There was a long, long pause before Esther spoke. “We were to relieve a duchess of her jewels. A diamond tiara, necklace, bracelet, brooch, and earrings. She wore them once a year at the family’s annual ball. All at once. They were worth a fortune.”
“Lady Strale.” It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be. “You’re talking about the Strale diamonds.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, God, Esther.” Weak-kneed, Lottie reached for a nearby bedpost. “Did you kidnap Lady Strale?”
“No. That is…” Esther hunched her shoulders and winced. “We didn’t. A kidnapping was not the plan.”
“What was the plan?”
“It was quite detailed, really, but the abbreviated version is, Father and I were to attend the ball as guests, lure Lady Strale out of the ballroom, divest her of her jewels, then hand them off to the Ferret in exchange for our share of their worth. He was to be waiting right outside.”
“Your share before they were sold?”
“Father didn’t want to keep the jewels,” Esther explained with a nod. “He said it increased the risk. He was willing to take a smaller percentage if he was paid up front.”
“Wait outside? That’s all Gage’s man had to do? Wait and take the jewels? Why would Father need him for that?” If all he’d needed was a fence, he could have gone to half a dozen others with whom he’d worked in the past. Men he’d liked and trusted a great deal more than Gage.
“I don’t know. There was more to Gage’s involvement than just unloading the jewels. I don’t recall everything. He obtained our invitations, I think.”
“How?” It was easy to sneak into some balls. One or two extra guests in a crowd of hundreds hardly signified. But the annual ball in which the Strale diamonds were showcased was likely another matter. Invitations would need to be shown at the door, and entrance to the home would be closely guarded.
“I don’t know how. What does it matter?” Esther briefly pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Nothing went as it was meant. At first, it went better than planned. Lady Strale was drunk. Staggeringly drunk. I didn’t have to tear her train and insist on escorting her away from the guests to have it fixed. I merely suggested a turn about the room and she followed me out of the ballroom like a clumsy lamb. I cannot imagine what her family was thinking to allow her to come to such a state. She was so malleable that when I brought her to the empty parlor where Father was waiting and asked her to remove the diamonds for a good cleaning, she agreed. Pulled off every piece and put them right in my hands.”
Esther shook her head. “Then Father opened a door to the terrace and passed the jewels off to the Ferret. That should have been the end of it.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“The Ferret took the jewels, pushed right passed Father, snatched up Lady Strale, tossed her over his shoulder, and ran out.” Esther opened her hands in a helpless gesture. “There was nothing we could do.”
Overwhelmed, Lottie rested her forehead against the bedpost and closed her eyes. “Do you understand what this means?” Opening her eyes, she caught her sister’s gaze and knew Esther understood perfectly. “Father didn’t go into Gage’s building for Lady Strale.” It hadn’t been to rescue her. It hadn’t even been for the reward. “He wanted the diamonds.”
“But he didn’t come out with the diamonds, did he?”
“So he failed.” Another Walker tradition, she thought bitterly. “And rather than leave empty-handed, he settled for the lesser prize of Lady Strale and the reward money.”
“Lottie?” Esther wrapped an arm around the other bedpost and leaned against the wood. “Do you think he loved us at all?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes fell to the book in her hand. “I want to believe it. Despite everything, I want to believe he loved us. I don’t know what that makes me.”
“I think,” Esther said softly, “that it makes you more like Peter than you realize.”
Twenty-one
When Lottie left Esther, it was with the intention of seeking out the haven of her bedroom. She’d always felt safest in her own space, among her own things, sitting quietly at her desk with a pen in hand and papers stacked and strewn around her.
She walked right past her room without so much as a glance.
It wasn’t isolation she wanted now. It was Owen. It was the comfort of his voice, the sight of his smile, the faint hint of wintergreen on his skin. It was the promise that he would always be there. She wanted to hear him say it again.
Her feet dragged to a stop just outside his door.
Did she want to hear it again? Should she?
He’d meant it. It was as solid and true a promise as she’d ever received. Even after their terrible argument, he’d offered it. But he’d done so without knowing the truth about the Tulip. It was a promise built on a false foundation. How could she be sure that promise would hold when the ground beneath it fell away?
If she was careful, if she wove a clever web of lies and half-truths, she would never have to be sure. They could go on as they were now, with Owen assuming the best of her and she hiding the worst. Nothing had to change for them. She would never have to risk losing the man she loved.
And she would never know if that one thing, the most important thing, was really true.
Sick at heart, she stared down at the journal in her hands and thought of everything it represented and whispered two words into the stillness of the hall.
“It’s true.”
Then she lifted a shaking hand and knocked.
* * *
Owen’s first thought upon opening the door was that he’d never seen Lottie so tired. She was pale, her beautiful features drawn, her dark eyes shadowed. Without a word, he took her arm and ushered her inside, closing the door behind them.
“There are things I need to tell you,” she said softly, standing still and alone in the center of the room. “But I want a minute. I need a minute.”
He saw it then, the small book she clutched at her side. “Lottie—”
“May I have a drink?”
“Yes. Of course.”
She said nothing as he poured two fingers of brandy. When he handed her the glass, she merely stared at it as if uncertain how it had come to be in her hand. “No, I don’t want this.”
“All right.”
He reached to take the drink back, but she shook her head and stepped away. “It is not all right. How can one person make such a bloody mess of everything?”
It took him a second to realize they were no longer talking about the drink. “Lottie, your father—”
“I am not speaking of my father. Why did I not see it, Owen? I’m the cleverest, aren’t I? How could I not see it?”
“I… See what?”
“Esther,” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut, almost as if that simple act could hide her from the truth. “You were right about Esther. He taught her how to hurt people. I thought the knives were just for… I don’t know. Defense or just amusement. I loved that he taught her. He ignored her so often, and…I should have made him stop. I should have protected her. I failed her. And I’ve failed Peter. And I failed you.”
She pressed the binding of the journal against her forehead. “I took the promise of a man who lied to me my entire life over the word of the only man who was ever honest with me.” She lowered her arm with a groan. “I blamed you for eight years because I couldn’t see the truth perched on the end of my own damned nose.”
“Lottie—”
“And now it’s all fallen apart. I thought I’d made such a fine job of it, but it’s all fallen apart.” Her voice cracked, and the hand holding the drink began to shake. “How could I have been so blind to his true character? How could I not see what my father really was?”
“You saw what he could be. There’s no shame in that.”
�
�But not what he was. He was a villain.” Her lips trembled and the anger in her voice drained away, leaving only awful resignation. “A villain,” she whispered. “And he was never anything else.”
Owen stood with his fists clenched at his sides and wondered why he had been so eager for Lottie to arrive at this truth. Was this really what he had wanted, to watch while she relinquished the last shred of hope for a father she’d adored?
He had no idea, not the faintest notion, of how that felt. He’d never had illusions about his own father. There’d never been hope there. Moreover, his father had been a selfish ass, not a dyed-in-the-wool villain. And Owen had never adored him. This was a loss he’d never experienced. He didn’t know what to say to Lottie, how to comfort her.
“All of this is because of me,” she said quietly.
He damned well knew what to say to that. “No. This is William’s doing—”
“Do you know why he turned to Esther for help?” She turned away from him to set her glass down with great care. “Because I told him no.”
“Better it should have been you instead of Esther?”
“You misunderstand… No, I misspoke. I didn’t tell him no.” She looked at him for one brief moment, then averted her eyes. “I told him no more.”
“Ah.” He took a small step closer. “He used you as well.”
She released a long, ragged breath. “I was the Tulip.”
“One of the women mentioned in the journals,” he said with a small nod. “I had wondered if he’d put your lessons to use a time or two. It seemed probable.”
“No. I wasn’t one of the women.” She turned to face him fully now and gripped the journal against her chest like a shield. “I was the Tulip. There was never another. It was just me. From the very start.”
If she’d marched up and slapped him across the face, it would not have left him more stunned. All those journals, all those entries. Good God, all those years. How old would she have been at the start—five, six? Younger? It left him sick, and it left him speechless. He could not come up with one proper response to her admission.
It was just as well Lottie didn’t seem to require one.
“I didn’t want to do it anymore,” she continued, looking away again. “I didn’t want to be a villain. I told him it had to stop, and he agreed. And then you came and I thought, this is perfect. Isn’t everything so perfect? Only it wasn’t, and I didn’t see it. I didn’t help her.”
And I didn’t help you, he thought.
“I wish I had known,” he murmured. “I should have known.”
The last drop of color drained from her cheeks and she took a small, wary step back from him. “I won’t hold you to any promises.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“You’re not obligated to keep them.” Her eyes, dark and nervous now, darted to the door. “You were unaware of the truth when you made them.”
“What are you…?” He trailed off as understanding sank in. His promise to be there. And her instinct to trust nothing, believe no one, and assume the worst.
A sharp needle of anger twisted beneath his own regret.
“I see. I’m to fetch the shackles now, am I?” He marched up to her, snatched the journal out of her hands, and tossed it aside. “For God’s sake, Lottie. I am not taking you to gaol. I am not breaking my promise. Understood?”
She swallowed audibly. “But you said—”
“I said I wish I had known. Because if I had known, I would never have given William the opportunity to stay with his family whilst he worked with me. I would have taken you somewhere safe. All of you.” As he should have done. “How could you think I meant to take you off in chains?”
“I didn’t. I didn’t. I just…” She gave a minute shake of her head and began to visibly tremble. “You’re the Thief Taker. I’m a thief. Was a thief. I lied to you.”
“Why not keep lying? If you thought I’d betray you, why did you tell me the truth?”
“I didn’t think…” She shook her head again, stumbling over her words. “I told you because I didn’t want to lie to you anymore, and… You promised to be here and I…” She covered her eyes with her hand. “I believed you.”
And with that, she burst into tears.
As a man with six demonstrative sisters and one histrionic mother, Owen had been witness to every variety of tears. The loud, the loving, the embarrassed, the wounded, the furious, the manipulative—he knew them all. He knew how to handle them all.
He hadn’t the faintest notion of how to handle Lottie’s tears. He had never seen her cry. He rather doubted anyone had seen Lottie Walker cry in the last quarter century. It was heartbreaking, and a little bit terrifying.
“Don’t. Lottie.” Feeling helpless, he pulled her into his arms. “Here now. We’ll make this right.”
“Let me alone.” Her words were muffled against his chest, but he heard the embarrassment, and he knew it was pride that made her pull away. “Let me alone a minute.”
“Not this time.” Not ever again. “I’m here, Lottie. I promise. I will always be here.”
He drew her close again and held tight while her shoulders shook and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. He held on until, slowly, slowly, the jagged catch and release of her breath began to even out.
“It’s all lies.” Lottie pulled back, but not away, and knuckled away tears that continued to fall. “My father lied to me, lied to Esther. Esther lied to me. I lied to you. I lied to Peter. Peter was right. Everything is a lie.”
“It isn’t. Darling. It’s…” He wanted to give her something solid and true, something absolute to hold on to when everything else in the world shifted and disappeared.
He took her hand, placed her palm flat against his heart. “Look at me, Lottie.” He waited until her gaze fixed on his, waited until he knew she saw him and only him. Not her father, not her siblings, not the lies that swamped them all. Just him. “I love you.” Her hand twitched in his, but he held tight. “I love you. That is the truth.”
“No. You…” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “You can’t mean that.”
“I love you,” he said again.
“I was a thief, Owen.”
“You were.” His hand tightened on hers. “You stole my heart.”
She jerked and reared back a little, her eyes widening almost comically. A moment of stunned silence followed, and then…a giggle emerged. Then another. Then she burst into laughter. It came out ragged and drenched with tears, but it was loud and long and made him feel like a king.
“Good God, that was atrocious,” she managed at last. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her free hand. “Oh, that was appallingly bad.”
“Yes, I know.” He grinned at her, wholly unashamed. “This is why I do not write poetry.”
She looked down at their joined hands. “Do you mean it? You love me?”
“I do.”
“I thought… I was afraid you’d not be able to forgive me. I was afraid you’d walk away from me.”
“Never.”
“I want…” She trailed off, pulled her hand away, and bit her bottom lip.
What did she want? To give him the words back? To be able to give him the words back? To ask him to take the words back?
“I want…”
“Tell me.”
Her dark eyes met his. “I want you to show me.”
“Show you?” Hadn’t he shown her a hundred ways already? “What do you—?”
“Show me,” she repeated and stretching up, laid her lips against his.
“Oh.” Oh. He went perfectly still, suddenly uncertain of himself, of the moment, of what he should do. “Lottie, I’m not certain—”
“I am,” she whispered, and her hands began to move over his chest, down to the buttons of his coat.
Her mouth fou
nd his again, and he tasted the salt of her tears. “Maybe we should—”
“Stop talking.”
“—think this through.”
She undid the last button, pulled back to look at him. “Are you going to tell me I don’t know my own mind?”
“No.” He was worried. Maybe a little flummoxed. He wasn’t an idiot. “Absolutely not.”
“Good.” She fumbled with his coat, pulling one side off his shoulder and halfway down his arm, where it bunched up on itself and flatly refused to move. She scowled at it. “I may not know what I’m doing, precisely.” She gave the sleeve a solid tug, to no avail. “But I know what I’m trying to do.”
She yanked at the sleeve again but only succeeded in bunching the material further. “This is ridiculous.” She stepped back with a huff. “If it’s not too much of an inconvenience, might you find it in your heart to lend a hand?”
In another time, another situation, he might have laughed. She was right. It was ridiculous. Also, he’d never seen her so adorably annoyed.
But what he saw beyond the flustered frustration gave him pause. There was determination there, to be sure, not the blind desperation he feared, but rather a clear, sharp resolve. Without a doubt, Lottie knew what she was doing. She knew her own mind. And that was all he needed to make up his own.
He had his coat off and her bodice half-undone in under ten seconds.
This wasn’t how he’d imagined making love to Lottie for the first time—any of the ways he’d imagined. There were no candles and flowers, no soft blanket on a field of green grass, no serenade of birdsong. But none of that mattered now. The decorations of daydreams, however pretty, could not compare to the beauty of reality. Of Lottie, warm and willing in his arms. At last.
He wanted to touch her everywhere at once. He’d waited so long, been denied for so many years.
But he needed to slow down. His hands were too rough, his mouth too demanding in its pursuit of possession. The need for more, the desire to have everything, and have it now, threatened to overpower him. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to share and explore and love at leisure, not conquer in haste.
A Talent for Trickery Page 26