliding down her throat.
A sense of unreality drifted over her as she stared up into Ethan Ransom’s face. The severe perfection of his appearance was slightly unnerving.
After taking another bite of lemon ice, she asked hesitantly, “How have you been since we last met?”
“Well enough,” Ethan said, although his expression conveyed he hadn’t been well at all.
“I tried to imagine what you were doing, but I have no idea what your typical day is like.”
He seemed vaguely amused by that. “I don’t have typical days.”
Garrett tilted her head as she looked up at him. “Would you mind if you did? That is, would you dislike keeping to a regular schedule?”
“It would help if the job were interesting.”
“What would you do, if you could choose anything?”
“Something in law enforcement, probably.” His gaze swept the room, his expression inscrutable. “I have a hobby I wouldn’t mind spending more time on.”
“Oh?”
“I design locks,” he said.
Garrett regarded him uncertainly. “Are you speaking as Mr. Randolph?”
His lips twitched as he looked down at her. “No, I’ve meddled with locks since I was a boy.”
“No wonder you were so critical of my front door,” Garrett said, fighting the temptation to reach up and touch the dimple in his cheek. “Thank you for the improvements you made . . . the lock and hinges . . . and the lion’s-head knocker. I like it very much.”
Ethan’s voice was soft. “Did you like the violets?”
She hesitated before shaking her head.
“No?” he asked, more softly still. “Why not?”
“They reminded me that I might never see you again.”
“After tonight, you probably won’t.”
“You say that every time we meet. However, you keep popping up like a jack-in-the-box, which has made me increasingly skeptical.” Garrett paused before adding in an abashed tone, “And hopeful.”
His gaze caressed her face. “Garrett Gibson . . . as long as I’m on this earth, I’ll want to be wherever you are.”
She couldn’t help smiling ruefully. “You’re the only one who does. I’ve been in a foul mood for the past two weeks. I’ve offended nearly everyone I know, and frightened off one or two of my patients.”
His voice was dark velvet. “You needed me there to sweeten your temper.”
Garrett couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she admitted huskily, “Yes.”
They were both silent then, suffused in the awareness of each other’s presence, nerve endings collecting invisible signals as if their bodies were communicating by semaphore. Garrett made herself take the last bite of lemon ice, little more than a spoonful of slush, but her throat was so tight with pleasure she could hardly swallow.
Gently Ethan took the bowl from her and gave it to a passing servant. He escorted Garrett back to the drawing room, where they joined a circle of a half dozen ladies and gentlemen. Ethan turned out to be accomplished at drawing-room etiquette, at ease with the courtesies expected of a gentleman introducing himself. It hardly escaped Garrett’s notice that he drew every female gaze in the vicinity. Ladies fluttered and preened in his presence, one even brazenly fanning her bosom in the attempt to draw his notice. Although Garrett tried to muster some sophisticated amusement, the feeling was soon crushed flat by annoyance.
The small talk was interrupted as the Home Secretary, Lord Tatham, appeared at one of the drawing-room doorways. He announced that the ladies and gentlemen were now invited into the double salon for some musical entertainment. The mass of humid, suffocated bodies began to move as a herd. Ethan held back with Garrett, letting people push past them.
“There’ll be nothing left but the worst seats in the back rows,” Garrett warned, “if there are any left at all.”
“Exactly.”
She realized Ethan intended to steal whatever it was he’d come for while the guests were being entertained.
A familiar gravelly voice intruded on her thoughts. “I seem to have been replaced as your escort, Dr. Gibson.” It was Dr. Havelock, who appeared to be in a jovial mood. “However, since you’re in the company of Mr. Ravenel, I will relinquish my role with good grace.”
Garrett blinked in surprise, having never known the keen-minded Havelock to make such a mistake before. She glanced quickly at Ethan’s expressionless face, and back to the older man. “Dr. Havelock, this is Mr. Randolph of Durham.”
Perplexed, Dr. Havelock looked more closely at Ethan. “I beg your pardon, sir. I could have sworn you were a Ravenel.” He turned to Garrett. “He favors the earl’s younger brother, does he not?”
“I couldn’t say,” Garrett replied, “since I haven’t yet been introduced to Mr. Ravenel, although Lady Helen has promised it will happen someday.”
“Mr. Ravenel came to the clinic,” Dr. Havelock remarked, “to visit Lady Pandora after her surgery. Were you not introduced to him then?”
“Regretfully, no.”
Dr. Havelock shrugged, and smiled at Ethan. “Randolph, is it? A pleasure.” They exchanged a firm handshake. “In case you weren’t aware, my good fellow, you are in the company of one of the most skilled and accomplished women in England. In fact, I would say Dr. Gibson has a male brain in a woman’s body.”
Garrett grinned wryly at his last comment, which she knew had been intended as a compliment. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Despite my short acquaintance with Dr. Gibson,” Ethan said, “her brain seems entirely female to me.” The remark caused Garrett to stiffen slightly, as she expected a mocking comment to follow. Something about how a woman’s mind was changeable, or shallow, the usual clichés. But as Ethan continued, there was no hint of teasing in his tone. “Keen, subtle, and quick, with an intellect strengthened by compassion—yes, she has a woman’s mind.”
Thrown off guard, Garrett stared at him with a touch of wonder.
In that brief, private moment, Ethan looked as if he really did prefer her to everything else in the world. As if he saw all of her, the good and the bad, and wouldn’t change a thing about her.
As if from a distance, she heard Havelock’s voice. “Your new friend has a silver tongue, Dr. Gibson.”
“Indeed, he does,” Garrett said, managing to tear her gaze from Ethan’s. “Would you mind if I continue to keep company with Mr. Randolph?”
“Not at all,” Havelock assured her. “That spares me from having to listen to the musicale, when I would much rather indulge in a cigar with friends in the smoking room.”
“A cigar?” Garrett repeated, pretending to be shocked. “After all the times I’ve heard you refer to tobacco as a ‘poisonous luxury?’ Not long ago you told me you hadn’t smoked a single cigar since your wedding.
”
“Few men can defeat a willpower as strong as mine,” Havelock said. “But by Jove, I’ve done it.”
After Dr. Havelock had left them, Garrett studied Ethan closely. “He was right about something—you do have the look of the Ravenels. Especially your eyes. I can’t think how I missed that before. What an odd coincidence.”
Ethan didn’t reply to that, only frowned as he asked, “Why does Lady Helen want to introduce you to Weston Ravenel?”
“She seems to think we would enjoy each other’s company, but I haven’t had the time to meet him yet.”
“Good. Don’t go near the bastard.”
“Why? What’s he done?”
“He’s a Ravenel. That’s reason enough.”
Garrett’s brows lifted. “You bear ill will toward the family?”
“Aye.”
“Even Lady Helen? She’s the gentlest, sweetest-natured woman in the world. No reasonable person could dislike her.”
“’Tis none of them in particular I hate,” Ethan said in a low tone, “but all of them in general. And if you ever take up with Ravenel, I’ll have to throttle him with my bare hands.”
For a moment Garrett was too taken aback to respond. She stared at him with cool disapproval. “I see. Beneath that smartly tailored evening suit, there’s nothing but a jealous brute with no ability to control his primitive urges. Is that it?”
Ethan regarded her without expression, but after a moment she saw a glint of humor in his eyes. Bending his head over hers, he murmured, “It’s probably best for both of us, acushla, if you never find out what’s beneath my evening suit.”
Garrett had never been the kind of woman who blushed easily, if at all, but she found herself turning as red as a beetroot. Looking away from him, she tried to bring the rampant color under control.
“How can you hate an entire family?” she asked. “They can’t all have done something to you.”
“’Tis not important.”
Obviously that wasn’t true. But Helen hadn’t mentioned a word about any conflict between the Ravenels and Ethan Ransom. What in the world could have made him so hostile? She decided to take the matter up with him in the future.
They lingered in the refreshments room until most of the crowd had departed for the double salon, and they drifted out with the last few stragglers. Lady Tatham’s voice could be heard in the distance, announcing the first of the entertainers. The serene piano notes of Chopin’s Polonaise in E-flat Major rippled into the hallway like the cool, soothing water of a brook. Instead of heading toward the music, however, Ethan took Garrett along a hallway to the other end of the house, and down a set of private stairs.
“Where are we going?” Garrett asked.
“Tatham’s private study.”
They proceeded to the ground-floor level, crossed the entrance hall, and went along a quiet hallway. They reached a door near the end, and Ethan tried the handle. It refused to budge.
Lowering to his haunches, Ethan examined the lock.
“Can you open it?” Garrett asked in a whisper.
“A pin-and-tumbler lock?” he asked, as if the answer should have been obvious. He fished a pair of slender metal tools from an inside coat pocket. Meticulously he inserted an instrument with a crook at the end into the bottom of the keyhole, and used the other pick to work the pins inside, lifting them one by one. Click. Click. Click. In no time at all the barrel turned, and the door opened.
After guiding Garrett into the dark room, Ethan took a tiny steel match case from his pocket and deftly lit a batwing lamp that extended from the wall. A short, wide sheet of flame filled the glass bowl shade, spilling a white glow through the room.
Garrett turned to view her surroundings, and started at the sight of an Irish setter sitting calmly by the hearth before she realized the canine had been stuffed by a taxidermist. The study was bursting with an abundance of decorative objects: peacock feathers sprouting from a crane-necked vase, bronzes, figurines, and ornamental boxes. Most of the walls were covered by towering black walnut cabinetry with drawers and shelves, some of them with locks built into the front. What little wall space remained was filled with paintings of dogs and hunting scenes, as well as small artifacts and oddments displayed behind glass-fronted frames. Beyond the swags of velvet drawn back from the windowpanes, embellished iron bars and scrollwork formed a protective cage around each casing.
Ethan had gone behind the desk and was running his fingers lightly over a section of wall paneling set at dado height.
“What are you looking for?” Garrett asked in a hushed voice.
“Account ledgers.” He pressed a length of framed molding and released a hidden catch. The paneling swung open, revealing the front of a rather astonishing object, a massive steel sphere affixed to an iron pedestal.
Garrett came up behind him. “What is that?”
“A cannonball safe.”
“Why isn’t it shaped like a rectangle?”
“More secure this way. You can’t blow the door off: there’s no place to insert explosives. No bolts, rivets, or screws to pull out, and no joints to force wedges into.” Lowering to his haunches, Ethan examined a curious brass dial with numbers and notches at the edge. It had been attached to the center of the faceplate.
“A keyless lock,” he murmured, before Garrett could ask. He reached into his coat and pulled out a brass disk. A brief shake and the instrument extended into a narrow cone. It was a collapsible telescopic ear horn, the kind many of Garrett’s elderly patients used. She was mystified as he hooked the wire earpiece over his ear and bent to listen intently as he rotated the brass dial.
“I need to find the sequence that will open the lock,” Ethan said. “The clicks of an inner drive wheel will tell me how many numbers make up the combination.” Returning his attention to the task, he rotated the dial and kept the ear horn pressed to the door. “Three numbers,” he said eventually. “Now for the hard part—figuring out what they are.”
“Is there some way I could help?”
“No, it’s—” he began, and stopped as a thought occurred to him. “Do you know how to plot markers on a line chart?”
“I should hope so,” Garrett said, lowering to a crouch beside him. “I could hardly maintain my patients’ records properly otherwise. Would you prefer the markers connected or left scatterplot?”
“Connected,” Ethan said. He shook his head slightly as he glanced at her, the hint of a dimple appearing. Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a small notebook, the pages printed with a faintly inked grid. He handed the book to her. “Starting position numbers are on the horizontal axis. Contact point numbers are on the vertical axis. As I test numbers on the dial, I’ll tell you which ones to map out.”
“I had no idea safecrackers used coordinate paper,” Garrett said, taking a tiny pencil from him.
“They don’t. Yet. At the moment, I’m probably the only man in England who can get past this lock. It’s a mechanical device with its own set of rules. Even the craftsmen who make it can’t do it.”
“Who taught you, then?”
Ethan hesitated before replying. “I’ll explain later.” He bent to his task, setting the ear horn back against the safe. As he gently manipulated the dial, listened for clicks, and murmured sets of numbers to Garrett, she plotted them out efficiently. In no more than ten minutes, they were finished. She handed back the book and pencil. Ethan studied the pair of jagged lines on the chart, and drew crosses at the points where they converged. “Thirty-seven . . . two . . . sixteen.”
“What order do they go in?”
“That’s a matter of trial and error.” He dialed the numbers from largest to smallest, with no result. Next, he tried from smallest to largest. As if by magic, a smooth mechanical sound reverberated from the innards of the safe.
“How very satisfying,” Garrett exclaimed triumphantly.
Although Ethan was trying to maintain his concentration, it seemed he couldn’t hold back a grin. ??
?You have the makings of a fine criminal mind, Doctor.” He rose to his feet and wrenched the top handle of the safe downward. A circular door, at least seven inches thick, soundlessly pivoted open to reveal the interior.
Somewhat anticlimactically, the contents consisted of a simple stack of files and ledgers. But Ethan’s breath had quickened, and a notch of concentration had appeared between his thick brows. Garrett could tell that his thoughts were in a ferment of activity as he pulled out the stack and set it on the desk. Searching through the materials, he found a volume he wanted, and spread it flat. He began to thumb rapidly through the pages, his gaze taking in dozens of entries at a time.
“I expect we’ll be discovered soon,” he said without looking up. “Go to the door and watch through the crack. Tell me when someone approaches.”
His voice was dispassionate, his actions swift but measured as he sorted through the stack.
Garrett’s insides tightened with unease. She went to the closed door and discovered there was just enough of a space between the edge and the jamb for her to squint through. With a touch of amazement, she realized Ethan was so attuned to detail, so aware of everything in his periphery, that he noticed such things as a quarter-inch-wide crack in a door.
Two or three minutes passed while Ethan rifled through the account book. He pulled a folding knife from his coat and flicked it open. The blade flashed as he severed a few pages neatly from the bound spine.
“Are you nearly finished?” Garrett asked in a hushed voice.
He responded with the briefest of nods, his expression impassive. She wondered at his excessive calmness, when anxiety percolated all through her.
As she returned her attention to the hallway, she saw a flicker of movement, and her stomach flip-flopped. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. Hearing no response, she looked back over her shoulder, and saw Ethan gathering the files and ledgers back into a stack. “Someone—”
“I heard.”
Garrett looked through the crack again. The distant figure had enlarged rapidly—the man had reached the door—she started and took several steps backward as the knob rattled.