To Love a Thief

by Darcy Burke

  He did know them. Her estimation of Lord Carlyle dipped. Although she didn’t know the circumstances behind Lady Aldridge’s possession of her mother’s necklace, Jocelyn couldn’t help the outrage that washed over her every time she looked at the ivory pendant. She forced herself to relax and be rational. It wasn’t Lord Carlyle’s fault he was acquainted with people who were inexplicably in possession of stolen goods.

  Lady Aldridge smiled, revealing even, white teeth and a dimple in her right cheek. She was very lovely. “Miss Renwick, how nice to make your acquaintance. Carlyle, I do believe you promised me a dance tonight, and I hear a new set starting.”

  Carlyle flicked a glance at Jocelyn, clearly looking for a way to claim their dance instead, but Jocelyn wanted the opportunity to question Lord Aldridge about her necklace.

  She gave him a reassuring nod. “Go ahead. We’ll dance the next.”

  Lady Aldridge’s brow puckered as she turned her gaze to Jocelyn. “Truly, you don’t mind? I haven’t danced at all this evening. Aldridge’s knees are paining him, you see.”

  Jocelyn hadn’t danced in two years, but she bit back an unladylike retort and nodded her approval instead. “It’s quite all right.” She removed her hand from Lord Carlyle, who gave her another splendid bow and then led Lady Aldridge into the ballroom.

  Armed with the wrath of the righteous, Jocelyn turned to face Lord Aldridge. Possessed of a light complexion and thinning gray hair, he was broad-shouldered and tall. But then everyone was tall to her.

  She wasted no time launching her interrogation. “I encountered Lady Aldridge a few minutes ago and complimented her necklace. It’s so unique. She said it was a gift from you. Do you mind telling me how you obtained it?”

  He glanced to his left, toward the ballroom, before piercing her with an arrogant stare. “It’s been in my family for generations.”

  Of all the pompous liars! Her heart thumped an erratic rhythm. “Indeed? It’s exactly like a necklace that was stolen from my family two years ago. Exactly. Right down to the scratch in the glass. Are you quite certain of its origin?”

  Aldridge glanced back toward the ballroom and then over his shoulder, as if ensuring no one could hear them. Then he stepped closer and spoke softly, but his eyes glinted dangerously. “You’re mistaken, my dear. It’s a family heirloom. I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sure your necklace is somehow similar. Lady Aldridge’s pendant, however, is not the same one.” His tone was so patronizing, so superior, Jocelyn could only stare at him.

  He started to move past her, but she did the unthinkable and grabbed his elbow. He turned a surprised glare on her. “I beg your pardon, Miss Renwick.”

  She let go of his sleeve, a bit shocked by her own cheek, but she was desperate. It simply wasn’t possible the pendant had been in his family, not when she’d worn it at her very first ball! “My apologies. However, you must understand how important this is to me. Is there any chance you purchased the necklace? Perhaps you’ve confused it with another piece?”

  Aldridge’s face reddened, and his forehead took on a sheen of perspiration. “I said you were mistaken, young lady. Do cease your impertinent questions.”

  His reaction told her far more than his words. He didn’t like her inquiry at all and was discomfitted by it. Why? “My lord, I don’t believe my questions are impertinent. Several valuable pieces of heirloom jewelry were stolen from my family two years ago. I merely wondered if you had perhaps purchased stolen property—unknowingly of course.” She added the last when the flesh around his mouth paled.

  “I assure you, Miss Renwick, I haven’t purchased any stolen property—unknowingly or otherwise. Do you have any idea who I am?” He moved closer to her, which only served to make him tower over her like an ancient oak.

  She squeezed her hands into tiny fists. He clearly believed her vulnerable to intimidation given her stature, but it was precisely because of her smallness that she refused to be bullied. “I’m afraid I’ve only just met you, my lord, so you must forgive my ignorance. I believed you to be the gentleman in possession of my late mother’s necklace.”

  That did it. His nostrils flared and his lip curled. Fury rolled off him in waves. “I am not to be trifled with, gel. I do not take your insinuations kindly and advise you to desist any further pursuit of this topic.”

  And then he marched into the ballroom without a backward glance, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket as he went.

  Well, that had gone rather poorly. Jocelyn frowned after his retreating figure. She was as certain Lady Aldridge was wearing her mother’s pendant as Lord Aldridge was that Jocelyn was mistaken. Was it possible he’d purchased a stolen item and was now too embarrassed to admit it? Perhaps, but he hadn’t seemed embarrassed. He’d seemed furious and guilty, as if she’d caught him red-handed.

  Jocelyn allowed the cool night breeze to soothe her temper. At length, she returned to the corner of the ballroom Gertrude and her friends still inhabited.

  “There you are,” Gertrude said, her gaze searching the space around Jocelyn. “But where’s Lord Carlyle?”

  Jocelyn inclined her head toward the dance floor. “Dancing.”

  Gertrude’s mouth dipped in disappointment. “I thought he was going to dance with you.” Her gaze traveled past Jocelyn’s shoulder, and her lips curved up. “The set is just ending. He’s coming this way! Stand up straight, dear. Smile!” Gertrude assembled her expression into something a bit more sedate, but her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  Jocelyn faced the dance floor, and indeed, Lord Carlyle was walking toward them. While she’d dearly love a dance, she wasn’t sure she wanted to partner with someone who was on such friendly terms with the perfidious Lord Aldridge.

  Carlyle arrived and gave a bow to Gertrude and her friends, who were lingering in the background. Then he directed the full intensity of his eyes upon her. And yes, intensity was the right word, for Lord Carlyle could probably look a hole clean through a person. Indeed, perhaps he could see through Aldridge’s lies. “Are you still amenable for our dance?” he asked.

  Her stomach gave a little flutter as she contemplated what else Carlyle might be able to see. “Yes.” The acceptance slid from her lips before her brain had made up its mind. As they walked toward the dance floor, the strains of a waltz began, and Jocelyn was glad she’d agreed.

  He took her waist and clasped her hand as he swept her into the music. His touch was light and gentle. Comforting.

  Comforting?

  She was not about to think of this gentleman as anything other than a potential adversary. Not given his acquaintances. Best to get to the bottom of that, then. “Lord Carlyle, how do you know Lord and Lady Aldridge?”

  He turned his powerful gaze upon her again. Goodness, but she could stare at his eyes for an unseemly amount of time. She refocused on his shoulder.

  “Perhaps you know I’m relatively new to Society?” he asked. “I only inherited the viscountcy within the past few years. Before that I was, ah, not raised as a viscount’s son. Lord Aldridge has been kind enough to help me adjust to my new role. Indeed, I don’t know where I’d be today without his assistance and generosity.”

  Oh, dear. That was quite a bit more than acquaintances. “He’s a close friend, then?”

  “More like a relative, actually. I had a loving father, God rest his soul, but I suppose Lord Aldridge has behaved in that capacity for some time. Yes, I daresay he’s been rather parental in his care and solicitation.”

  And with that, her potential adversary became her Adversary. How unfortunate, because she really could have lost herself in his eyes.

  Chapter Two

  DANIEL CARLYLE had struggled to participate in the game of courtship in London Society. Now that he had a title, he attracted simpering young women who sought to gain his name and newfound fortune. He’d yet to meet one with whom he could converse without cringing or whom he cared to actually court. Until Miss Renwick had stepped on his foot.

&nbs
p; Instead of gasping in horror and bemoaning her clumsiness, she’d looked at him with curiosity as if wondering where he’d suddenly come from. She hadn’t even apologized. And for that he considered dropping to his knee and proposing marriage immediately.

  Her heart-shaped face was averted from him now, but he’d already memorized the delicate arch of her cheekbones, the saucy tilt of her nose, the luscious sweep of her lips, and the errant lock of light brown hair that nudged the perfect outer shell of her ear. But most of all, he wanted to see her intelligent hazel eyes look at him again with that curiosity that made him want to answer every question that tripped off her tongue. If he could. And if he couldn’t, why he’d find the answer and deliver it to her on a silver platter.

  Oh, for the love of God, he wasn’t the least bit romantic, so what the hell was wrong with him? He gave himself an internal shake and promptly missed the dance step, nearly mashing her foot into the parquet.

  “Sorry,” he said, not for the first time annoyed with his lack of polish. Over two years he’d been studying how to be a viscount, and he still wasn’t nearly good enough.

  She glanced up at him, and he decided right then he’d step on her toes as many times as necessary to keep her spectacular gaze focused on him and not his shoulder or some object behind him. “It’s quite all right,” she murmured. And then she went back to looking into the distance.

  She was a tiny thing; the top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest and her waist was incredibly narrow. He had the sense that his hand could span half the circumference, but of course he couldn’t verify that without completely overstepping.

  He searched for an appropriate compliment. “Miss Renwick, may I say you are lovelier than the flowers adorning this ballroom?” He tried not to visibly cringe at how inane that sounded.

  Her gaze lifted once more, and Daniel couldn’t help but smile, despite his lackluster flattery. He’d met dozens and dozens of marriageable females, but he’d yet to meet one that looked at him as she did. Like he was a full-blooded man with layers to unfold. Like he was more than just Lord Carlyle. Like he was simply Constable Daniel Carlyle again.

  She blinked, fluttering ink-dark lashes. “And what flowers would those be, my lord? There are quite a few varieties in this ballroom.”

  Caught. “You’ve shamed me, Miss Renwick, for I can’t name a single one.” He’d been born and bred in London and had never taken the time to differentiate daisies from lilies.

  “Not one?” she asked, her eyes widening. “You must know a rose when you see one?”

  “I might, but I don’t think there’s one in this ballroom, so that doesn’t help me. However, I can recognize a beauty far greater than a rose. Surely that is a superior skill,” he countered, hoping he’d managed to turn a poetic phrase.

  She laughed. Perhaps he’d been too hasty regarding his poeticism.

  “You are new at this,” she said, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

  “Dreadfully.” Despite his lack of refinement, he was thoroughly enjoying their exchange and hoped she was too. “You won’t hold it against me, will you?”

  She canted her head to the side. “That depends. Why don’t you know anything about flowers? You have a country house, don’t you?”

  “Yes, in northwestern Essex.” A two-hundred-acre estate he’d inherited with the title. But he’d spent the past two years learning how to manage the tenants and the various business interests of the previous viscount. Defining flower varieties had never once come up. “However, I employ a gardener.” Or rather, the former viscount had employed one and so far, Daniel had seen no reason to replace any of the retainers. Indeed, he’d be quite lost without them. “I have to admit I’m more comfortable here in London.”

  “An inclination we share, my lord. I’ve only been to London a few times, but I am always saddened to return to Kent.”

  He was hoping for a bit more information about her situation. She wasn’t married and was acting as a companion, yet wasn’t old enough to be on the shelf—or so he surmised based on his limited experience in Society. He assumed she was without family, but didn’t wish to pry if she wasn’t of a mind to share. Perhaps he should share first. “My father would’ve learned the flowers. He would’ve made a far better viscount.”

  A pained expression flickered in her eyes. “How long ago did you lose your father?”

  “Just over three years now.” Edward Carlyle had been an excellent barrister and had been appointed magistrate at Marlborough Street. He’d been poised for an appointment in the Home Office when he’d suddenly taken ill and died. Yes, he would’ve filled the role of viscount with ease.

  She gave a commiserative nod. “I lost mine two years ago.”

  They fell quiet as they turned about the dance floor. Daniel wanted to smooth the creases from her brow and coax her lips into a smile. Perhaps with his mouth…

  “Why aren’t you a very good viscount?” Her question saved him from pursuing lascivious thoughts, a thoroughly inappropriate endeavor in the center of a ballroom and proof yet again he was a terrible addition to the peerage. “What did you do before?”

  “I was a constable in Queen Square.”

  Her head perked up. “The magistrate’s office?”

  He nodded. “I grew up exposed to the law. My father was a barrister, but instead of following in his footsteps I went directly to work for the magistrate.”

  Her eyes widened, and the curiosity burning there increased until they fairly sparked with excitement. “You caught criminals?”

  “Yes.” And he’d been good at it. While he appreciated the opportunity to promote police and prison reform from within the House of Lords, he missed chasing down a petty thief or hunting an embezzler.

  “Like a Bow Street Runner?” She couldn’t take her eyes off him now.

  He stood straighter. “Much the same, yes.” He couldn’t discern the purpose of her unveiled interest. Did she romanticize the occupation? Some women did, and they were not women Daniel cared to know.

  She gave him her full attention, and he couldn’t detect a wistful quality to her gaze. On the contrary, she looked quite purposeful and serious. “Perhaps you can help me with a legal problem. Some of my family’s treasures were stolen two years ago. Bow Street never found the thieves or the items. However, I’ve recently seen one of them and would like to have the person in possession of the item questioned.”

  Daniel tried to focus on the steps of the waltz as his blood surged with excitement. How he loved a good case to solve. But unfortunately that wasn’t his occupation any longer. “You should visit Bow Street again and ask them to speak to this person. Or you could speak to a solicitor who could represent you in this matter. I would recommend my good friend Mr. Jeremy Bates.”

  Her eyes lit—they were so wonderfully expressive. “Thank you. I shall schedule an appointment with Mr. Bates at once.” She paused, and her eyes darkened slightly. “Forgive me, but I’m a bit leery of approaching Bow Street. I don’t believe they spent much time on our case, but then we had to leave London so quickly when my father fell ill after the robbery.”

  He couldn’t help but think that if Queen Square had taken the case, they would’ve caught the thieves. “My apologies, Miss Renwick. That must have been a most difficult time. If I may be of any service in recovering your stolen property, I ask that you call upon me.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I may do just that.”

  He hoped so.

  FOUR days later, Jocelyn sat in the office of Mr. Jeremy Bates, solicitor. Possessed of a kind countenance and a thick frame, he’d greeted her heartily and invited her to sit before his massive oak desk. He looked like someone who could protect you, which was precisely what Jocelyn wanted.

  Seated behind his desk, he folded his hands atop a sheaf of papers, beside which was poised a pen and inkwell. He sat forward in his chair, prepared to listen intently. “How may I help you today, Miss Renwick?”

  Jocelyn was pleased to have
secured this appointment so quickly after Lord Carlyle had recommended Mr. Bates. Eager to share her problem, she too sat forward, clutching her reticule in her lap with both hands. “Two years ago, several of my family heirlooms were stolen from our town house. Bow Street was unable to recover the items or determine who stole them. They attributed the theft to one of the gangs of thieves who prey upon townhomes in Mayfair.”

  Mr. Bates nodded. “I’m familiar with such gangs. Go on.”

  “Several days ago I spotted one of the items—a pendant that belonged to my mother—on Lady Aldridge and when I asked Lord Aldridge where he obtained the necklace, he was rather rude and insisted—”

  “Excuse me,” Mr. Bates interrupted. “You questioned Lord Aldridge about this?” His tone was incredulous.

  Jocelyn blinked at him, momentarily thrown by his reaction. “Yes. As I was saying, he insisted the pendant had been in his family, which is patently absurd.”

  “Wait.” Mr. Bates held up his hand and then laid his palm flat against the top of his desk. “Isn’t it possible you’re mistaken about the necklace?”

  Jocelyn expected this reaction and schooled her features to reflect a calm she didn’t feel. The more she thought about the pendant—and she’d had plenty of opportunity over the past several days—the angrier she got. “I’m not at all mistaken. It’s a singular piece, commissioned specifically by my father for my mother.”

  Mr. Bates frowned. His index finger began a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on his desktop. “He said it had been in his family?”

  “That’s correct. However, he’s the one who’s mistaken. I suggested he was confused, that perhaps he purchased the necklace without realizing it was stolen.”

  Mr. Bates’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

  “I most certainly did.” She was beginning to grow annoyed with Mr. Bates’s reactions. Yes, she’d questioned Lord Aldridge, and she didn’t regret doing so. “That necklace belongs to me. I wore it at my debut ball. I should think I would recognize something I’ve seen in my mother’s jewelry box my entire life.” A box that had been left to her upon her mother’s death nine years ago, when Jocelyn was just fourteen.