What Price Love? by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

sticking to the truth as far as possible, inventing only where necessary.”
    Barnaby’s lips twisted. “The hardest sort to catch.”
    â€œIndeed. So what did you learn about the man interested in the register?”
    â€œAn Irishman with dark hair, tallish, lean, and younger than I’d supposed—midtwenties by all accounts. Not much more anyone could tell me, although one ancient described him as ‘gentry down on his luck.’”
    Dillon frowned. “I know all the Irish owners and trainers here this season, at least by sight, and that description rings no bells.”
    Barnaby waved. “In the same vein as for the lovely Miss Dalling, there’s no need for him to be associated with any stable—his connection to this might be quite otherwise.”
    â€œTrue. Did you learn anything more about the break-ins?”
    â€œOnly that this place is a burglar’s delight. It sits so far back from the road with that avenue of huge trees, and”—Barnaby pointed through the window, beyond the rear of the building—“there’s a nice stand of woodland out there. It’s ridiculously easy to approach this place at night, and no one’s the wiser.”
    Leaning back, he looked up at the ceiling. “The first time he came, he didn’t come prepared—he tried the windows, but couldn’t spring the locks, then had to retreat when the night watchman came around. The second time, he gained entry through the kitchen window, but the door into the building proper was bolted, so again he had to retreat. The last time, he forced a window and got into the offices down the corridor. He started searching, going through the shelves, but then knocked over a box, bringing the night watchman running, and had to flee.”
    Barnaby looked at Dillon. “Incidentally, the watchman’s description, while hardly detailed, just an impression of height, build, and coloring, and age in how easily he fled, suggests the young Irishman with the questions could indeed be our burglar.”
    â€œThat suggests we have only one group we need pursue…” A minute passed, then Dillon met Barnaby’s eyes. “There’s something afoot. You, me, the Committee, we all know it, but all we have are conjecture and suspicion. We need to catch this Irishman—he’s the only person we know of who can shed light on whatever’s going on.”
    Barnaby nodded. “I agree—but how?”
    â€œYou said this place was a burglar’s delight—now he’s got so close, presumably he’ll come back. What if we make it extra tempting for him to do so, wait until he makes his move…and then step in?”
    â€œWhat are you suggesting?”
    â€œLast time he got into the offices, so, assuming he is indeed after the Breeding Register, he knows this wing is where he needs to concentrate.” With his head, Dillon indicated the side window. “As you pointed out, the woods are close. He’ll use them for cover, to circle the building and learn where the night watchman is, to check whether anyone is working late. This room’s at the corner—that window stands out. What if, assuming he comes to night, he sees it left just a little open?”
    Barnaby grinned. “Like a moth to a flame, he’ll come up and look in, see it’s an office, and…”
    Dillon smiled grimly. “Like a moth to a flame, he’ll get his wings burned.”
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    L ate that night, Pris slid from her saddle at the edge of the woods onto which the Jockey Club backed. The moon was half-full, obscured by fitful clouds; beneath the trees, it was dark, not still so much as suspenseful—as if the trees were holding their breaths, waiting to see what would come…
    Quelling a shiver, she sternly shook aside her fanciful thoughts and tethered her mare to a low-hanging branch. There were bushes and shrubs scattered beneath the trees,