“Not flattering, Mackenzie.” Evie began to scramble up the ladder, not waiting for Jamie’s assistance.
“That you are not a simpering, swooning chit who can’t lift a teacup without having a rest afterward? A compliment, McKnight.”
“I will consider whether to accept it.”
Evie’s voice faded as she climbed, then she ceased speaking altogether when she reached the window. Jamie had made certain it was unlatched.
Evie pushed it open, admitting a wave of cold, damp air into the stuffy basement. Jamie ascended the ladder, ready to assist her through and hand her the bundle once she made it outside.
Evie gathered her skirts. They were a bit shorter, he’d noted, like Aimee’s tennis dress, but Evie wore stout, low-heeled boots instead of shoes for lawn tennis. Shapely legs appeared as she craned to see outside.
Jamie climbed up as far as he dared behind her, not wanting to overbalance the ladder and send them both crashing to the floor.
“Ready?” he whispered.
“Give me a moment.”
Her beautiful calves flexed as she fixed the heavy window in place. Now to hope an enterprising constable wasn’t strolling by outside.
Without warning, Evie swarmed upward, skirts swinging, and slithered out of the open window. Jamie had been ready to boost her, anticipating his hands on her soft backside, but she was gone before he could touch her.
Jamie quickly reached the window to see Evie, skirts hiked to her thighs, righting herself on the ground outside. White stockings hugged her legs, tied with satin garters. Jamie took a deep breath, sweat beading on his forehead.
There was almost no light on this corner of the building, Jamie’s torch all the illumination they had. He pointed it downward to keep a betraying beam from shining across the road.
Evie crouched to look into the window. She was buttoned to her chin, but the curve of her breasts hovered at Jamie’s eye level. He suppressed a growl of frustration—why had he thought this expedition a good idea?
Because the fiancé and friend were supposed to be here as a buffer between himself and Evie. Not Jamie and Evie working alone together.
Jamie could understand Evie’s insistence that Iris stay behind—it was too much of a risk for her—but Atherton should have accompanied Evie, no matter what. The man was a cretin.
“Mackenzie.” Evie startled him from his thoughts. “Stop woolgathering and hand me the pot.”
Jamie passed the bundle to her without comment. “Go to the end of Montague Place and turn right. Mine is the only car on the street. Don’t run. Walk casually, as though you have every business being there.”
“It is raining, you know.” The drops had started to patter down harder, the mist turning to full-on rain.
“Then walk quickly. I won’t be long.”
Evie stood up, shaking out skirts to hide her lovely limbs. She gave Jamie a glare but tucked the bundle under her coat and strode off.
He watched her with admiration. Evie moved just right, hurrying like a person annoyed by the rain but not one who’d just robbed a famous museum.
Jamie waited until she reached the corner, disappearing into the gloom, before he shut the window, descended the ladder, and made certain there was no trace of anyone having been in this room tonight.
Evie sped around the corner from Montague Place to Gower Street, relieved when she spied the bulk of a motorcar as promised. This was an entirely different motorcar, she saw as she neared it, from the one in which Jamie had squired them to the Langham.
This car was a marvel of luxury. Instead of having an open chassis like the red motorcar, a hard top enclosed it. A small seat for the driver was tucked in front, and larger, deeper seats for the passengers reposed behind it. Evie couldn’t tell the color in the rainy murk, but something dark and gleaming.
Evie waited until the street was empty before she calmly opened a rear door and climbed inside.
Blankets had been piled on the cushioned seat. Evie pulled one around her and hunkered down into its welcome warmth.
It was cold outside, and wet, but Evie’s heart beat hotly in triumph. They had the alabastron, thanks to Jamie. Iris could take it to Greece and slip it back into the collection from which it had come, and if their luck held, no one would be the wiser.
Evie laid herself on the seat, not wanting the silhouette of her head to show in the large windows. She dared peek out a time or two, but the pouring rain blotted out the bulk of the museum as well as much of the street. Very few were about—sensible people had retreated into their warm houses, and would be sitting down to a good supper about now. Evie’s stomach growled.
She’d popped up a third time when she at last spied the large form of Jamie jogging leisurely toward the car.
He said nothing at all to her as he climbed inside, wiping rain from his face. Jamie glanced once into the back, Evie giving him a wan smile from her hiding place, then he turned resolutely forward.
Evie expected he’d have to crank-start the car, as he’d done at the station, but Jamie only pressed a button on the dash. No rumble of motor answered, not even a hum. Had the engine stalled? Would they have to hunt for transport in the rain after all?
Evie stifled a squeak when the car glided noiselessly forward. She noted then that there was no steering wheel, only a vertical lever that Jamie moved with his gloved hand.
The car rolled slowly along the street and around the corner of Bedford Square, continuing in its smooth but slow pace.
After a time, Jamie said to her over his shoulder, “You can sit up now.”
Evie cautiously pressed aside the blanket and pushed herself to a sitting position. They were inching along the square, the rain slackening the slightest bit. Carriage lights, flameless ones, barely cut the gloom around them, but showed her that the car’s color was deep green.
“An electric motorcar,” Evie said in wonder. “I have to say, this was clever of you, Mackenzie.”
“I did think a few things through, McKnight.”
“You planned this entire thing, from how to find the alabastron to the getaway.” Evie peered out the window. “A very slow getaway. Can we go any faster?”
“Speed draws attention,” Jamie said easily. “We’re just taking a stroll.”
“A stroll, indeed. A man walking his dog just passed us.”
Evie pointed to a tall gentleman in a greatcoat striding along with what looked like an Irish wolfhound, a huge creature.
“Are ye in a hurry to be somewhere?” Jamie asked her.
“Only to take this blasted pot to Iris.” Evie pulled off her hat, her hair straggling. “And have a hot bath. And supper.”
“Well, you can’t walk into Miss Georgiou’s hotel looking like a drowned rat. Her dad’s there, isn’t he?”
“You don’t look much better,” Evie returned. “I see a wet ferret, driving an electric motorcar. Do not worry, I had no intention of popping into her hotel in the middle of the night and secretly handing her a package in the shape of a Greek alabastron. We’ve set a meeting for tomorrow.”
“It’s not the middle of the night,” Jamie said. “It’s only gone nine. So, did ye plan to bounce back into Atherton’s house, hiding that under your coat?”
“No.” Evie glanced at the bulk of the wrapped alabastron in irritation. “Hayden was going to take care of that detail. Drat his father.”