To Love a Thief

by Darcy Burke

  That was pretty damned specific. Still, couldn’t the artist have liked the piece so much that he’d duplicated it? And perhaps Lady Aldridge’s necklace simply had a similar scratch. More likely, Aldridge had somehow purchased stolen property without knowing. Despite Miss Renwick’s insistence and the apparent coincidences in the pendants, he found it impossible to think that Aldridge was involved in the theft of her items. More likely, he’d somehow unwittingly purchased stolen property.

  She glared up at him. “Are you going to move away, or are we destined to be caught together in this office?”

  Office … Instead of retreating, he brought his face within an inch of hers. “What were you doing looking for a necklace in an office?”

  Her head tipped back against the door, but she had nowhere to go. She swallowed, her gaze locked with his. “I wasn’t looking for the necklace.”

  God, she smelled delicious. “What were you doing?”

  Her breath hitched, and her pupils expanded. “Looking for something else.”

  “You’ll have to be more forthcoming than that.” He resisted the urge to press his mouth to her cheek, her throat, her parted lips.

  “Evidence. I was looking for evidence that would prove Lord Aldridge is a thief.”

  She was playing a very dangerous game. Did she realize whom she was accusing? He lowered his right hand to just above her bare shoulder. With a feather-light touch, he brushed his thumb along the column of her neck. He was vastly overstepping propriety, but he didn’t care. He’d been trained to use whatever skill and weaponry he possessed to take down a criminal, and right now she might be considered a criminal, regardless of her motivation.

  “You won’t find any. Aldridge is as law-abiding as winter nights are long. If he has your pendant, and”—he lowered his mouth to her ear—“I don’t believe he does, he came by it honestly.”

  She turned her head and met his eyes with an angry stare. “He claims it’s been in his family, but that’s impossible. How obvious that you would take his position without even asking him.”

  “You can’t go searching Aldridge’s office. If you were caught—”

  “I was,” she ground out through gritted teeth.

  “—by anyone other than me, you’d be ruined.”

  “If anyone catches me here with you, I’ll be ruined. But, you see, I don’t give a fig. I’ve no standing in Society whatsoever, no family, no plans to marry.” She gave him a smug, daring smile. “There’s nothing to ruin me for.”

  Daniel had been well versed in propriety during his recent education into the peerage, and she was quite mistaken. “There’s Mrs. Harwood. Your behavior would reflect poorly on her.”

  Her color faded, and he felt a bit of sympathy for her. But it paled next to his need to kiss her. He curled his right hand around the side of her neck and gently pulled her toward him. Her lids lowered and her head tipped up to receive his kiss. Desire pooled in his belly.

  But then her eyes widened, as if she’d just been doused with icy water. Her hand came up and pulled his away from her neck. “Go to the devil.”

  And then she turned abruptly and departed the office without so much as a glance into the corridor before she barreled straight into it.

  Daniel watched the sway of her hips as she walked away. His ardor didn’t cool. If anything it only fanned brighter, hotter. She was incomparable, that was for certain.

  And since he’d heard the jingle of loose items in the pocket of her gown, he had to assume she was also, disappointingly, a thief.

  Chapter Four

  TWO DAYS later, Jocelyn strolled up Hertford Street after her usual early afternoon walk through Hyde Park. Her fingers went to the pocket of her gown where the three items she’d taken from Lady Aldridge’s dressing chamber were nestled. Not only had she found her mother’s pendant, she’d found two other items that had been stolen from their town house: a pair of pearl earrings and a brooch set with paste jewels. She’d been outraged upon finding them and hadn’t thought twice about taking them back into her possession. They were, after all, hers.

  Given that she’d found multiple items belonging to her family, she’d felt certain she’d find her father’s watch fob amongst Lord Aldridge’s things. However, she’d been unable to get to his dressing room. Disappointed but determined, she’d searched his office instead. Perhaps he kept records of things he’d purchased and she could prove these things hadn’t been in his family as he’d previously claimed.

  But then Lord Carlyle had found her.

  Her pace slowed as she recalled the heat of his body as he’d pressed her against the door. He’d interrupted her search, and yet instead of remembering the jolt of fear, she flushed at the memory of the hint of clove that wafted from his collar, the intensity of his blue-gray eyes as he’d moved in for a kiss.

  She pursed her lips and quickened her steps. Lord Carlyle might have been a potential suitor two years ago, but now he was nothing more than a nuisance. With any luck she’d be able to avoid him.

  Except he was standing at the base of the steps leading up to Mrs. Harwood’s town house.

  “Lord Carlyle,” she blurted before she could order her thoughts.

  “Miss Renwick. I’ve come to speak with you about the other night.” His brows were drawn, his expression quite serious. He looked completely different from the first night they’d met, when he’d been all kindness and solicitation.

  Her body tensed beneath his keen scrutiny. “I don’t believe we have anything to say to one another, my lord. Please excuse me.” She stepped around him and marched up to the door, but he followed.

  When the door remained closed, Jocelyn frowned and then rapped on the wood.

  “Where’s your butler?” Lord Carlyle came up beside her.

  If she hadn’t been occupied with her concern, she would’ve told Carlyle to leave. “I’m not sure,” she murmured, as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She was recalling another time when the butler had failed to greet her …

  “Allow me.” He opened the door, pushing it wide so she could enter.

  The small entry hall was deserted.

  She stepped cautiously inside, her booted feet tapping against the marble tiles. “Moss?” she called.

  No answer.

  Carlyle followed her inside, and she was suddenly grateful for his persistent company. “Where would he be?”

  Jocelyn chest constricted with oncoming panic. She tried to take a deep breath, to restore her nerves, but this was all too frighteningly familiar. “I don’t know. Let’s look in the—” She’d been about to say kitchen, but as they came abreast of the doorway leading to the front sitting room, she stopped short with a gasp. The room had been completely upset. A small writing desk was overturned, a vase lay in pieces, décor was strewn about as if every piece had been picked up and discarded without thought.

  Oh God, it was precisely like two years ago.

  “Stop.” Carlyle’s hand wrapped around her elbow and he drew her back into the entry hall. “Wait here.”

  She barely registered his words. Her eyes lost focus as her mind went back to when she and her father had returned home that disastrous April night. Their leased town house had looked the same. The butler had been trussed like a goose in the scullery along with the cook, housekeeper, and maid.

  “Miss Renwick?” Carlyle’s face came into view as if from a fog. “Miss Renwick.” His tone grew more urgent.

  She still couldn’t draw a sufficient breath. Her chest rose and fell and her head grew light. “I … I need to sit.”

  Carlyle guided her to the settee in the disordered sitting room. “I need to check on your retainers. Wait, is Mrs. Harwood at home?”

  Jocelyn blinked up at him. Mrs. Harwood! Her heart skipped about her chest as if it wanted to break free and run, which is precisely what Jocelyn wanted to do. But she clutched the folds of her skirt instead. “I don’t think so. She went to tea at Mrs. Montgrove’s.” Jocelyn prayed she was still ther
e.

  “How many retainers are there?”

  “The butler—Moss, his wife—she’s the housekeeper, and a maid. Look in the scullery first, please.” She was torn between going with him and staying put. She didn’t really care to be alone, but fear at what they might find below stairs froze her feet to the floor.

  “You have to come with me,” he said. “Until I can ascertain that whoever did this is no longer in the house, I want you by my side. Do you understand?” His eyes were clear, his tone utterly calm.

  She nodded, unable to fault his logic. It was better that he made her decision, for she simply couldn’t.

  He helped her to her feet and he drew her close. “Take a deep breath, can you do that?”

  Maybe. His hand drew circles on her lower back as she inhaled. Finally, air filled her lungs as he conferred his care upon her. She was still tense and scared, but for a moment, she found solace.

  “Ready?” he asked, his touch gently slowing until stopping altogether. He kept his palm against her lower back.

  “I think so.” She told him the way to the scullery. They crept down the stairs and near the bottom heard muffled sounds. Carlyle rushed forward and found the three retainers on the floor, their hands bound to each other behind their backs and rags tied around their mouths. They were trussed exactly as Jocelyn’s servants had been two years ago. Shivers raced down her spine and up her arms.

  Carlyle was already removing the rags from their mouths. The maid, Nan, began to swear, Mrs. Moss began to cry, while her husband thanked Carlyle profusely. Jocelyn jolted out of her shock, and she hurried forward to help untie them.

  “Do you know if the culprits are still in the house?” Carlyle asked.

  Moss shook his head while he massaged his wife’s wrists. “I don’t think so.” He stood and helped Mrs. Moss to her feet.

  Carlyle helped Nan up. “And Mrs. Harwood?”

  “Still out,” Moss said, “by the grace of God.”

  Jocelyn relaxed a bit at this news.

  “Just the same, I think I’d better take a look around.” Carlyle turned to Jocelyn and took her hands in his. “Stay here.” He gave her fingers a squeeze and then raced up the stairs almost soundlessly.

  While Carlyle was gone, they went into the kitchen and assembled themselves at the small table where the staff took their meals. Moss continued to hold his wife’s hands and stroke her wrists in a soothing fashion. She kept looking into Moss’s eyes and smiling tremulously, as if she were doing her best to reassure him.

  Jocelyn blinked tears away. Their love and concern for one another was palpable and evoked bittersweet memories of her parents.

  Nan made tea and when she’d set the pot to steeping, Carlyle came back down the stairs. All of them turned toward him with expectant eyes.

  He took a seat at the head of the table. “The house is empty, but every room was searched. I can’t tell if anything has been stolen.”

  Jocelyn was nearly certain nothing had, that what they’d wanted was tucked firmly in her pocket, but didn’t say so. “I daresay we won’t know until we clean up.”

  She laid her hand over her pocket, feeling the items concealed within. Relief that she’d decided to carry the treasures with her at all times joined her anger at what had been done to their retainers. She was only glad Gertrude hadn’t been here.

  Carlyle turned to Moss. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  The butler gave his wife a reaffirming nod before turning his attention to Carlyle. “I answered the door, and they struck me in the head. The blow wasn’t enough to put me out, but they easily overcame me, my lord.” He sounded apologetic.

  “You did fine, Moss. How many were there?” Carlyle asked, his tone warm and encouraging.

  Moss looked a bit sheepish. “I’m not sure, my lord. Two of them dragged me down here, but it seems likely more came in after.”

  Nan nodded, her lip curling. “One came upstairs and found me. Tall bloke with longish blond hair. Nearly scared the life out of me. I tried to kick him, but he hauled me downstairs and handed me off to another one.” She shook her head, muttering something unintelligible, and then went to get the tea.

  “So perhaps four men?” Carlyle asked calmly. His demeanor didn’t change—he wasn’t agitated for angry, but resolute and logical. His skills as a constable hadn’t diminished.

  “We should notify Bow Street, shouldn’t we?” Moss asked.

  “Yes, but first I’d like to see if anything was taken.” Carlyle focused his attention on Jocelyn. “Are you up to going through the house with me?” His stare was intent as usual, but carried a gleam of authority. He was in his element, solving a crime. She was going to have to tell him what she believed had happened, and he wasn’t going to like it. Not when she’d committed a crime too.

  She squared her shoulders. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Your bedchamber, I think.”

  Jocelyn couldn’t help the flush that crept up her cheeks. Was it inappropriate to allow a man into your bedchamber for the purposes of solving a crime?

  She led him up the back stairs, climbing two flights to the first floor. At the threshold to her bedchamber, Jocelyn froze. Her room hadn’t just been searched. It had been destroyed. Her bed had been pulled apart and the pillows cut open. The drawers in the dresser set in the corner were all open, with the contents spilling out. Even the draperies on the window hung at an angle.

  She stepped inside and moved into the tiny dressing chamber. This too had been ransacked. Her clothes lay strewn about the floor and, perhaps most telling, her mother’s jewelry box was in pieces on the dressing table. And that made her furious.

  “Is there anything missing?” Carlyle asked from behind her.

  She went to the dressing table and picked up one of the shattered pieces of the jewelry box. Now was the time to tell him. She had to. After seeing him with the retainers, his concern for the entire situation, she wondered if he could help her. But would he? “I don’t think so.” She turned to face him. “I know what they were looking for.”

  The treasures in her pocket suddenly felt like lead weighing her down. She pulled them out and turned them over in her palm so he could see them clearly.

  He stepped in front of her, staring at her hand. “You did take them.”

  She jerked her head up. “You knew?”

  He raised his gaze to hers, but she couldn’t discern what he was thinking—was he disappointed, angry, something else? “I suspected, which is why I came to see you today. I heard your pocket jangling when we left the office the other night, and when Lady Aldridge told me some things were missing from her jewelry box, I wondered if you’d taken them. Particularly when she said one of them was the pendant her husband had given her.”

  “It’s my pendant. Just as these earrings and this brooch also belong to me.”

  He stared at her. “You stole them.” His tone was still even, but beneath its deceptive calm seethed a current of anger.

  He was angry then. She was getting there too. “I recovered them. It’s not stealing if they’re mine.”

  “You can’t prove that—or so you told me. And you’re mistaken. Lord Aldridge said the pendant wasn’t yours.”

  She moved a bit closer as she glared up at him. “You don’t find it rather coincidental that he has three items identical to mine? I might’ve been able to eventually accept the pendant was simply an exact version of my mother’s, but not these earrings and the brooch too. No, these items belong to me.” She curled her fingers around the jewelry in her hand. “Furthermore,” she swept her hand out, indicating the devastation of her room,” he doesn’t want me to have them back.”

  His face was impassive, his eyes dark and devoid of emotion. “What were you doing in his study?”

  He was well-versed in intimidation, but Jocelyn wasn’t having it. She regretted using him for her own ends, but she didn’t regret trying to uncover Aldridge’s deceit. “Looking for proof that he’d either purcha
sed these items or maybe … something else. And there are other missing items, so I was looking for them.” She lifted her chin.

  His features froze and that undercurrent of fury spiked with fire in his eyes. “You manipulated me to secure you an invitation to Aldridge’s house. You used me to commit theft.”

  He looked so furious, so … betrayed that she couldn’t help but feel a rush of shame. “I’m sorry” sounded so inadequate, but it was all she had. “I truly am sorry. I thought it was my only chance to recover my things. Please understand.”

  He glared at her another moment and then massaged his forehead. When he regarded her once more, his eyes had grown calm. His features relaxed into those of the helpful constable, making her wary. “You have to return the items,” he said.

  The hell she did. “I most certainly do not. I can’t believe you’d even suggest it. What about him having Mrs. Harwood’s house torn apart like this?”

  His gaze drifted to the side, as he considered her question. “I can’t believe Aldridge is behind your house being ransacked.”

  “Why not? He had to have been looking for these.” She held up her closed fist. “He knows I took them.”

  His attention was focused on the wall as if there were something fascinating etched in the wallpaper. “Then he’d let Bow Street handle it.” His voice trailed away.

  “What? Why are you staring at the wall?”

  Carlyle’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because he didn’t tell me about the theft,” he said quietly.

  And of course he would have. They were close friends who championed police reform. This was a matter Lord Aldridge would’ve confided in Carlyle. Some of her anger leached away. “What are you thinking?”

  “That none of this makes sense.”

  “Would it help to know this is precisely what happened two years ago when our property was stolen in the first place? Our retainers were bound together in the scullery, our house ruined.” She couldn’t keep the anguish inside. “It sent my father into a fit from which he never recovered.”