Outrageously Yours by Allison Chase Page B

supplied suitable riding clothes, but Ivy had assumed them to be standard attire for romping in the countryside with her fellow university students. A good number of years had passed since she had last ridden astride, and she had never quite taken to the saddle anyway, not like her much more athletic sister Holly. The prospect of negotiating woodland paths by herself was not a welcome one.
    “Whatever you prefer,” Lord Harrow said, apparently perceiving her hesitation. “Though I thought perhaps we’d ride together in the evenings before supper.”
    Together? That shed an entirely different light on the matter. Ivy delighted in the image forming in her mind, that of riding through the forest at Lord Harrow’s side, discussing the elements and fauna, gauging wind velocities—subjects that made her sisters roll their eyes. “I’d like that very much, sir. Though I must admit I’m not the most proficient of riders.”
    He chuckled faintly. “Too much time spent at your books, Ned?”
    “That’s it exactly, sir.”
    “Did the other boys tease you for it, when you were younger?”
    A taut silence grew as Ivy regretted the necessity of lying, and as a conviction came over her that Victoria must surely be wrong about him. His sister may have stolen the stone, but Ivy would all but stake her life that Lord Harrow knew nothing about it, and that if he did, he would insist Lady Gwendolyn return the queen’s property before another day dawned.
    She offered him a sad little smile. “I suppose they did, sir.”
    His nod conveyed the understanding of someone who had shared a similar experience. “Off with you, then. That’s enough for today.”
     
    That night, Ivy stood with her ear to her door, waiting for silence to descend over Harrowood. But no matter the hour, there would always be someone awake somewhere in the house—a footman or two, perhaps even a maid working late or getting an early start on the morrow’s chores. She must keep to the shadows, make nary a sound, and turn corners with the utmost care to avoid detection.
    Noiselessly she slipped out of her room, careful to step over the bare floorboards and keep to the muffling hall runner. With only intermittent shafts of moonlight to guide her, she made her way through the darkened corridors to Lord Harrow’s library with its adjoining office. Outside, the wind wailed through the trees and battered a warning against the house. Goose bumps showered Ivy’s arms, but she ignored the discomfort, the wind, the little voice inside urging her back to the safety of her room.
    Spindly shadows, cast through the library’s windows by the tangle of branches outside, danced on the walls and groped along the spines of the books lining the shelves. The ghostly sight drew a gasp from Ivy, but she bit it back and issued herself a stern admonishment to get to work. One by one she searched the desk, the long, low bank of cabinets, and then the tall cupboard with the gilded edges. Next she considered the bookcases. No single volume appeared thick enough to conceal Victoria’s stone, but before passing through to the office, she checked that the books sat well back on their shelves, and that nothing could have been hidden behind them.
    A cautionary instinct prompted her to slide the nearest book off its shelf before she passed through to the office. A bout of conscience gripped her as she set the small book on the leather desktop, closed the door to the corridor, and once again rummaged through drawers and cabinets. With every pull of a knob, she expected to encounter resistance, but it seemed Lord Harrow saw no reason to lock away estate ledgers and files. No, it became apparent that any secrets he might possess were guarded in his laboratory . . . where she could not tread without his permission.
    Just as she retrieved the clothbound tome she’d taken from the library, the office door swung open.
    “Who’s there?” a male voice demanded. A blinding burst of lantern light