Locked

Chapter Twelve

Will led V into the southern drawing room. The room was already warm – thanks to Mr. Mulberry's fire raging in the fireplace. He let V sit on the red velvet settee, before he clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing the length of the room.

"As you have most likely already guessed, I know the man who kidnapped you." Will began. He was trying to be firm, but fair, and not lose his temper. He knew V was wary of him – she had every right to be, but he needed her on his side ready to tell him everything so they could take down that slimy git, Gellentry.

"Yes, by the way you lost your temper and yelled at me at dinner." V was mocking him.

He threw his hands in the air, ready to begin ranting on about how unfair she was being and if she knew the gravity of the situation – but he stopped himself. V was smiling coyly.

She's taunting me, teasing me, trying to get me angry. He noticed the little game she was playing, and so he calmed himself.

"Oh no V, that won't work on me." He started, "I promise I won't go all insane on you." He gave her his warmest smile.

She seemed to think for a moment – probably just to torture him even more.

He noticed the way the baby pink nightgown she wore showed a little underneath the long robe she had draped over herself. She must have been sweating under there – but she would not remove the robe as a matter of decency. She might not have been raised as nobility, but she had learnt general manners and etiquette as a sea captain's daughter. In just those measly moments between V thought about speaking with Will, he had already forgotten the matter at hand. All he

could sense was the crackling fire beside her, the night gown, and her loose hair falling voluminously over her shoulders.

"Alright, you may speak." V patted the settee next to her, shaking Will from his thoughts. He sat as far from her as he could – which wasn't far as settees are called 'love seats' for a reason. He didn't want her getting the wrong impression.

"Richard Gellenty is not some rattled merchant," he began, "he is, in fact, the Duke of

Westray."

V's expression turned from shock to confusion. "What would a duke be doing in the slums of

London with a locket?"

"I've been asking myself the same question." Will's face turned grim. "The only thing I've come up with is that it's not the locket itself that he needs," Will paused to let it sink in, "it's what's inside the locket that he's so desperate for."

V nodded her understanding slowly. She mulled the idea over in her head while Will pulled the locket from his vest's inner pocket.

He held the now invaluable clue by its golden chain for her to see. He walked over to the mahogany desk in the corner. The gold locket stood out against the deep red and brown wood. V lit a few candles nearby for proper light. Without a word, Will pulled a small kit out from the

top drawer. From inside, he removed a small set of tweezers and pins. Still silent, he set to work on the locket. Minutes ticked by on the old grandfather clock in the corner. Will was nearly sweating now he was concentrating so hard. The fire was beginning to bother him.

As if understanding his thoughts, V went and cracked a window. The cool breeze rushed in and

Will returned his full attention to the task at hand.

The little bugger wouldn't budge. No matter the leverage he applied, the careful sliding of tools, or the brute force he angrily hammered into it, the locket would not open.