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Moonlight Masquerade, A Regency

By Ruth Axtell

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London, April 1813
Rees had never seen so many female baubles in his life. Ropes of pearl, gold chains, jeweled tiaras, and bracelets of every description lay nested in their satin surroundings.
The Countess of Wexham’s jewelry box contained enough precious stones to feed half of London.
But he wasn’t interested in what her jewels would fetch on the market. He was searching for something else among the lady’s belongings. Something infinitely more precious—and damaging—if it were found.
Information.
Rees glanced quickly over his shoulder—having imagined the sound of footsteps behind him all evening—before lifting each article of jewelry to make sure nothing lay beneath. He replaced them one by one, endeavoring to leave everything as he had found it. Conscious that the seconds were ticking by, he was still not certain what he was looking for, only that he would recognize it when he saw it.
He lowered the lid and relocked it. Next, he slipped his skeleton key into the narrow drawer in the lower part of the jewelry box and opened it. Rows of amethyst, topaz, ruby, and emerald earrings and rings glinted back at him from the light of his candle.
He went through every item, probing the satin beneath. Nothing out of the ordinary . . . for a lady of the fashionable world of the London ton.
He slid the drawer closed and locked it, expelling a breath. He glanced at the brass clock beside the jewelry box. Ten precious minutes had passed since he’d entered the lady’s dressing room. He’d already spent the last hour searching her bedroom and found nothing. He calculated he had at least another hour before she or her maid returned for the evening.
He eyed the piece of furniture the jewelry box sat upon. A mahogany, bowfront chest of drawers with brass lion’s head pull handles. Forcing himself to continue the disagreeable task of going through someone’s personal belongings, he grasped the top two handles and opened the first drawer. Stacks of handkerchiefs sat in neatly folded squares, of every texture and description from snowy white to pale cream and sheerest lawn edged in a wide swath of lace to heavy cambric, monogrammed in the corner, as plain as a man’s.
The latter were at odds with their owner, a lady of utmost femininity.
Rees went through each pile, feeling for any object, anything suspicious—a folded piece of paper, a scroll, something cylindrical in which a document could be slipped into.
The scent of mahogany and lavender drifted to his nostrils. His fingers encountered a few sachets tied with satin ribbons. He examined each one but felt only the tiny lavender pellets beneath his fingertips.
He reached the bottom of the drawer and touched the paper lining, probing each corner, going so far as sliding his hand under the paper while holding the piles of handkerchiefs in place with the other.
He repeated this motion on each side of the drawer, left, front, rear, and right, then gave it a careful look to ascertain that its contents looked undisturbed before softly pushing the drawer closed.
Where would he hide something if he were a fashionable lady? His narrowed gaze roamed the dainty dressing room, taking in its furnishings—two large wardrobes along one wall, the chest of drawers he stood in front of, a dresser with a mirror, two comfortable armchairs flanking it, a large, plush carpet in shades of rose and green covering most of the floor. A faint scent of perfume permeated the air, nothing cloying, but light, reminding him of a Sussex village in high summer when the roses festooned the hedgerows, casting out their fragrance when one brushed by them.
He turned back to face the chest of drawers. No help for it but to go methodically through every drawer, every item, just as he’d done in the bedroom.
He hated this aspect of the job—snooping through a lady’s private things. A bloody naval battle, crossing swords on the deck of a frigate, was preferable.
The ticking clock reminded him again that he’d better get to it or he’d end up discovered before his first week was up.
Steeling himself for the task, he slid open the next drawer. Thank goodness everything in the lady’s terrace house was new and well maintained. He needn’t fear any sticking drawers or squeaking hinges. He knew from her dossier that Lady Wexham had only moved here after her widowhood three years ago.
He eyed the drawer’s contents in dismay. Silk and lawn undergarments.
Without meaning to, he envisioned the lady they belonged to.
A beautiful woman, dark of hair and eye, more elegant and well-bred than any woman of Rees’s acquaintance. And, for the foreseeable future, his employer.
And very possibly a spy against Great Britain.
It was his task to find out.

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