Page 48 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
How very peculiar.
A dreadful suspicion gnawed at Amelia. Had she been wrong to trust Paul? She’d known he had his secrets, but she had never imagined he would deceive her. Had he used her faith in him to his own advantage?
Pressing her head back against the carriage’s upholstered seat, she closed her eyes and pictured the delicate Fashion Lady he’d brought back to her from Paris. How she cherished the heartfelt gift. Had the elegant doll meant nothing more to Paul than a means to an end, a means of concealing a stolen gem?
Now, as the watch in her reticule ticked well past the midnight hour, she would retrieve it before anyone connected with Hawk realized its significance. Time was of the essence. Logan understood that just as she did. A stranger would destroy the doll without a moment’s thought.
And then they would come for her.
Just as the intruder had that dismal night when Heathy’s sharp teeth and Logan’s courage had protected her.
Logan broke the silence. “Ye truly think yer brother stashed a gem in a blasted doll?”
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. “It is a logical theory. The man who attacked me spoke of a diamond. Paul gave me the doll after he’d returned from Paris... after the murdered collector’s jewels were stolen.”
“To my mind, it’d be too damned much trouble. If I wanted to conceal a stone worth a bloody fortune, I wouldn’t waste time fiddling about with a blasted doll.”
“I disagree,” she countered. “No one would think to look there.”
“I knew yer brother well, lass. If he’d needed to stash a stolen gem, I’d wager my last shilling that he would not have chosen a method that would require carefully concealed alterations. He would not have had the skill, nor the time. But if I’m wrong—if the stone is there—wewillfind it.”
*
Oh, dear.
A moment—perhaps two—after Amelia lit the sconce on the wall and light beamed through the library, she heard herself gasp.Good heavens.Her heart sank. They were too late. Someone had invaded the place she viewed as a haven. Someone intent not merely on searching the library, but on destruction and havoc. Reaching the rumpled carpet near the circulation desk, she scanned the chaos.
Chairs upended and drawers in her cabinets hanging ajar.
Books strewn about the floor like so much refuse.
A vase, or what was left of it, lay in pieces on the floor beside her desk. The single rose it had held was surrounded by a small puddle of water and shards of crystal. Anger and grief welled inher chest. Years earlier, her favorite aunt had given her the vase as a cherished gift. Now, it lay hopelessly shattered.
“Bloody bastards,” Logan said, his voice hard as he inspected the space for intruders. “They will pay for this, Amelia. That, I promise ye.”
Bracing herself with a hand pressed against her desk, she surveyed the damage. The stuffing of a plump wing chair had been torn out through a slash in the upholstery and now lay loose upon the seat. Ruined. Utterly ruined.
Her attention settled on the now-vacant space on the shelf where she’d kept the doll. Her pulse raced. Had the intruder made off with it? Could they have known that Paul obtained the doll while he was in Paris? Or had they indiscriminately snatched up anything that might have been used to hide a jewel?
She glanced toward Logan. He stood rather still, his expression grim as he looked down at something on the floor.
Her gaze trailed his. A surge of grief blended with raw anger.Oh, my beautiful doll.
Ruined.
The intruder had not stolen the Fashion Lady. No, this was far worse. The despicable lout had torn her cherished keepsake to pieces.
She went to Logan’s side and began to gather up what was left of the doll. The head with its lovely painted face was still intact. That was some comfort. But its elegant silk gown had been torn away, cast aside like a scrap of rubbish. Stuffing oozed out of its leather body through a crude rip down the middle. Goodness, even its tiny limbs had been sliced open and pitched to the floor.
Crouching beside her, Logan retrieved several mutilated pieces. “Blast it, Amelia. I know how much this meant to ye.”
She examined the Fashion Lady’s unmarred face. “They tore it to pieces and took what they were looking for.”
“Or they came up empty-handed.” Logan lifted up the doll’s damaged body. “There’s one fresh slash by a blade, but no sign the doll had been cut before tonight. Paul could not have hidden anything inside it unless he’d opened it up.”
She examined the doll beneath the gas lamp. “You’re right. The stitching appears to be untouched. Unless Paul repaired the damaged seam.”
Logan touched the small of her back, the warmth of his hand offering unspoken comfort. “Not bloody likely. Yer brother couldn’t even mend a rip in his trousers.”
