by Darcy Burke
At last, Carlyle turned his head toward her. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He was quiet a moment. The space between them was scant, perhaps a hand’s width. She could lean into him, seek his warmth, his comfort. But she didn’t. He thought she was a thief, and she supposed she was. Did his opinion matter? She had no answer for that.
He pivoted away from her, creating distance between them, which was probably for the best. Whatever attraction she felt toward this man was doomed before she could even pursue it.
“You believe Lord Aldridge was behind the theft in your town house two years ago and what happened here today?”
She heard an edge of skepticism in his query, which made her want to raise her voice. But she didn’t. She spoke calmly, if ironically. “I think it’s suspicious that today’s invasion looks exactly like the one two years ago, that it happened two days after I recovered some of my stolen property, and that Lord Aldridge hasn’t reported his wife’s missing jewels. You may draw your own conclusions, of course.”
He arched a brow at her. “Thank you, I shall.” He paced to the opposite corner of the small, square room. “I must agree it’s all a bit suspicious. Lady Aldridge mentioned that her husband had advised her not to tell anyone about the missing jewelry, that she’d probably just misplaced the items.”
“And is that typical for her?”
“Yes. She’s been known to lose things now and again. She’s quite reliant on her maid to keep things in order, and her maid has been gone the past week visiting her sick mother.” He shook his head. “The more I think about this, the more I think you’re batty. Lord Aldridge undoubtedly thinks his wife’s jewels are somewhere in their town house, which makes perfect sense.”
It would, if Lord Aldridge had told the truth about how he’d obtained Jocelyn’s jewelry. “Except they’re not in the Aldridges’ town house, and someone ransacked this house looking for them.”
He looked unconvinced. “You don’t know that.”
“I do know that.” She picked through the clutter on the dressing table. “Nothing is missing. See, here—” She’d been about to say her silver earbobs were still there, but they weren’t. And neither was the cameo Gertrude had loaned her the other day.
He came up beside her. “What is it?”
Her shoulders deflated. “My jewelry is missing.” But how is it that the same thing could’ve happened to her twice? “I still don’t think this is a coincidence. I think they came looking for these and took whatever else they wanted while they were at it.”
“Have you considered an occupation as a constable?” he asked wryly and she turned to stare at him.
“How can you find humor in this situation?”
He exhaled and turned his body toward her. “I’m not. I’m merely saying you’ve a logical mind, if perhaps colored by your past experiences. Yes, it’s coincidental that you’ve been robbed twice, but it’s not impossible.”
She spun to face him, still clutching her jewels. “How do you explain Lord Aldridge having three of my stolen pieces of jewelry?”
He shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. In the meantime, you have to return the items.”
“I will not.”
“Miss Renwick, surely you understand I cannot ignore a crime.”
She was counting on it. “I do, and I’m asking you to solve mine. Do you believe these are my items?”
“I believe you think they are.”
What a perfectly pompous thing to say. She put her empty hand on her hip and gave him a direct stare. “Well, that’s a bit insulting, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “I don’t think you’re lying about them. There has to be a good explanation for the similarity.”
She could work with that. “I agree. I propose you find that explanation—how these pieces came to be in Lord Aldridge’s possession—and then I will return them, whether they were mine or not.” How it pained her to even suggest they weren’t hers, let alone return them!
He moved into her bedchamber. “All right. Let’s start with a list of the things that were stolen from you two years ago. Can you write it down for me?”
“Certainly.”
He turned toward her. “Excellent, please be as detailed as possible in your descriptions. While you do that, I’ll ask Nan to make some order out of this room.” His eyes flicked toward her ruined bed and then at her. She was suddenly very aware they were alone in her bedchamber. This thought was followed closely by the memory of his near-kiss the other night. A wave of heat assaulted her.
He focused his gaze on a spot on the wall behind her. Apparently the walls of her dressing room and bedchamber were riveting. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to send Moss for a constable from Bow Street.”
It appeared his interest in her had waned. She tried to ignore her disappointment. “A Runner?”
His mouth turned down. “That’s not what we’re—they’re—called. But yes.”
She suspected he missed his former occupation more than a little bit. How shocking to go from being a constable to suddenly being a viscount without any choice in the matter. “Then we have a deal?”
His eyes connected with hers again and their usual intensity was heightened with a glimmer of excitement. Yes, he missed being a constable and he was eager for this task. Or, perhaps he wasn’t as uninterested in her as she’d thought. “We do.”
Despite the utter ruin of her bedchamber, Jocelyn felt hope for the first time in two years. She also felt the spark of something else, and it was something she’d never felt before.
Chapter Five
AFTER WALKING the Bow Street constable through Jocelyn’s town house and ensuring everyone there was in good hands, Daniel had departed. He’d been a bit loath to leave her and her servants—Mrs. Moss was still quite agitated—but he’d done all he could without raising eyebrows, particularly because Mrs. Harwood had returned home. He told himself he merely wanted to see them all safe and secure, but he knew with Jocelyn it was a bit more than that. In her bedchamber, she’d looked at him with something akin to hunger. Then she’d glanced at her bed. He’d had to fight every male instinct he possessed to keep his hands and mouth to himself.
He caught a hack and directed it to St. Giles, where nearly all of his informants made their homes and conducted business, such as it were. His mind thrilled at the chance to solve a crime again. He could scarcely wait to speak with his favorite fence, assuming Odette was still operating her flash house. If she wasn’t, it meant she’d come to a tragic end, because he couldn’t see the shameless former prostitute ever leaving her livelihood.
One of the problems he’d come up against as a constable was the differing views regarding treatment of certain criminals. Was Odette breaking the law as a fence? Absolutely. And once, as a green constable, he’d attempted to arrest her, until he’d realized that in prison she wouldn’t be able to help him catch bigger villains. So they’d begun a mutually beneficial relationship in which Daniel ignored her fencing activities—within reason—and she provided him with information that led him to snare a large number of thieves.
The hack stopped in front of the Silver Unicorn. He paid his driver and inhaled the familiar filth of the rookery. He didn’t miss that, but the scent went hand-in-hand with fighting crime and that made him smile with anticipation.
Odette’s flash house hadn’t changed in the years since he’d been gone. The sign still bore a prancing white, not silver, unicorn. Four dogs loitered at the entrance and Daniel recognized the largest, a scruffy gray mongrel with huge brown eyes. “Gray,” he greeted, using the animal’s none-too-original moniker. “How’ve you been, boy?”
Gray remembered Daniel too, for he nuzzled his hand and his tongue lolled from his mouth. Daniel spent a minute petting the dog and then had to extend the kindness to his furry friends who’d come looking for attention.
With a final pat to Gray’s head, he turned toward the interior. Gray gave his hand a lick and Daniel smiled, re
minded of his dogs at home. Rather, the pair of hounds he’d inherited at Carlyle Hall in Essex. When had he started to think of that as home? He shook the thought from his head and focused on the task before him.
The taproom of the Silver Unicorn was as low-ceilinged and dim as he recalled. At this time of day, the place was empty, which made it his favorite time to visit. He walked to the back, where the bar stood, its scarred surface bearing witness to the years it had been in existence.
A dark head popped up and froze at the sight of him. “Danny Carlyle!” Odette exclaimed. At just past middle age, Odette was still a comely woman, if a bit brash in her looks. Her forehead was just a bit too wide, but was forgiven by a pair of sultry eyes with lashes as thick as pitch. And the tip of her nose was too blunt, but the lush curve of her lips drew one’s attention immediately south.
She raced around the bar and threw her arms around his neck. They’d never been intimate—she was old enough to be his mother—but Daniel often thought she’d wished she were younger.
He hugged her in return and when she finally let him go, he stood back and, with mock sincerity, said, “Don’t you mean Lord Carlyle?”
“Oh, good Christ! You don’t expect me to curtsey and simper, do you?” She curled her lip in distaste, but quickly smiled. Then she sank into an energetic, if not perfect, curtsey. “My lord, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this afternoon?”
He pulled her to stand. “You can knock that off and pull me a pint.” Odette served some of the best ale in London.
“As my lord instructs.” She laughed as she sauntered back around the bar.
Daniel leaned against the wood, his eye finding the gouge in the middle where he’d dodged a knife one night. His blood heated at the memory. Could he still hold his own in a fight?
She slid his ale across the bar and gave him a mock scowl—he could tell by the twinkle in her eyes. “It took you long enough to visit me.”
“My apologies, Odette. It turns out being a viscount is harder than being a constable.”
Her boisterous laugh filled the room. “What rot.” She pulled herself a pint of ale. “As much as I adore you, I’m sure you didn’t come to ask after my health. Though, it would’ve been nice if you had.”
Yes, it would have. “I am appropriately chastised. I shall endeavor to do better. I wonder what Society would say about me frequenting a flash house in St. Giles?”
She chuckled. “That you’re a wastrel or a drunk. Or both.”
He took a long draught of ale. The flavor reminded him of countless nights in establishments just like this, asking questions just like this one: “How’s business?”
She put her elbows on the bar and folded her forearms in front of her. “Same as usual.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Liar, you were always hoping I’d narrow my focus.” Give up the fencing, she meant. Though she was dead helpful, he liked her and worried for her safety. Too many fences lost their lives over a dispute or dissatisfied customer.
“I’m hoping you can help me with something that would’ve happened two years ago. Several items were stolen from a friend of mine.” He’d convinced Jocelyn to give him the items so he could make inquiries. Rather than pull all three from his pocket, he withdrew just the pendant, since it was the most distinctive of the pieces. He laid it atop the bar. “Do you recognize this?”
She pulled a lantern closer and leaned over to inspect the necklace. Her weathered fingers smoothed the glass that covered the ivory. “Lovely. But I haven’t seen it before.”
Daniel had so been hoping she could help him. Her specialty was trafficking items stolen from the homes of the wealthy and privileged. “Think back, if you can. The item was stolen from a town house in Mayfair. There were multiple pieces. A brooch, earrings, a watch fob that was also hand-painted.” He removed the other items from his pocket. “Here.”
She looked up at him, her brow arched. “Withholding from me, eh?”
He tipped his head in apology.
She picked up the brooch and studied the paste jewels. “Where’s the watch fob?”
“It hasn’t been recovered.”
After discarding the brooch, she studied the earrings. “Where’d you find these?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She withdrew from the jewelry and assumed her previous position with her arms folded on the bar. “It does if you want answers. You know how this works, Danny.”
Yes, he did. Information begat information. “They were found in the house of an earl. I believe he bought them without realizing they were stolen.” It was the only reasonable explanation. Aldridge had lied about them being in his family to save face. If word got out that he’d purchased stolen items, his reputation as a crime reformer would be ruined. Furthermore, Daniel simply couldn’t believe he was guilty of more than that.
Odette’s head perked up. “An earl, you say?”
Daniel leaned forward, his pulse quickening at the lure of information. “Yes?”
“Don’t know anything about that.” She took a drink of ale.
Daniel suppressed a frown. It was best to keep all emotion out of these sorts of discussions. It was never helpful to give anything away, something Odette was trying her damnedest not to do. But he saw through her denial. Whenever she didn’t have an answer for him, she always offered to find out. Why not this time?
“Can you ask around for me?” he asked. “But try not to say it’s an earl. I’d prefer to keep the gentleman’s identity secret.”
She scoffed. “There’s a thousand earls or summat, aren’t there? Sure, I’ll see what I can find out, but given how long ago this happened, I wouldn’t expect much. Your friend should just be happy to have her things back.”
He reached out to pick up the jewelry, but laid his hand over hers instead. He looked at her intently. “I’d really like to know who stole these. There are other items she’d like to find, things that are particularly valuable to no one but her.”
Odette’s face softened, and she turned her hand over so they were palm to palm. “You always were a bit sentimental. Find yourself a wife yet? Maybe this ‘friend’ of yours?”
Wife? He’d planned to court Jocelyn before she’d turned to thievery. He was definitely attracted to her, but could he overlook what she’d done?
He scooped Jocelyn’s—when had he begun to think of them as hers?—jewels into his pocket and ignored the wife questions. “I’m not sentimental. You’re just a hardened criminal.”
“Shhh! You’re not supposed to say that out loud.”
He flashed her a smile. “Afraid the rats might turn you in?”
She laughed loudly again. “Get yourself gone, Danny Carlyle—sorry, my lord,” she drawled outrageously.
“You can send word to me here.” He gave her one of his cards.
She took the card with one hand, and with the other put her index finger to the tip of her nose and pushed it up. “Brook Street. Fancy-pants.”
He took another pull from his ale and set it back atop the bar. Then he dropped several coins next to the battered glass. “Thank you, Odette. Take care of yourself.”
“Good to see you, Danny,” she said as he turned and departed her establishment.
He was disappointed in her lack of information, but intrigued by what she didn’t say. Still, he didn’t doubt she’d find a way to be of help. She’d use the errand boys who lodged in her rafters to go fact-finding, and Daniel would employ a few boys to do the same.
As he made his way further into the rookery, he considered whether he should speak to Aldridge. But what could he say? Aldridge would demand the return of the jewelry, and Daniel would have to abandon his inquiry. When he approached Aldridge, he had to do it armed with facts.
Jocelyn’s jewelry weighted his coat pocket. Yes, when had he begun to think of these items as her property? He realized then that he did believe her, not just that she thought the items were hers, but that they had indeed b
een stolen. He recalled the fear in her eyes, the tension in her body, the panic in her voice when they’d gone into her town house that afternoon. To have that happen once was bad enough, but twice? And she’d yet to break under the distress. She deserved to know what had happened, and he was going to find out.
Chapter Six
THE FOLLOWING afternoon, Jocelyn surveyed her mostly-tidied bedchamber. It had taken the rest of yesterday and the better part of today to clean up the feathers from the bedding and remove the ruined linens and mattress. It would be several days before the bedding could be replaced. In the meantime, she was moving into the spare bedroom, which was smaller and sported a lumpy mattress.
Moss appeared in the doorway. “Miss Renwick, Lord Carlyle is here to see you.”
Her stomach did a little flip. Just when she’d despaired, confident of a future on the shelf, he’d walked into her path—literally. And now, hope warmed her breast.
She stepped down the stairs with a jaunty bounce. Daniel—oh, she mustn’t first-name him, but what was the harm if she did so privately?—was waiting for her in the entry hall, his hat in his hand.
He smiled as his gaze lit on her, and her stomach flipped again. “Good afternoon, Miss Renwick.” Such an address sounded so formal after what they’d been through together yesterday. She was so glad he’d come upon her when he did. If she’d had to face the ruined house alone … she shuddered.
His eyes crinkled with concern, and he stepped toward the stairs as she reached the last step. “What’s wrong?”
She gave him a bright smile. “Nothing. I was just thinking how happy I am you were with me yesterday.”
His features relaxed. “I’m happy too—and relieved you were not at home when the invasion occurred.” He paused, smiling at her in return. “I was hoping you might like to take a turn around the park with me. I have a phaeton, though I have to confess that while I’ve mastered riding, I’ve yet to truly grasp the finer points of driving.”