“I asked where you obtained it.” His voice was deep, almost a growl as he slowly pronounced each word.
“I told you—I…”
Her words were lost to the severe pounding in his head. “When did you get it?”
“Some time ago.”
“How long ago?” he prodded. “Precisely.”
“Several months, I would guess,” she answered. “I have kept it safe and away from natural light until I brought it here. To you.”
“I will purchase it,” he said. Everything began to make sense—their chance meeting at Lady Haversham’s, her claimed interest in him and her untrue obsession with antiquities. Her presence outside the night watchman’s house was enough to convince him that trouble with the authorities was likely not a new thing for her. Cart had been a fool once more. “How much do you want for the vase?”
In his hands, he held the item that Lord Gunther had commissioned him to locate almost three months ago—a vase that had seemingly disappeared from view, not a single collector having been approached to purchase the stolen piece.
He couldn’t look at her, for if he did, he’d see the woman who’d been hidden from him since their forced meeting. Not the beautiful, enchanting, intelligent woman he’d grown to care for, who he looked forward to seeing, but a conniving, scheming… a charlatan.
“Is that not why we are here?” she asked. “We must research the piece and discover an appropriate price.”
“I will pay anything. Please, name your rate.”
He couldn’t handle looking at her as he reluctantly handed the vase back to her. His stomach rolled at the thought of allowing her to walk from the circulating library with the vase in her possession, but he had no other choice.
“Fifty pounds,” Jude said confidently. “I believe that is a fair price.”
A fair price to pay a thief? Cart wanted to inquire. He should alert the proper authorities immediately and allow them to handle the situation and return the vase to its rightful owner.
Instead, he heard himself answer, “That is an agreeable price.”
Cart wanted away from this woman, out of this airless room, and to put distance between him and her. After all he’d been through, he was still as gullible as he’d been as a young lord, newly titled. He was the prey with ample predators to hunt him.
He was unsure what wounded him deeper, that he’d been taken advantage of again or that it had been by her.
The vase could fall to the floor and shatter into a billion pieces and Cart couldn’t care less. He’d still be overwhelmed by the enormity of her betrayal.
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor, causing others to look his way at the noise.
Nodding and waving them away, he turned to finally meet her stare—her unknowing, innocent stare.
Fifty pounds. The measly amount of coin was nowhere near what the piece was worth. In Cart’s mind, the vase was priceless, something of such rare and ancient origins that no other treasure compared.
And she’d asked a paltry fifty pounds.
He wanted to laugh but kept the sound within. And to think, he’d possessed half that amount not long ago before he’d given it to his mother.
If she were playing him, then she was the greater fool, for the vase could fetch close to ten times that amount at Stanford’s auction.
“I will send word when I have arranged the funds you request,” he said with a curt bow. Not that she deserved such respect, but Cart needed to keep his anger hidden well or she and the artifact would likely disappear. “It will not be long, a few days at most.”
“You can keep the piece,” she insisted with a reassuring smile, pushing the vase back toward him as she too stood.
“That is not how such things are done, Miss Judith.”
The smile dropped from her face as she scrutinized him, noticing his suddenly guarded nature. “Oh, I trust you, Cart.” She attempted once more to hand him the piece, but when he took a step back, Jude quickly wrapped it back in the shawl and stowed it in her tote, holding the bag close to her body.
Cart held her jacket out for her to slip her arms in, pulling it onto her shoulders with more force than was necessary. His meaning was clear.
She turned back to him, her lashes lowered as she inspected his demeanor.
Their afternoon at the library was over—never to be repeated. The furthest thing from his mind suddenly was the only thing that’d been on his mind all day. He wanted to walk out of the library and never set eyes on Jude again, but he had to collect Theo first, which meant he needed to stay long enough for Jude to depart before locating his sister.
And within a few days, he’d need to face Jude again—the thief. “Good day, Miss Jude.”
“It was a lovely time,” she said cautiously, trying to lure him into further conversation. “I would much enjoy doing it again.”
He’d conveyed himself more bluntly than he ever had previously. However, she stood before him…making no move to depart and making her intentions known that she planned to continue her scheme. She was more versed in the art of deception than Cart had suspected. If he hadn’t discovered her misdeeds, he wouldn’t hesitate to agree to her request for another afternoon together.
The seconds passed, making Cart nervous. He adjusted his coat and reached for his artfully tied cravat, tugging at the corners. She expected him to answer. Cart was afraid if he opened his mouth, nothing good would come forth and attention would be drawn to them.
With one last look, she slung the satchel over her shoulder and turned to leave, her brow furrowed in concern.
Cart sagged in relief when she took her first step toward the crowded main room.
Chapter 15
Jude’s afternoon with Lord Cartwright hadn’t gone as planned—at all. Certainly, she was overjoyed at the prospect of ridding herself of the vase and gaining the pounds to pay Craven House’s debts before Marce returned home.
It stood to reason the only emotion Jude should be feeling was relief. Instead, a measure of unease and concern had overtaken her at the dark shadow that settled over Cart during their time together. Sam had insisted that men were of a different breed when it came to conducting business, but Cart’s severe mood change was something more than a singular focus on the transaction at hand.
He’d become withdrawn and abrupt—even more so than usual.
It made little sense. Even when she’d been so bold as to express her agreement at meeting again for another afternoon together, he’d said nothing. Showed not even a spark of interest at her suggestion.
She’d fretted that he possibly knew of the vase and that it had been stolen a few months before, but she’d seen no signs of recognition on his face. Normally, his emotions were clearly conveyed through his mannerisms and facial expressions. But at the library, he’d donned a mask of expressionless disinterest.
Not disinterest in the vase, but in her.
It had been unwise to be so daring as to step into his arms at Hyde Park. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted to kiss her. What other explanation was there for his cold treatment?
His labored breathing when Payton and Sam had stumbled upon them on the path had mirrored her own. She hadn’t imagined his reaction to their intimacy.
Jude sat between an elderly widow and a youthful—though very hard of hearing—baron. She awaited an opportunity to slip away from the gathering, providing ample time for her to repeatedly go over what had transpired between her and Cart.
If anyone wondered where her sister was, they hadn’t asked, though few in attendance were acquainted with her. While her twin sister would have spent her evening tittering senselessly over a jest made by one of her dinner companions, Jude had been forced to fairly scream every word to the deaf baron or hold her breath as the elderly widow leaned her way to continually share on dit after on dit of useless information about other party attendees. All the while, Sam hid in the ladies’ retiring room, wearing a gown that matched Jude’s exactly.
There
was nothing for her to do but smile, nod, and act as if the evening were the most enthralling time she’d had in her entire life. At least, that had been Marce’s sole advice to her sisters on their debut into society. The only way to make friends and secure a favorable position was to make every person they entertained think they were royalty.
And so her evening had progressed from socializing in the salon with women and men of varying ages and statuses, to a seated dinner of pheasant and duck soup with a lavish vegetable spread that could only be grown in a hothouse far from London. With only the musical portion of the event left, Jude was counting the moments until she’d be free to disappear into the darker, unoccupied areas of the house.
With the time passing quickly until Marce’s return and Jude’s less than successful sale of the vase—thus far—they’d been forced to steal another piece of art. This time, it was a painting. It would be far easier to collect coin for. And that was what Jude needed. She’d witnessed Mr. Curtis collecting yet another missive regarding their ruinous financial status. When she’d asked about it, he’d deflected her comments of concern and told her that Lady Marce had given him strict instructions to collect any correspondence and deliver it directly to her private bedchambers.
Jude glared at the head of the table, willing their meal to come to an end.
Her task of blending in and going unnoticed was working, even Lady Haversham hadn’t glanced in Jude’s direction since they’d sat down to dine—six full courses ago.
“Miss Judith,” Sir Glassglow shouted, a mere two inches from her ear. “May I request your company during the musical portion of the evening?”
Jude did her best to hide her cringe at his loudly proclaimed request. On the other side of her, the Widow Jenkins smiled like a cat who’d stolen the dinner meats.
“In my day,” the widow leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, her foul breath making more of a statement than her words. “I would do far more than be his companion while a silly, young girl decimated her harp solo.”
Jude looked sharply at the older lady, for once hoping she’d continue. But she only winked as if Jude should know what she would have done forty years ago.
All the ways Jude could punish her twin began to run through her mind: black dye in her hair treatment, tacks in her slippers, crushed onions in her face powder… More than likely, all three; however, an evening of musical treats promised to Sir Glassglow was fitting retribution.
It was past time that Jude not be the one to sacrifice herself in every scheme, all while Sam waltzed and enjoyed her time immensely. There would be no distinguished marquis or rakishly handsome duke for Sam this evening—no, a hard-of-hearing baron it was for her.
Jude looked down at her plate, her dour mood settling firmly around her. It had been several days since she’d heard from Cart after he’d abruptly ended their visit at the library. Certainly, he’d departed all of their visits as abruptly, but this time had felt different—his demeanor unlike anything she’d ever seen him exhibit previously. His shoulders had been tense and he’d refused to meet her gaze.
Not that she had a soft shell, but his treatment—and further avoidance—of her stung.
She’d thought they’d been growing close. She even dared to call them friends.
Especially after their kiss at the park.
Maybe she shouldn’t have endeavored to push the vase on him and found another unsuspecting gentleman instead, one she had no connection to. Her asking price was far less than what the man at the auctioneer’s shop had told her a similar piece would be worth.
She’d acted unbecoming in the park. That must be the reason for Cart’s drastic change in manner. After she’d stolen the vase, Jude had lived for weeks dreading every knock on Craven House’s door, thinking someone had spotted her leaving Lord Gunther’s townhouse or suspected her in the theft. But no one had come and her paranoia over being caught had faded so much so that she hadn’t immediately considered Cart suspecting that she’d stolen the vase.
Jude had vowed to wait another day before sending him correspondence. Maybe he was finding it difficult to gather the pounds or he’d found a collector who was interested but needed time to do the same.
“Miss Judith?” the baron asked at her elbow.
The man looked at her expectantly.
He was likely a very kind, attentive man—one that would make the perfect husband for any woman who’d give him a moment of undivided attention, but that was not Jude. Or, at least, that was not Jude this night. She had something important to attain—something she’d be far safer forgetting.
“I would be honored to be escorted into the musical portion of our evening,” Jude said with a bright smile. “You will collect me after you enjoy a drink with the men?”
Sir Glassglow leaned precariously forward, his cravat skimming his soup, to glare at the head of the table. Could it be they both wished for the meal to end swiftly? “As long as you promise to remember my request.”
“I am most convinced our paths were meant to meet this evening, sir,” Jude said with a faint smile. It was enough to pacify the man, for he smiled in return and turned to the young lady on his right. “Miss Orellana, such a wonderful meal this has been.”
Why did it bother her so that the baron was so quick to turn his attention to another eligible female?
Unquestionably because Lord Cartwright only had eyes for her when they were together. He knew the expressions and mannerisms unique to only her. He ventured to discuss topics unlikely to be favored by other men of the ton. He’d never once asked about her stock—her lineage. Therefore, he had never discovered that she was the illegitimate product of an illicit love affair between her late mother, the proprietor of Craven House, and her father, a peer in high standing.
Every other man she’d met hadn’t been as steadfast as Cart—they seemed of the opinion that she and Sam were interchangeable. A pair…though no better than a single being.
Jude needed to remember that she was not in attendance to socialize—or make any sort of lasting impression. She was the twin who could blend into the background and go unnoticed when the need arose. Until the time came, she was to smile, appear charming and demure, and under no circumstances draw undue attention to herself. This meant hours of discussing the inclement weather patterns of the season, fawning over Lady Ferguson’s newest fabric choice, and nodding like a hen, without a speck of sense in her head.
It was exhausting.
She’d thought acting the unassuming, reserved debutante would be simple—though it took much effort to appear empty-minded and meek. The only thing that could make the night worse was if someone asked her to apply her female talents to the pianoforte. That would be the one request doomed to mortify Jude—and Sam.
The baron cleared his voice and nudged her.
Jude focused on the table to see that all the dishes had been cleared while she’d daydreamed, hers included, and everyone was standing in preparation of the men retiring to the study for tumblers filled to the brim with spirits while the ladies rejoined in the parlor for games and musical entertainments.
Looking over her shoulder, Jude nodded to the servant waiting to pull her chair back and then stood with the rest of the party as she set her cloth napkin on the bare table before her.
It was her cue to slip from the group as soon as possible, confident that Sam would take her place in the drawing room until the music started.
Lady Haversham sent a smile her way, likely noticing Jude’s discomfort. She returned their patroness’ grin.
They’d accepted the duchess’ invitation to this dinner party only that morning. Lord Cartwright hadn’t made contract with her about exchanging the vase for money and Marce would return to London before the week was through, which meant their eldest sister would be forced to reconcile their debts. If she and Sam had any hope of disposing of the cursed vase and slipping the banknotes into Marce’s private chambers without notice, they needed to work fast. Or find another—far s
impler—way to obtain the coin they required.
That led to Jude graciously accepting Lady Haversham’s kind invitation to meet her at the Duke of Chamberlain’s annual dinner party. It helped that the duke boasted his riches far surpassed those of the royal family.
Jude fell in line with the other guests departing the room but kept from gaining the notice of any unaccompanied men in the group. The grouping split, with the men continuing on to the duke’s study and Jude trailing behind the women as they approached the duchess’ drawing room. Gradually, so as not to garner any suspicion, Jude began to slow her pace, pausing every few feet to inspect a hall table or painting on the wall. Even the wall sconces didn’t escape her scrutiny—fine silver candleholders had never been as enthralling and appealing to her eye as they were this night. She went so far as to run her finger along the frame of a large landscape hanging slightly askew in the hall.
From a room farther within the townhouse, a door shut, confirming that the men were safely within the study. They would not to emerge for the appropriate time allotted for them to enjoy a moment of peace away from the nagging feminine voices of their wives, sisters, and mothers. Even the draw of unattached, alluring debutantes was not enough to make a man forgo a strong drink and a cigar.
Jude fully halted before a large, gilt-frame oil painting depicting a man—probably the duke’s long-deceased ancestor—with a bulbous, scarlet nose, and blotchy, sagging jowls. If the artist had sought to show favor on the lord, then Jude shuddered to imagine the honest look of the man.
She raised a brow as she pondered the life circumstances of the man. His red tinted nose and swollen face were surely due to an overindulgence of fine spirits and an unhealthy food regimen. In similar fashion, he probably spent many nights away from his wife and when in residence, sought to avoid his own offspring. That was the way of the privileged class.
Thief Steals Her Earl Page 15
