Page 2 of Forgotten No More

Her nicely trimmed nails nearly snapped when her grasp on the handle slipped from the force of her tug. The drawer hadn’t budged.

Locked!

“Oh, poppy cocks!” she hissed. Moving her hands to the folds of her evening gown, Ruby procured a small pouch tucked neatly into a hidden pocket. Setting it on the desk, she pulled out her array of lock-picking devices, really only hairpins and small wires she’d collected since her first night—and her first failed attempt at breaking into a desk—to help her disengage the drawer.

She had to know what secrets this lord held. Would she find an envelope inside labelled ‘Abandoned Daughter,’ or a report from the Bow Street Runners with details about herself—her hair color, the particular green shade of her eyes, places she’d been, perhaps the details of her activities over the course of her life?

Nothing worth finding was that simply ascertained.

No man, married or not, would leave record of their nefarious past. It was more likely her father had not spared her, or her mother, a second thought after throwing his pregnant mistress from his townhouse in the middle of the night with no coat and no means to get home.

Ruby was anything but a fool, but she found herself continuing to search regardless. She didn’t need a signed confession—she just needed that letter opener.

Picks in hand, she knelt before the locked drawer and eyed the keyhole, blowing a wayward strand of hair that had fallen across her face. She’d been unsuccessful more often than not when attempting to open locked drawers. But luck may have been on her side this evening. She’d entered the ball with little fuss, shortly after the host and hostess had quit the receiving line. It was surprising how similar the layout of most London townhouses were. Ruby had navigated the halls of the second floor and found the room she sought fairly quickly, encountering not a soul.

The pins slipped into the lock and her tongue darted out of her mouth to lick her lips as she concentrated on moving them exactly right to click the lock over. She fought to keep her hands steady when sweat broke out across her forehead. She was running out of time.

Ruby applied a bit too much pressure and the pin snapped, falling uselessly into the locked drawer. “Damn you to hell, Mother!” she cursed and sat back, wiping her slick brow.

She’d always viewed herself as a sensible girl, a dutiful daughter, and an honest friend. She could only imagine the horror on Vi’s face if she saw her now. A common thief. A midnight prowler. A defiler of privacy.

Although, it could not be helped.

She sought answers and at the moment all she had was an endless list of questions.

Gaining her feet once more, she bundled her kit and slipped it back into her pocket. She turned her attention to the long table against the wall behind the desk. Leaning over, she ran her hand along the underside of the ornately carved piece, feeling for hidden compartments or—if her luck returned—a forgotten folder of papers.

“Sherry, Miss Ruby?” an oddly familiar voice asked behind her.

Harold Jakeston watched as she stood. Her back straightened and her body tensed.

She slowly turned in his direction, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping.

He wanted to laugh, but feared startling her any more than he already had.

Even though she’d matured, Miss Ruby St. Augustin still resembled the dirty ragamuffin who’d tagged along after Brock and him in their youth. Her eyes had always been filled with mischief and adventure, as they were now. The green of her irises fairly glowed in the low-lit room. Her hair no longer hung limply around her shoulders, but was caught up in a fashionable pile atop her head. She’d always been tall; now she towered close to his six-foot height.

His gaze traveled back to hers. “Can I offer you a sherry?” he asked again, holding his glass out to her as he admired the delicate tilt of her slender neck.

“Mr. Jakeston…I…well.”

He relaxed. “It is a simple question.” He paused, bringing the glass to his own lips for a sip. “Either you would enjoy a glass of sherry or you would not.”

When she only stared without a word, Harold continued, “Do you not know what you want?” He was badgering her. She most definitely was not doing the same as he, hiding from the masses for a few minutes of quiet after an arduous evening. Her cursing and rifling through Lord Yorkton’s desk clearly showed she was looking for something—and hadn’t located it. But what precisely did she seek?

“Pardon my rudeness, Mr. Jakeston. No, I do not wish for a glass, but thank you ever so much for the offer.” She rubbed her hands down the front of her evening gown. “You startled me. I thought I was alone.” Her glance darted around the room, as if she expected someone else to emerge from the shadows.

Harold chuckled. “I gathered that much. Would you like to join me by the fire?” he asked. Not waiting for her response, he sank into the overstuffed chair he’d vacated moments before. The room was modernly appointed and satisfied Harold’s need for space. He’d expected a few minutes to decompress from the many people he’d met throughout the evening, but found he was not opposed to her interruption.

While highly improper of him, he sought to lure her into sitting—and hopefully an explanation about her presence in Lord Yorkton’s private study.

Her reluctant footsteps could be heard as she crossed the room, tentatively taking the seat next to him. While the chairs faced the fire, they also angled slightly toward each other. He took in her uplifted chin, perfectly coiffed hair, and the emeralds that hung elegantly around her neck and from her ears. He’d wager a pretty penny they matched the shade of her eyes perfectly—eyes that currently stared intently into the fire as she perched on the edge of her chair.

After several moments of silence, he asked, “Are you enjoying your evening? I was not aware you were in town.”

“Why would you know if I were in town?” She never turned away from the fire.

“I suspect that Lady Vi, I mean Lady Haversham—the name is still so new to me—would be bursting at the seams with your arrival.”