Page 4 of Gone with the Rake

“Very well done,” a soft feminine voice said from behind the gun barrel.

Lydia didn’t have the time to contemplate who was threatening her as her mind cleared and the blood returned to her limbs.

She spun and lunged for the windows, yanking the heavy curtains apart with desperate hands. But instead of finding the cloudy London night beyond the glass, her stomach plummeted as she found herself staring down at the main gambling floor of the hell.

Tears pricked at the back of the eyes. She was caught. For the first time in years.

Lydia took a deep breath to compose herself and then slowly turned toward the woman who was still pointing a pistol at her.

The woman was already inside the room, the door behind her closed. Now that Lydia looked at the woman calmly, she could clearly make out her sable black hair and the expensive silk gown. She’d seen that woman lounging on the balcony overlooking the hell’s main floor just a few moments earlier, but she’d never seen her up close.

Miss Melissande Monroe, the owner of Hades’ Hell.

Miss Monroe was studying Lydia in turn. “Glad to finally meet you Mr. Mist… Or should I say Miss? Not much of a disguise you have on. I have to say, I am truly disappointed.”

Lydia sniffed, her eyes darting to the hat she’d left on the floor. Today was not her day. “The pleasure is all mine.” She was pleasantly surprised to find her voice wasn’t shaking.

“I’d heard rumors about Mr. Mist, the slickest thief who could con the smartest of men… Should have known you were a woman; it’s so obvious now. But you have to be slightly more cunning if you want to outsmart me.” Her lips moved in the widest of smiles, but her dark eyes remained cold. “Nevertheless, I am impressed all the same. To get into the heart of Hades’ Hell undetected is not an easy feat. Especially in your poor excuse for a disguise.”

Lydia tossed her head back defiantly. She didn’t care for Miss Monroe’s insults. After all, Lydia had gotten what she came for, and she was not about to roll over and let this arrogant woman do with her as she pleased. From the periphery of her eye, she studied the dark chamber, trying to figure out if there were more exits she could use.

“There is no way out of this room except for the door I am blocking, Mist,” Miss Monroe said as if reading Lydia’s mind. “So please, hand me the map.”

Blast. She knew. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“Miss Mist, I am the one holding the pistol, so I would strongly urge you to comply. I’d hate for my maids to end their day by cleaning your blood off my carpet. And it is not my intention to kill you, although, it doesn’t mean I shall not. My only intention is to… talk. Please, sit.” Miss Monroe waved a pistol toward the desk. “And be so kind as to light the candle on the desk. I want you to see what you’ve attempted to steal.”

Lydia slowly moved toward the desk, not taking her eyes off Miss Monroe. She sidestepped the chair to get to the candle and eyed the tinderbox. Instead, she reached for the candleholder and threw it in Miss Monroe’s direction.

As the hell owner ducked, Lydia rushed toward the door and threw it open. But her plans of escaping were instantly thwarted by the tall and rather wide man showcasing his toothless grin as he blocked the door.

He stepped forward, a knife in one hand and a rope in another. Was he going to tie her up? Lydia froze, uncertain what to do next.

Miss Monroe picked up the candle holder and dusted her skirts unhurriedly. “Right,” she said as she walked toward the desk, placed the candle holder with a loud thud, and then unhurriedly lit the candle. “Now that that’s settled, do you mind taking your seat at the desk, please? We have a lot to discuss.”

“Do we?” Lydia gritted through her teeth, not taking her eyes off the huge guard at the door.

“The map you stole, please. And no sudden movements. Gerald is not the only person waiting outside of my doors.”

Lydia stood still for one long moment before she finally walked toward the desk, passed the hell owner, and plopped into the seat. It seemed like she truly had no choice. She reached into her boot and took out the worn piece of paper. Throwing a begrudging look at Miss Monroe, she passed her the map.

“No.” The hell owner smiled and crossed her arms across her chest, leaning her side against the edge of the desk, the pistol still in her hand. “It’s not for me. It’s for you. Please, take a look.”

Lydia directed her eyes heavenward before studying the map. “A beautiful map, I suppose,” she said, twisting the piece of paper this way and that. “What do you want me to do? Travel to the ends of the earth in the hopes of retrieving a mythical treasure?”

“No.” The hell owner’s words were slow, precise. “I want you to get the jewel that is drawn in the corner of the map.”

“By using this map?” Lydia lifted the parchment closer to the light of a candle. The map looked as ancient as it felt. She leaned closer to examine the jewel she was to steal, and… her blood turned to ice.

It couldn’t be!

“Do not be ridiculous.” Miss Monroe scoffed. “The jewel is no longer there, or I would have hired pirates to do this job. No, it is on English soil and has been for a long time. Currently, it’s in the hands of one scoundrel viscount. But it belongs to me. Or at least, it’s supposed to.”

“You want me to steal it for you,” Lydia murmured more to herself than to the proprietress of the gaming hell as she gazed at the sketch of the jewel—a ring—with the ruby nestled within an intricate weave of Celtic knots.

“Yes. And I want you to do it before the grandest masquerade in London,” came Miss Monroe’s voice as if from far away, while Lydia’s eyes traced the patterns of the ring—endless, unbroken, and all too familiar.

Familiar because she had seen them before.