She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t—”
“I don’t know,” she snapped, hating that she had to admit defeat. “I don’t recognize anything. I’m not even certain this is Italian. Do you know if she spoke another language?”
“I have no idea.”
Hyacinth clamped her teeth together, thoroughly discouraged by the turn of events. She hadn’t necessarily thought they would find the jewels that evening, but it had never occurred to her that the next clue might lead them straight into a brick wall.
“May I see?” Gareth asked.
She handed him the note, watching as he shook his head. “I don’t know what that is, but it’s not Italian.”
“Nor anything related to it,” Hyacinth said.
Gareth swore under his breath, something that Hyacinth was fairly certain she was not meant to hear.
“With your permission,” she said, using that even tone of voice she’d long since learned was required when dealing with a truculent male, “I could show it to my brother Colin. He has traveled quite extensively, and he might recognize the language, even if he lacks the ability to translate it.”
Gareth appeared to hesitate, so she added, “We can trust him. I promise you.”
He gave her a nod. “We’d best leave. There’s nothing more we can do this night, anyway.”
There was little cleaning up to be done; they had put the books back on the shelves almost as soon as they’d removed them. Hyacinth moved a stool back in place against the wall, and Gareth did the same with a chair. The drapes had remained in place this time; there was little moonlight to see by, anyway.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She grabbed Miss Davenport and the Dark Marquis. “Are you certain no one will miss this?”
He tucked Isabella’s clue between the pages for safekeeping. “Quite.”
Hyacinth watched as he pressed his ear to the door. No one had been about when they had sneaked in a half hour earlier, but Gareth had explained that the butler never retired before the baron. And with the baron still out at the Mottram Ball, that left one man up and possibly about, and another who could return at any time.
Gareth placed one finger on his lips and motioned for her to follow him as he carefully turned the doorknob. He opened the door an inch—just enough to peer out the crack and make sure that it was safe to proceed. Together they crept into the hall, moving swiftly to the stairs that led down to the ground floor. It was dark, but Hyacinth’s eyes had adjusted well enough to see where she was going, and in under a minute they were back in the drawing room—the one with the faulty window latch.
As he had the time before, Gareth climbed out first, then formed a step with his hands for Hyacinth to balance upon as she reached up and shut the window. He lowered her down, dropped a quick kiss on her nose, and said, “You need to get home.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m already hopelessly compromised.”
“Yes, but I’m the only one who knows.”
Hyacinth thought it rather charming of him to be so concerned for her reputation. After all, it didn’t truly matter if anyone caught them or not; she had lain with him, and she must marry him. A woman of her birth could do no less. Good heavens, there could be a baby, and even if not, she was no longer a virgin.
But she had known what she was doing when she had given herself to him. She knew the ramifications.
Together they crept down the alley to Dover Street. It was imperative, Hyacinth realized, that they move quickly. The Mottram Ball was notorious for running into the wee hours of the morning, but they’d got a late start on their search, and surely everyone would be heading home soon. There would be carriages on the streets of Mayfair, which meant that she and Gareth needed to render themselves as invisible as possible.
Hyacinth’s joking aside, she didn’t wish to be caught out in the middle of the night. It was true that their marriage was now an inevitability, but all the same, she didn’t particularly relish the thought of being the subject of scurrilous gossip.
“Wait here,” Gareth said, barring her from moving forward with his arm. Hyacinth remained in the shadows as he stepped onto Dover Street, edging as close to the corner as she dared while he made sure there was no one about. After a few seconds she saw Gareth’s hand, reaching back and making a scooping, “come along” gesture.
She stepped out onto Dover Street, but she was there barely a second before she heard Gareth’s sharply in-drawn breath and felt herself being shoved back into the shadows.
Flattening herself against the back wall of the corner building, she clutched Miss Davenport—and within it, Isabella’s clue—to her chest as she waited for Gareth to appear by her side.
And then she heard it.
Just one word. In his father’s voice.