“We’ll find it!” Kat said again. She was no longer sure if the words were for him or for herself. She wasn’t even sure if there was a difference.
Kat was aware of the room. It was one of the byproducts of being Uncle Eddie’s niece and Bobby Bishop’s daughter. Some part of her brain was always calculating angles and measuring time, and so as the Bagshaws fought and Gabrielle scolded and Irina argued, a part of Kat was walking the perimeter of the large room, whispering in her ear that all was not as it seemed.
“Kat?”
She heard Hale’s voice. She felt his presence at her shoulder, large and warm and comforting. But it was that other Kat—the one that was encoded deep inside her DNA that was already inching toward the fireplace along the west wall of the massive room. She was already reaching, twisting, turning and pushing until she heard the inevitable…click.
“What do we have…” Kat started slowly as the bookshelf beside the fireplace began to move and shift, swinging open like a pair of great double doors to reveal a room that was long and narrow. Overhead, lights sputtered to life, filling the space with a harsh glare that bounced off of what looked to be a sea of gold and rubies and sapphires. There were mirrors on the walls, and the image reflected back and forth in what appeared to be a never-ending hallway. Eggs of the Magi—thousands of them—stretching out as far as the eye could see.
She glanced at Hale who looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Three Days Before the Auction
Greymore Castle, England
The Earl of Greymore’s Christmas house party was nearly as old as the earldom itself. For hundreds of years, it had been the site of scandal and drama and more than one heiress compromised beneath the mistletoe by an impoverished nobleman who was more than willing to take the girl—and her dowry—off of her father’s hands.
But this year’s party had a flavor and a feel like no one could remember. There were, for instance, the two new footmen who somehow managed to set the drawing room of the family wing on fire and forced the evacuation of the earl’s private chambers for more than eight hours. There was the new maid who, while presumably cleaning the earl’s office, was drawn into a screaming match with the future countess over the location of an antique armoire and whether or not it should be moved to reveal whatever was behind it.
And, of course, there were the guests. Aside from the normal collection of lords and ladies from all over England, this year the guest list included the usual rush of dowager duchesses and aging viscounts, a few members of the landed gentry and a variety of young misses, each of whom hoped to catch the eye of the earl’s heir and eventually become a countess in her own right.
But the most troubling thing, it seemed, was the weather.
Gray clouds moved over the winter sun and the wind turned crisp, and eventually even the fires in the big rooms were not enough to fight the chill.
Perhaps that was why Kat’s hands were cold and her head was hurting. Every time she smelled pine needles she wanted to sneeze. And every time she felt the anger that was brewing inside of Hale she wanted to scream.
But she could do neither. So Kat simply settled for looking harder.
There were a dozen eggs in the kitchen—all fake. A very good replica was displayed on the landing at the top of the west stairwell, and at least twenty eggs—in all shapes and sizes—adorned the Christmas tree that the staff spent the better part of the day erecting in the grand hall.
Hamish and Angus each found a stash of eggs beneath the mattresses of the family bedrooms and an almost comically large egg lived in the center of a dormant fountain in the formal gardens.
The sky darkened and the guests drank tea and Kat and her friends looked.
And looked.
Until Kat pushed her way into one of the storerooms off the kitchen and feared that she could look no more.
When a pair of strong arms snaked around Kat’s stomach and pulled her back, she might have fought—once upon a time. But Kat the Burglar had changed, it seemed. Because all she did was sink into the embrace and feel warm for the first time that day.
“Any luck?” Hale’s breath was warm against Kat’s ear. His lips brushed against her in a whisper of a kiss.
“No.” Kat forced herself to pull away and turn, look up at him. She didn’t like what she saw. “What’s wrong?”
Hale ran a hand through his thick hair, then studied the dim room, the shelves lined with flour and potatoes. For a moment, it was like she wasn’t even there.
“Does the earl seem sane enough to plan this?” Hale asked, his voice low.
Kat shook her head. “No. I seriously doubt Irina would be messing with him if he were. She’s always gone after the low-hanging fruit.”
Hale nodded, then ran a finger along the stacks of table linens that covered one shelf. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Even in the dim room, Kat was aware of Hale’s light fading. When he’d first heard that one of Hazel’s charities had been conned, he’d been afire. Now rage was being replaced by something colder. Something darker. The weather wasn’t the only thing that was changing.
“Angus and Hamish found five more eggs,” Kat told him.
“I was wondering what that crash was,” Hale said.
Kat shrugged. “The portico off the library wasn’t as stable as it looked.”
“I see.” Hale nodded.
“They’re all fake, Hale. We’ve found almost a hundred. Every single one of them fake.”