Devorlane stood in the quiet coolness of the winter-lit room. He knew exactly what he was doing. He'd observed from his vantage point above the property, the flame-haired virago head along the road towards the village about half an hour ago. He'd knocked at the door. Plain faced Pearl and the husband were obviously at the hall itself, or they'd have answered. But they hadn't, although he'd knocked several times. Devorlane had been very careful slipping the latch, more careful than about anything in his whole life up to now, to make sure he wasn't observed. In fact if he'd been this careful over not letting that chit in his coach in the first place none of the next ten years would have happened.
Last night he'd thought the emeralds, but it was ridiculous, after ten years, to assume she'd
