Read Online Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) by Delilah Marvelle - Free Book Online Page B

She made her way into the inn, up the narrow stairs leading to their room.
    Konstantin dragged in a ragged breath, inwardly savoring that beautiful scent and raked back his damp hair several times in an effort to remain calm. He strode up the narrow staircase after her until he reached the landing and the door leading to their room. He flicked a finger against the sleeve of her wet gown. “You cannot stay in this. It needs to dry.”
    She puffed out a breath. “I know.” She pulled out the brass key from her bosom and paused, blinking down at the slightly open door. “I thought I locked the door.”
    Shite. Konstantin pushed her back and away. “Go downstairs,” he whispered. “Now.”
    Although she scrambled away, she whispered back, “I’m not leaving you alone.”
    “ Quiet . They could still be in the room.” He creaked the door open and peered into the darkened room, noting the coals in the hearth barely glowed. Nothing moved. No one was in the room. He paused. “Are you certain you locked the door?”
    “Yes.” She held up the key and wagged it. “I locked it. I know I did.”
    He opened the door wider to better see into the room. Dim light slithered further in. Although no one was in the room, he sensed something wasn’t right. “Stay where you are.”
    She froze.
    He strode toward the oil lantern on the side table and stumbled against something at his feet. He kicked away a bundle of material from around his foot. Was that his sack? He headed toward the side table beside the bed and stumbled against something else on the floor. His shirt? He caught himself on the bed with a hand.
    Grabbing the flint box, which he was now able to make out, Konstantin struck it and held it to the wick of the oil lantern on the side table. When the wick lighted, he shifted the glass back onto the brass holding and turned.
    Strewn across the floor were his clothes, his undergarments and everything else that had once been neatly organized in his wool sack. Everything lay scattered as if someone had been looking for something.
    Someone had picked the lock.
    He scrambled to the loose floorboard where he had hidden his money and pried it open. A breath escaped him seeing the small leather satchel with bank notes and coins. Releasing the floorboard and hitting it back into place, he paused, scanning the room.
    Only one thing appeared to be missing: his watch.
    It was not on the sack where he had left it or on the chair where his coat and waistcoat had been moved to.
    His pulse roared as he swung toward her. “Someone picked the lock. Which I will admit is fairly easy to do.”
    Her eyes widened as her hands gripped the wet fabric of her gown hard. “Did they take anything?”
    “My watch.” He grabbed his dagger off the bedside table and unsheathed it. Jogging toward the open doorway, he glanced left and right but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “You said you were talking to someone. A man.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Did you know what room he emerged from?”
    She hurried in beside him and pointed to the door next to theirs. “There. But I don’t think he—”
    “Stay here and bolt the door.”
    “Bolt the door? You don’t mean to—”
    “ Stay in the room .” He stalked toward the door she had pointed to and using his boot, hit the door, rattling it several times against its hinges.
    “ What are you doing ?” she hissed, leaning out of the doorway.
    He glared. “He saw you leave the room. He was clearly waiting for an opportunity.”
    She glared back. “Whilst I am not looking to defend a man who offers a woman a cigar and cards in the hopes of garnering her attention, you don’t know if he picked the lock. It could have been anyone.”
    Oh, no. He knew the way these criminals conducted business. He’d grown up in it.
    The door swung open.
    A hefty young man with a yellowing linen shirt pulled over his trousers peered out. He froze, his blond, wavy hair falling into his eyes and said in harried Russian,