Whoever was down there was making the rounds of the entire library. Walking the perimeter. Checking each aisle.
Checking for what? Dahlia clutched the pocket-sized book of etchings to her thudding chest. Looking for her?
The footsteps plodded through the maze of shelves and came to rest right beneath her small balcony.
Dahlia was too scared to move, every shaking limb frozen in fear.
As she watched in panic, the mahogany ladder resting against her balcony rail began to roll along its oiled track until it reached the opposite balcony on the other side of the open hall.
Thirty feet of empty air stretched between the end of her railing and the first rung of the ladder.
It might as well be an ocean.
Please don’t climb up the ladder, she repeated in her mind. Please don’t climb up the ladder. Please don’t find me. Please go away.
After a long, excruciating moment, the footsteps retreated from the balcony and made their way through the maze of shelves to the exit at the front of the room.
The library was safe.
Dahlia still didn’t dare breathe. Her limbs trembled too much to withstand her weight. Sliding one of her half-boots forward so much as an inch sent a wave of pins-and-needles up her cramping legs so painful she thought she would scream.
She did not scream. She was too panicked to scream. Whoever had come to check the library could return at any moment. She had to get out. She had to get out now.
Dahlia pushed to her feet despite the fiery pain rippling up her numb legs from crouching too long on the floor. She could massage her over-exerted muscles later.
Right now, she had to find a way out.
Flying across the library to the ladder on the opposite balcony was out of the question. As was leaping from her railing to one of the freestanding bookshelves. With her luck, the force of her landing would push it off balance and each mahogany bookshelf would knock into the other like the most expensive set of library dominoes on the planet.
Her only choice was to drop down twelve feet to the Axminster carpet below and pray she didn’t break an ankle in the process.
The next question was how.
She shoved the little book of etchings into her bosom behind her fichu and reached down to gather her hems. There was no practical way of climbing the railing without flashing her bare buttocks to the entire world, but waiting for Lady Pettibone to stumble upon her was hardly a better option.
This was tumbling, she told herself. She’d done far more dangerous acrobatics with her brother Heath as a child. To be sure, they hadn’t involved her vaulting bare-arsed over the railing of a high society balcony. Heath had no doubt had to vault over his fair share of balconies in his time. Why not Dahlia?
This would simply become a funny story to tell her brother someday over lemon cakes.
She scooped up her skirts and hiked her legs up onto the balcony railing.
Please don’t break, she begged in her mind. Please don’t break loose before I can let go and float safely to the carpet below.
With a deep breath, she launched herself off the railing, twisting so that her back would take the brunt of the fall.
It wasn’t going to work. Her legs went one way. The book flew another.
Every bone was about to—
A pair of warm, strong arms caught her before she could crash to the library floor. Warm, strong arms that should not have been anywhere near there. She’d heard the footsteps exit, blast it all. Silently doubling back to catch a criminal red-handed was the worst kind of deductive brilliance. The sort that meant she’d fallen straight into the arms of celebrated Bow Street Runner, Inspector Simon Spaulding.
Who was finally due that promotion.
Chapter 30
Simon’s heart went cold.
He had quite literally caught the Thief of Mayfair in his arms—and the two-faced criminal was none other than headmistress Dahlia Grenville.
Ex-headmistress.
He dropped her unceremoniously onto the expensive, high society carpet.
As she fell, a palm-sized leather-bound book had popped out of her bodice, along with a scrap of lace apparently meant to keep both bosoms and contraband safely out of sight.
He nudged the expensive leather volume with the toe of his boot.
She winced and covered her eyes.
Simon did not. His were finally open. And he could not have felt more betrayed.
Dahlia was not who he’d thought she was. He’d been shocked to glimpse her hobnobbing with aristocrats. Not waiting on them as a servant, or even rubbing shoulders on accident, going about the duties of an honest, hardworking boarding school administrator.
No, she’d been swanning about in a gown so exquisite it hurt the eyes. Laughing with this duchess or that countess as if they were old friends. Because they were.
She had never been part of Simon’s world. She’d been born into another plane. One of champagne and hors d'œuvres, diamonds and pearls, lady’s maids and liverymen whose daily uniforms cost more than Simon’s annual salary. Dahlia was far from the hard-luck, working-class angel he’d believed her to be.
She was a liar. A hypocrite. A beautiful, mercenary, Janus-faced thief.
He’d never known her at all.
“Get up,” he growled.
She leapt to her feet with the agility of an acrobat. Or the grace of a debutante with a private dancing-master and expensive finishing school.
Or the habits of a well-practiced thief.
“Why are you here?” she stammered, with a glance over her shoulder. “Did you follow me?”
“I was hunting the Thief of Mayfair,” he said coldly. “So, yes. It appears I followed you.”
Her cheeks flushed. “But how did you know I’d be here?”
“I didn’t have to,” he said simply. “The Thief of Mayfair targets wealthy aristocrats, either during or shortly after a showy gathering. Once I compiled a list of upcoming ton parties, it was easy to determine which hosts had items of great value within easy reach. Those individuals tend to share that information with the entire world.”
Dahlia lowered her head. “Lady Pettibone paid you to guard her library?”
“That would be unethical.” Simon flashed a hard smile. “The government already pays me to investigate crimes and protect its citizens. What kind of monster would I be to accept money I didn’t deserve?”
“Many Runners do,” she mumbled.
“I do not,” he replied without pity.
She swallowed visibly. “Simon, I—”
“No need to explain.” His voice was like ice. “I know what you are. I observed you in your natural environment.”
“You…saw me with the other ladies?” she guessed hopefully.
“Believe me. Your ratafia consumption is the least of my concerns.” Stuffing expensive objects into her bodice was quite another. There was no denying the evidence.
Dahlia was a thief.
His heart hardened as he plucked the fallen book from the ground.
“It isn’t mine,” she blurted.
He slid her a flat look. “Obviously.”
“That doesn’t mean I was stealing it,” she said quickly. But her face had drained of color.
“Doesn’t it?” he said in bored tones.
“Or that I’m the Thief of Mayfair,” she added.
“Aren’t you?”
“I…” She rolled back her shoulders. “I was forced to lie down in the guest quarters due to a megrim.”
“Ill-timed, I’m sure,” he murmured.
“Ask the maids,” she insisted. “They saw me. When I had recovered enough to return to the party, I passed through the library and simply lost track of time.”
“For two hours.” He didn’t bother to hide his skepticism.
“It’s…a good library,” she mumbled.
“It’s off limits,” he corrected firmly. “Lady Pettibone told you so personally.”
Dahlia cringed.
“You heard her say that?”
“She tells everyone. Lying to me doesn’t change facts.” He held up the book. “You broke in to steal from her.”
“I didn’t break in,” Dahlia hedged.
“But you do steal. You’ve done so all season.” He curled his lip. “The signs were there. I just didn’t want to see them.”
She winced. “There were signs I was a thief?”
“Signs you were an…unusual headmistress,” he allowed. “I thought it was charming at first.”
“Did you?” She raised her lashes to stare at him.
It no longer mattered. He crossed his arms. “If I search the school, will I find the stolen objects?”
“Only if you look in the schoolroom.” She leaned forward in defiance. “Pocket globes and a trio of disintegrating reading primers are the sum total of our educational materials.”
“That doesn’t make stealing right.”
“Does it make it wrong?” Her gaze turned pleading. “All the objects were returned to their rightful owners.”
“Except the pocket globes,” he pointed out.
“Mapleton’s a special case,” she muttered. “I’m half-surprised one of his competition hasn’t stomped on his collection long ago.”
Frankly, so was Simon. The man was a slug. But it didn’t change facts.
He hardened his voice toward Dahlia. “You have to give them back.”
And he had to turn her in.
She sent another furtive glance over her shoulder. “Where is everyone? Aren’t you going to parade me in front of Lady Pettibone?”
“I shall parade you inside the Magistrates’ Court,” he promised. “Lady Pettibone took her post-party laudanum, and there is no need to wake her.”
Hope entered Dahlia’s eyes for the first time since she’d fallen into his arms. “So, right now…nobody knows but us?”
Simon raised a brow.
He knew what she was asking. As things stood, they could both walk away. No one would know…but Simon. Except it was his job to ensure such travesties of justice never happened.
No. More than that. It was Simon’s mission. The driving force that had given his life meaning ever since his parents’ death at the hands of a highwayman. A highwayman who had never been caught.
But what if he had? What if months or weeks earlier, some soft-hearted imbecile had agreed to give the blackguard a second chance? That was somehow worse than Simon’s long held belief that the highwayman had simply managed to evade capture.
One lazy watchman, one corrupt magistrate, one irresponsible investigator was all it took to put others’ lives and property at risk. Simon had sworn never to be one of them. Had held his head high for three ethical decades that would make any man proud. But he hadn’t done it for himself, or even to avenge the death of his mother. He did it because it was the right thing to do. All people deserved to be treated fairly. By their contemporaries—and in the eyes of the law.
Which meant there was no choice here. Not for him, and not for Dahlia. A thief was a thief. And crime had to pay.
Even if it meant sending the love of his life to Newgate.
He tried to swallow the ball of anger and betrayal clogging his throat.
To say he was disappointed in her would be a laughable understatement. He’d believed in her goodness. Wanted to marry her, for the love of God. Had possessed absolute, wholehearted faith that she was precisely the sort of woman that would make any Bow Street inspector proud.
And everything about her was a lie.
Until recently, he’d believed all his dreams would come true if only he could earn a coveted promotion by catching the Thief of Mayfair. Turned out, the villain was his would-be fiancée. Whose big brown eyes were glassy with unshed tears because the man she’d refused to marry was the only one who could save her from the gallows.
It was no longer about his career, or his promotion. Turning her in meant ruining her life. Even prisoners who weren’t sentenced to hang never lasted long in the squalid, disease-filled prisons.
Yet he’d sworn an oath to do the right thing, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard. The hardest thing he’d ever have to do in his life.
“Simon?” she said, her eyes and voice pleading.
He pulled out his iron handcuffs and snapped them onto her wrists.
Chapter 31
Dahlia watched behind blurry eyes as the man she loved tethered a sturdy rope from the saddle of his horse to her handcuffs.
It wasn’t Simon’s fault. It was hers. Simon’s tireless determination and strength to uphold both his values and the law no matter the opposition was one of the main reasons she’d fallen in love with him in the first place. He could be counted on to always do the right thing. He was her rock. A bastion of unbreakable character.
Whose unflagging heroic qualities were now marching her to a dire future of her own making.
She was going to lose everything. Life as she knew it. Her school. Her family. Her lifelong friendship with Faith. From this day forward, the iron shackles about her wrists would be her sole companions.
And her girls… What would they think? What would they do?
Faith would not be able to manage the school alone. Without Dahlia’s aid, donations would be minimal. The girls might be evicted from the abbey before they even had a chance to attempt the fund-raising performance.
A chill skittered across her clammy skin. She could not consign her wards back to a life on the streets. There had to be something she could do.
She turned her panicked gaze toward Simon. “Please set me free. I won’t do it again.”
“I know.” He swung onto his horse. “You’ll be in prison.”
The chill from the heavy iron cuffs seeped all the way through to her bones.
Once she stepped foot into prison, she was as good as dead. Either the gallows or gaol fever would take her.
Even if she somehow convinced Simon to let her go, just this once… to forget he’d caught her in the library, forget that her schoolroom contained pocket-sized proof of her past crimes as a thief… Her days of playing Robin Hood were over.
If she couldn’t pay the rent, her school—the family of girls who counted on her, looked up to her, loved her—were right back on the streets.
Just like they were when their birth mothers abandoned them.
Was it better to have loved and lost? Or had she only made things worse for them all?
The iron shackles clinked as she clutched her suddenly nauseous belly.
If there had been any other way… but, of course, there hadn’t. If Dahlia hadn’t taken the risks she had, they would have run out of bread to eat long before. Creditors would have evicted them from the abbey. If she weren’t facing a Newgate prison sentence, it would be debtors’ gaol at Marshalsea. Ending like this had always been inevitable.
She just hoped her girls could forgive her.
With her new notoriety, she was likely to be the sole member of the ton to miss the upcoming Circus Minimus. Fashionable quarterly performances were no longer likely. This would be the girls’ one shot. They would no longer be students of perennial interest, but a flash-in-the-pan passing fancy, like the “penny freaks” of a traveling peep tent.
Everyone would want to see the school where the duplicitous Dahlia Grenville had worked before being locked up at Newgate.
And then “everyone” would go home, thrilled to see themselves listed as attending guests in the scandal columns, and forget all about the two dozen child performers from that day forward.
Dahlia’s chest grew tight. She wasn’t just disappointing her wards. She was abandoning them. They would go back to the workhouses, the brothels, the streets. Because of her, the children could lose the only family they’d ever had.
She had to find a way to save them.
But how? Every cobblestone she tripped over only brought her closer and closer to gaol.
There had to be something. Anything. No matter how small.
She had to think, despite the pounding in her head and the bleakness in her heart. The dank, offal-stained air of a long, black alley might be the last breaths of freedom she ever had. Her girls deserved her full attention now more than ever. She was still their only hope.
Or was she? Dahlia’s cracked lips parted.
Although nothing was likely to lift the school above the stigma of the previous felonious headmistress, with luck, the Circus Minimus would garner enough donations to stay ahead of the bill collectors for another month or two.
If anyone could find a way to keep the school open until the performance, it would be Faith. But to even attempt it, she would need some buffer of time and money.
As well as legal authorization.
“Stop,” Dahlia choked out as she stumbled along the alley.
The school was her dream. The last thing she wanted to do was give it up. But she’d left herself—and her students—no choice.
Simon didn’t slow. “You’ll have plenty opportunity to rest once you’re locked inside a cell.”
“Please,” she begged, hobbling faster to reach his side. “Let me pen a short note to my brother before you take me in.”
“Why?”
“He has a document signed by me, handing all ownership and control of the school over to Faith Digby in the event I am no longer capable of doing so.” She lifted her shackled wrists and tried for a brave smile. “I assume hanging from the gallows isn’t a holiday one ever returns from. It’s the only thing I can do to take care of my girls.”
Chapter 32
Simon stopped his horse.
His life had taken on an unreal quality. It was well past midnight on a starless night. He was leading his horse in a slow, mile-and-a-half trek down dark, empty alleyways from Mayfair to Bow Street. Whilst dragging along in iron cuffs the woman he’d hoped would be his bride.
“I’m going to unshackle you,” he said. “But only because it’s faster for you to ride up here with me.”
She nodded quickly. “May I send a message to my brother when we reach the court?”
Probably. Allowing her to pen a letter would break protocols, not laws. Although he had no choice but to arrest Dahlia, Simon would do everything in his power to minimize the damage her arrest could inflict on her wards.
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