Katherine O’Neal by Princess of Thieves Read Free Book Online

represented....
    There was a wide stone staircase at the end
of the hall, leading up to a second level. She headed for it on
shaking legs, hoping she could escape before Winston caught sight
of her.
    People were wandering up and down the
stairway on tours of the museum. Before she made it halfway up, she
felt a hand on her arm. She whirled. It was Mace Blackwood. His
midnight-blue eyes took in her jittery state with one swift glance
from beneath the unadorned black shield of his mask.
    She’d run from him, but now that he’d caught
her, she was inexplicably happy to see him.
    “Had enough of the party?” he asked in his
Oxford-inflected voice.
    Feeling incapable of speech, she nodded.
    “Perhaps you’d care to join me on the
terrace. We might step outside and look at the mud.”
    He smiled charmingly, but her mind was
working too feverishly to respond. Now that she had a moment to
catch her breath, she recalled her reasons for going after
Blackwood in the first place and strengthened her resolve. As he
guided her, his hand at her elbow, up the staircase toward the
outside door, she took the opportunity to collect her wits and
devise a plan of attack. The last thing she could afford at this
juncture was to have Blackwood perceive her vulnerable state. She
must behave as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.
    She reached up and fingered the mask at her
eyes. It gave her a sense of comfort, a contrivance by which to
shield her jumbled emotions from the penetration of his gaze. She
could do what she must, what she’d planned for so long. She had
only to look at his face... and remember the pain...
    She overheard McLeod, the fat man who’d been
at the Van Slyke mansion the night before, complaining to a woman
in a brightly colored mask. “But you don’t understand. The only
reason I came tonight was to see Madame Zorina. Now you tell me she
decided not to come?”
    Saranda was distracted enough that the
comment barely registered. She was disappointed, naturally, for
she’d been eager to see the famous psychic. But she had all she
could do to concentrate on the task at hand.
    They stepped outside, into a gust of wind
that cooled her cheeks and brought a semblance of sanity to her
mind. She looked around. They were standing on a stone terrace
overlooking the back of the museum. A scaffold had been shoved
against the wall, with some buckets of paint atop and some ropes
dangling down the sides. She put her hands on the rough railing and
drew a deep breath, steeling herself for the battle to come. But in
the midst of taking air, she leaned over too far and was unnerved
by the sensation of the balcony protruding out over nothing but
empty space below. She was afraid of only two things in the
world—prison and high places. A wave of dizziness flooded through
her, and she straightened abruptly, shaken but determined not to
let him see her weakness.
    He leaned back against the rail so he was
facing the pink granite wall of the museum while she looked in the
opposite direction, out over the empty fields. As long as she
didn’t look down, she told herself, she’d be fine.
    “I see your interest in the mud is
short-lived,” she commented to cover her nervousness.
    “Why pretend? We both know the mud was an
excuse to get you alone.” His voice was hushed in the night, oddly
thrilling.
    “Ah, but you plucked me from the crowd with
such careless abandon. Given the masks, have you considered that
you’ve made a mistake? I may not be who you think I am.”
    He swiveled his head and looked into her
glittering eyes. “Perhaps I’m not, either.”
    “Under the circumstances, perhaps I should
demand you remove your mask and prove your identity.”
    He turned back to her and took the larger
blue diamond of her necklace in his hand. His warm knuckles brushed
her flesh as he did, sending unexpected shivers up her spine. With
a playful grin, he asked, “And what will you remove, if I take off
my mask?”
    “You should be