by Regina Scott
“So now all of London knows about us,” Ariadne said dreamily as they stood with Priscilla’s fountain of punch bubbling behind them. “No doubt sonnets are being written to us as we speak.”
“I can only hope they will be as popular as what you wrote,” Daphne said. “I cannot believe you let me prattle on about Lord Snedley.”
Ariadne hung her head.
Daphne draped her arm around her bare shoulders. “I should have known it was the work of my brilliant sister.”
Ariadne raised her head with a smile, and all knew she had been forgiven.
Emily had her own confession to make. When she’d been alone in the garden, she’d sworn the night would not end before she told Jamie how she felt. Could he still be about somewhere? Was that why his colleague had relayed the news of Robert’s capture? She turned to look and found herself facing Lady St. Gregory.
“A most interesting night, Lady Emily,” she said in her usual cool tone. “You are quite a singular young lady.”
Was that praise? She could not believe it. “Thank you, your ladyship,” she said politely.
“I wished to speak with you about the portrait of your mother. Was that difficult?”
Why did Lady St. Gregory ask such questions? Emily never knew how to answer. “It was the easiest and hardest piece I’ve ever done,” she admitted. “The colors, her face, they came easily. Conveying the person I loved was very, very hard.”
Lady St. Gregory smiled. “Yet you did it. I never met your mother, but looking at the painting, I fancy I know her, and you. I imagine she’d be very, very proud of you.”
Emily blinked back tears. “Thank you, your ladyship.”
Lady St. Gregory inclined her head. “I give praise where it is due. I believe we have room for an artist of your caliber in the Royal Society for the Beaux Arts. What do you say?”
Emily stared at her. Then, seeing the truth in the woman’s broad smile, she broke into a grin herself. “I’d say thank you very much, your ladyship. I’d be honored!”
Her delight lasted only as long as it took for Lady St. Gregory to give her the particulars of the next meeting. Then her stomach began to squirm again. Her gaze swept the room, searching. Priscilla was on the dance floor with a tall, buck-toothed fellow Emily could only guess was the mighty Duke of Rottenford. Beyond them, Ariadne had cornered the famous playwright Mr. Sheridan and was happily quizzing him on his life in the theatre. Not far away, Daphne was chatting with several young gentlemen, all of whom seemed quite impressed by a lady who could climb out a window and perch on a ledge in her ball gown.
But then Emily saw him, standing by the doors to the veranda. The glow from the bees wax candles in the crystal chandeliers overhead glinted off his russet hair.
He caught her gaze on him and raised two fingers to his forehead. Then he disappeared out the doors.
Emily followed.
He was waiting in the moonlight. “Everything all right, then?”
Not in the slightest, but she nodded. “Yes. Thank you for saving my life. Another fine job for Bow Street.”
He shrugged. “Such is the life of a Runner. You understand now why I couldn’t give you all the particulars of this case. Mr. Haversham contacted Bow Street after he found that his daughter’s jewels had been converted to paste. Then other jewels began going missing, only to appear again later, and those I could have tested all ended up paste as well. The only connection between the cases was Lord Robert.”
She nodded again. Where were her good intentions? She wanted to stand here, drinking in the sight of him, talking to him about anything, everything. “So you came in disguise tonight hoping to catch him.”
“In part,” he said. “But in truth, I had to come.”
Emily made a face. “I suppose I did sound rather cryptic in my note. I didn’t want to tell you that I planned to expose him. I wanted you to see it, to know that I . . .”
He strode to her side and took her hands in his, bending his head as if to see inside her. “You what, Lady Emily?”
She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Did a lady simply blurt out that she was in love? Once, perhaps, but surely she’d gathered some sophistication since arriving in London.
“I wanted to know what you meant by your note about the ball,” she said instead. “There was the little matter of an L.”
“An L?” He sounded surprised.
“An L,” she insisted. “Just before your initials. I could not determine what it meant.”
He was quiet for a moment, which she knew meant he was choosing his words with care. Finally, he said, “Most people would take it as a time notation, placed as it was next to the nine. L for later.”
“Ah,” she said, feeling foolish. “Of course.”
“A few, however,” he continued, a smile in his voice, “might take it as a description. L for longingly.”
“Oh,” she said, heartbeat speeding.
“And the bold ones,” he finished, leaning closer and lowering his voice, “might take it one step further. Let’s say, L for lovingly.”
Emily swallowed. “I’ve been known to be bold.”
“I would have wagered my life on it.” He straightened and let go of her hands. “And that’s why I had to come to the ball, Emily. The other night, at the dinner party when I thought I’d lost you to Lord Robert, I lashed out. Forgive me.”
“You had a right,” she protested. “I hadn’t realized that I was using you. I just wanted to catch him so badly.”
“We shared that goal from the first,” he said. “I suppose I wanted to see him punished, to see his family punished.”
Emily laid a hand on his. “Because of what they did to your mother. I know. I heard the rumors. I’m so sorry, Jamie, that neither of you was ever given your due.”
He shrugged again, and this time she thought it cost him something. “Odd how that matter seems to have settled itself in my mind,” he murmured. “After a time, it wasn’t Lord Robert that moved me. It was you. I know the gulf between us. I can offer you nothing. But whatever happens from here on out, you deserve to know that I love you.”
The words danced upon the air, bathed her in joy even as the moonlight bathed his face, so solemn, so intent. Inside, the musicians struck up a waltz. The sound floated over them, lilting. Her heart floated right along with it.
“Thank you, Jamie,” she murmured. “And you deserve to know that I love you too.”
His smile captured her heart and held it gently. “Dance with me?”
She nodded, too full to speak. He curled his long fingers around hers and rested his other hand above her waist. It was as if he held her in his embrace. Her hand trembled as she placed it on his broad shoulder. His gaze caressed her face, as if memorizing every line, every curve.
And they began to move in time to the music, backward, forward, turn. She knew the steps. The last time she’d practiced them, she’d been partnering Daphne.
This was nothing like partnering Daphne.
His touch was sure, his steps smooth. She was constantly aware of how close he was, how near their bodies. His arm brushed her chest as they moved; her cheek grazed his as they turned. With his gaze on hers, she felt more beautiful than Priscilla, more graceful than Daphne on horseback, as brilliant as Ariadne. She knew there was nothing she couldn’t do.
She never wanted the music to stop, but stop it did. His steps slowed, and she slowed as well, sliding her fingers down his strong arm. He caught them with his and brought both of her hands to his chest, tender, reverent. Mesmerized, she willed him to bend closer, to bridge the distance between his lips and hers.
And he did.
She closed her eyes, let herself feel the sweet pressure. Time seemed to stop, to stretch. When he drew back, he sounded as breathless as she felt.
“You should go in,” he murmured with a touch to her cheek. “They’ll all be looking for you.”
She didn’t want to go, not now, not ever. She just wanted to be here, w
ith him. But that couldn’t be. Not just yet. It seemed she’d traded the perilous passion for her painting for another passion.
Him.
“When will I see you again?” she asked.
His smile was a promise. “Soon. I won’t lose you.”
She smiled back. “Then, until later, Jamie.”
He grinned. “Until later, Emily.”
She held his hand a moment longer, then stepped away from him to return to the ball. They had proved themselves victorious over theft, scandal, murder, and Priscilla’s goldfish. Surely she and Jamie would find a way to be together. Surely this passion she felt for him would endure. Surely there would be other dances, other kisses. Some might even be better than this.
She could only dream.
******
Master Thief
by
Regina Scott
A Short Story Related to the Lady Emily Capers
“So you see, Emily,” Priscilla Tate concluded with an airy wave of her graceful hand, “it simply disappeared!”
Lady Emily Southwell, youngest daughter of His Grace the Duke of Emerson, could certainly see that her friend’s favorite brooch was missing. Indeed, Priscilla had taken great pains to point repeatedly to the mother-of-pearl box laying empty on her lace-draped dressing table.
“It was right there,” Ariadne insisted, nodding her head at the imprint in the box’s peach satin lining, which no doubt outlined the ruby brooch. Her soft muslin gown was a similar shade of peach that complimented her light-brown curls. “I’ve questioned the staff, but no one admits to seeing it.”
“It’s clearly the work of a master thief,” her darker-haired sister Daphne put in, “which is why we called the best.”
Emily smiled. She did have a reputation for solving mysteries. But the last two she’d solved had been much more complicated, and dangerous, than a missing brooch.
“Perhaps if you looked through your gowns, Pris,” she suggested. “You might find it still pinned on the silk.”
Ariadne beamed, giving the reticule at her wrist a swing. “That’s what I suggested.”
Priscilla’s shoulders slumped in her pink muslin gown, and her green eyes filled with tears. “Truly, Emily, I’ve looked everywhere. I wouldn’t be so worried if one of the other pieces was missing.” She glanced toward the open door of her room and lowered her voice. “But it’s the last one that’s still real.”
So that was the issue. Priscilla’s family had fallen on hard times, and many of their belongings had been sold to pay expenses. Even the little house they had leased for the Season was furnished with castoffs from their relatives.
Emily thought Priscilla had chosen the best of the lot. Her four-poster bed was polished mahogany, and the headboard was carved with smiling winged infants. The wash basin was brilliant blue Sevres porcelain. The pier glass mirror, though tarnished around the edges, was framed in gold-leaf; Emily could see her reflection gazing back, dark tight curls framing her pale face. Still, the sunny room with its yellow silk wall hangings and blue Oriental carpet was hardly crowded. It should have been easy to spot a ruby brooch.
“Think,” Emily urged Priscilla. “Where did you last wear it?”
Priscilla bit her full lower lip a moment as if thinking hard. “Perhaps at the Baminger ball?”
Daphne shook her head. “No. You wore your green satin gown and emeralds that night. I remember because that charming Mr. Cunningham remarked on how it brought out the green in your eyes.”
“Ah, yes,” Priscilla agreed with a fond smile. “Then I must have worn it to the musicale to celebrate the end of Lady Eglantine’s bout with gout.”
“No,” Ariadne said with certainty. “Your décolleté was far too low that night to hold a brooch. Mother remarked on it.”
Priscilla rolled her eyes. “The races at Ascot then.”
“You borrowed my gray silk walking dress for that,” Emily reminded her, “and my pearls. Father remarked on it.”
“You see?” Daphne said happily. “Everyone is talking about you!”
Priscilla smoothed a golden curl back from her perfect face. “I told you we’d be the talk of London once we came out.”
That they were. Could their newfound fame have attracted a thief in addition to the beaux they had been expecting?
Emily turned to Daphne. “Check under the dressing table. Ariadne, you take the bed. The brooch might have fallen.”
Daphne obligingly dropped to her knees in a puddle of saffron muslin and peered under the furniture. “Not here.”
Ariadne wandered to the bed and lifted the skirt to gaze underneath. “Not here either.”
Priscilla twisted her cameo ring about her finger. “What am I to do?” she all but wailed. “Mother will be beside herself, and Father will despair. He was counting on that brooch for next quarter’s lease money! We’ll all be sent to rot in Debtor’s Prison, and I’ll shall have to marry the jailor’s son so we can eat!”
Emily frowned at her. Surely a missing brooch couldn’t bring about such dire circumstances. She noted the fluttering fingers on the hand Pris had pressed to her brow, the flushed skin, the trembling lips. Something was definitely wrong, but she had a feeling it had nothing to do with the brooch.
What was going on?
Just when Lady Emily was about to question her friend further about the mysteriously missing brooch, she heard a noise behind her.
“Perhaps I can help,” said a warm male voice.
Emily whirled, pulse pounding. James Cropper stood in the doorway of Priscilla’s sunny bedchamber. His russet hair was for once combed in place, his brown jacket and breeches looked as if they had been recently pressed, and his cravat was tied in an elegant knot. But what truly drew her eyes was the smile curving his mouth. It was positively wicked. The questions dried in Emily’s throat.
Her three friends seemed similarly affected, for no one said anything for five full ticks of the enameled clock on the mantel. Then Daphne picked up her saffron skirts and hurried to greet him.
“Oh, Mr. Cropper, thank you for coming!” She led him into the room. “See, Emily? I told you we called for the best.”
Emily’s face heated. Jamie was also good at solving mysteries. She could see why Priscilla might request his services. But her friends could have given Emily a few moments first, if only to tidy her hair!
Priscilla and Ariadne quickly explained the situation to him, and Jamie listened, gaze wandering about the little room as if taking in every detail. Emily noticed that Priscilla left out the part about the brooch being paste and her fears about Debtor’s Prison if it weren’t found. In fact, Priscilla seemed to have recovered her usual good spirits. Her lovely face was animated, her smile so charming dimples danced on either side of her mouth. Jamie may have come to rescue Priscilla, but Emily had a feeling he was going to be the one who needed rescuing in a moment.
He caught Emily’s gaze on him and winked. Emily’s face heated once more.
When Priscilla and Ariadne finished their tale, Emily thought Jamie would likely jump into action, but he merely nodded. “I’d wager Lady Emily has a thought or two about the matter.”
Her? He was turning it back to her? Her friends looked just as surprised. Jamie’s handsome face was expectant. Emily raised her head. “I do, as a matter of fact. We’ve checked the floor, so it doesn’t seem to have fallen. Miss Tate has already looked over her garments, and it doesn’t appear to be there.”
“I knew it!” Ariadne declared, honey-colored curls bouncing with her insistence. “It’s been stolen!”
Daphne nodded sagely, her darker curls moving with similar energy. “And it’s obviously the work of a master thief. He knew to take the brooch because . . .”
“It’s the best piece,” Priscilla put in hurriedly with a look to Daphne. “Who knows what else he might take!” She lay a hand on Jamie’s arm and gazed up at him, green eyes liquid. “Oh, please, Mr. Cropper. You must help us!”
Emily wanted to rea
ch out, grab Jamie’s arm, and pull him safely to her side. But perhaps it was best merely to send him to safety. “I don’t think we need trouble Mr. Cropper, Priscilla. Surely we can handle this.”
“It’s no trouble,” Jamie said with a smile to Emily.
That’s what every boy said when the golden-haired Priscilla started flirting. Clearly more drastic steps were necessary. Emily took a step toward them. As if Priscilla saw the fire in her eyes, she dropped her hold on Jamie’s arm.
“I was hoping you might work with Mr. Cropper, Emily,” Priscilla pleaded. “You understand me so well. With your artist’s eye, you see things I miss.”
Emily narrowed her eyes. “And what will you be doing?” Priscilla’s hand drifted back to her brow. “Oh, I must lie down for a restorative nap.”
Ariadne stepped to her side, switching her reticule to the other hand so she could put an arm about Priscilla’s waist. “This whole incident has sorely tried her, poor dear. I’ll just stay to keep her company.” She gazed pointedly at her sister.
“Oh.” Daphne hurried to their sides. “I’d better stay as well in case you need anything.” She waved a hand at Emily and Jamie. “You too run along and have a good . . .”
“Investigation,” Ariadne finished. “Have a very successful investigation. It should take you all over London: the dark alleys, the hidden byways. Very likely it will take some time.”
“Days,” Daphne said with a nod.
Jamie’s gaze met Emily’s, and she could see the future in those smoky eyes. “Perhaps weeks,” he said, smile curving up.
Weeks? Wandering all over London with the handsome Jamie at her side? Incredible!
Without a chaperone? Unthinkable! But she certainly didn’t want to share him with her aunt Lady Minerva.