Free Courting Trouble by Jenny Schwartz

strong scent of lemon-blossom soap showed Lajli had indulged in its luxurious fittings. But where was the girl now?
    Perhaps wandering through the house. Esme racked her brains for the thieves’ cant she’d read in popular novels. Lajli might be “casing the joint.”
    So what if she is? Esme leaned a shoulder against the wall and contemplated the toes of her boots. What did a few missing knickknacks matter, compared to Jed lying to her? She shivered and hugged her arms.
    Hoo-whooo.
    She glanced up at the howl of the wind. The lace curtains at the French windows billowed wildly. They provided an everyday reason for feeling cold. She needn’t dramatize her emotions, imagining a chill at her heart. Maud had been saying there would be a storm. She swore her arthritic big toe told her such things.
    Esme crossed to the windows, closed and latched them, looking away from the trees bending in the wind. Usually she enjoyed the wild storms that blew in off the Indian Ocean. Their untamed energy called to her adventurous spirit.
    Jed had similarly prepared his scheme to appeal to her spirit of adventure. He’d known she wouldn’t be able to resist joining him in foiling an assassination attempt. How ironic that his make-believe might yet be true.
    She frowned and straightened the chair set askew at the narrow writing desk in the corner. It looked as if someone had jumped up at an interruption.
    Miss Esme Smith. The note sat in the middle of the desk, folded in half and secured by a heavy glass paperweight.
    A sense of dread welled up in her, pushing back her hurt at Jed’s betrayal. Lajli didn’t seem the sort of girl to leave notes—or to leave a house of luxury. But she was the girl who had stolen and knew the current whereabouts of Prasad-Nazim’s dubious papers.
    Could he be the sort of villain who would terrorize a young woman? Lajli had exhibited very real fear on encountering Nazim in Bombaytown, shrinking back until Jed’s presence reassured her.
    Jed. What would he say when he learned she’d lost Lajli?
    Keeping Lajli safe was her self-chosen duty. She’d notified the servants not to admit strangers and sent for Owens’s large crossbreed dog. But really she had naively trusted in the sanctuary of her home. There was no excuse for that. She’d been raised on mining claims. She knew about guarding property against desperate, conscienceless ruffians. If Lajli hadn’t left the house voluntarily, if she’d been kidnapped—
    Esme sank onto the chair and unfolded the note. Dear Miss Smith, the letter began very properly. The handwriting was anonymous in its schoolroom copperplate perfection. It could have been the writing of someone who seldom put pen to paper and so hadn’t developed their own unique style, but it could also hide identity.

    Thank you for the invitation to stay in your home. It is a lovely home. But I am a thief, not a caged songbird. Do not worry. I shall be clever. Nazim will believe I am hiding with you—and I will be hiding, but it is better you do not know where. I trust you and Mr. Reeve to foil the plans of the evil man. You will see me again when it is safe.
    Yours sincerely,
    Lajli Joshi

    “Albatross droppings!” The curse was her uncle’s, the vehemence all her own. Esme frowned fiercely and reread the letter.
    The letter told her nothing. Had Lajli truly run away, fretting as Esme fretted against restrictions, or was this a bluff? Had someone kidnapped the girl?
    Esme deeply regretted that Owens’s hound hadn’t yet arrived. The huge dog of mixed parentage wouldn’t have let any strangers slip in—which was more than she could say of the staff. People in Swan River just weren’t accustomed to locking their houses.
    She tapped the note against the desk. Her thoughts circled in their same groove.
    On one hand, it was likely that Lajli, a self-proclaimed thief, might chafe at even voluntary imprisonment, but she’d seemed truly frightened of Nazim. Would she risk capture by