Page 32 of The Art of Theft
She raised a brow. “You are open to taking it by force, Lieutenant?”
He shrugged. “We are going to commit a crime. Armed robbery is but another criminal option.”
“What, then, are your thoughts on taking the Van Dyck by force?”
“On the main it seems inadvisable. The private gallery is at the rear of the château, directly above the lake. Let’s say we slash the painting from its frame and carry the canvas through the rest of the building. The multitudes on the night of the ball will make that a fraught endeavor, even if the gates on the bridges wouldn’t already be locked in anticipation against such blatant thievery.
“The only other option would be to throw it out of one of the windows and hope that someone stationed below in a boat can catch it. There were no boats on the lake when I went. I’m not sure how we get one there. And I’m not sure that the person in the boat will have time to row the boat to shore and climb over the fences before the dogs get there.”
Charlotte had noticed the kennels in the afternoon. She’d chosen not to mention the guard dogs to either Livia or Mrs. Watson, but had spoken with Mr. Marbleton before she left. He assured herthat he’d seen the kennels and planned to avoid all canine entanglements on his second outing to the château.
“What if we proceed by stealth?”
“Stealth requires far more preparation, preferably from inside the château. Which will be difficult to accomplish, given that at the moment, we have no one inside. It also requires that in the midst of a large gathering, we remove a sizable painting not only from the wall but from the premises, with no one being the wiser.” He took a sip of his soup. “I would not even consider stealth, except the alternative seems certain to end in a very public disaster. With stealth, we might yet have the luxury of failing unnoticed.”
“You are not very optimistic about our chances.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“In that case, Miss Charlotte”—he smiled slightly—“bon appétit.”
?Oddly enough, in spending time with the quiet, competent, and handsome Lieutenant Atwood, Charlotte began to understand the impasse between herself and Lord Ingram.
For years their interactions had been characterized by a deep, sharp-edged tension, the friction between the pull of physical desire and the restraining force of everything else. The rules that governed a respectable woman’s conduct, the rules that decreed what a man could or could not do with a respectable woman, and the rules that he placed on himself, a begrudging yet implacable respect for his foundering marriage.
But since summer, one by one those restraints had fallen by the wayside. She was no longer a respectable woman, and his marriage had met its demise, needing only the High Court to officially pronounce it well and truly dissolved.
And only now, trudging along in uncharted territory, could she appreciate the significance of those restraints.
They had not been restraints, in reality, but a safety net, something she counted on to make sure that they could proceed this far but no further. That he would observe all those restraints was what made it possible for her to repeatedly proposition him, knowing that he would refuse her advances.
Even when she’d cajoled him into bed, she’d known it would be only temporary, that he would not allow it to continue beyond the conclusion of the case at Stern Hollow.
But along with the disappearance of societal restraints, they had also changed. The affair had changed them, and instead of the old chaste yearning, there was now a hunger for more of the forbidden fruit.
Which had tasted sweet indeed.
But a forbidden fruit that one could bite into at will was just another apple.
And Charlotte Holmes and Lord Ingram, without everything holding them back, might come together in a storm of sparks while the physical pleasures were new. But, as time went on, they would reveal themselves to be what they had always been: two highly mismatched individuals.
The atmosphere between herself and Lieutenant Atwood was easy because they had no history, tortured or otherwise, to color their interactions. She could make such a man her lover—or never see him again—without worrying about losing a friend of long-standing.
With Lord Ingram, the potential for catastrophic loss hung in the balance.
She sighed and returned her attention to her dinner companion. “There is something I need to discuss with you, Lieutenant. It concerns the actual contents of the maharani’s letters.”
Seven
Lord Ingram was not terribly surprised to see Mr. Marbleton at the inn, though he had not expected Mrs. Watson and Miss Olivia Holmes at the same table. The ladies, on the other hand, were a little distressed by the sight of him.
“But Charlotte returned to Paris—and now you are here,” cried Miss Olivia, in fluent, if regional, German.
He smiled slightly. “I am fairly confident that when Miss Charlotte left, she foresaw that I would be here tonight.”
“She did say that she wanted to finish studying the contents of the dossier provided by your ally,” said Miss Olivia, still looking rather crestfallen. “I thought it was an excuse to meet your train or some such.”
