London Jewel Thieves

Chapter 7

Was it her?

Devorlane cursed beneath his breath as he escorted her across the checkered floor of the pillared hallway. How could he even think such a thing-was it her? Was he stark, raving mad? It was perfectly plain it was her with clogs on. He'd be a damned fool to think otherwise just because her coral lips had him. They'd had him all those years ago too.

In addition to her many other abilities-nabbing; eluding capture; slipping things into his pocket, while her hand rested where she should have kept it off; seeing him off to the military for ten years; and parading herself here, talking such awful damned rot about being a poor grief-stricken widow, he would, under other circumstances, struggle to contain his mounting laughter-why the hell must she also have lips that made him want to wish it wasn't her?

He bowed slightly as they reached the piano, then he stepped back.

And it wasn't just her lips that had him. Her touch was so cool, even through the layer of silk, it seemed to burn him. Him, who in ten years a flame had never touched.

When he thought of this moment, the one he should be having now, not this one where he wanted to kick himself, he'd imagined chucking Tilly and Belle, who were naturally choking on their handkerchiefs about it, out the front door. He'd imagined he might let his younger sister stay if she pleaded nicely enough. It wasn't as if she'd disbelieved him after all. She was too young.

Not once, in the course of these imaginings, these plans, which also included turning this place into a pleasure palace, had he dreamed of opening the library door to see her sitting there. How could he? That kind of good fortune was reserved for his wildest dreams. And these were things he never had.

What the hell was there in Chessington so illustrious a thief could want that she'd go to these lengths to get it? If this was her. Widow's garb. Worming in with Belle. Blush as absurdly pretty as a dawn sky. Eyes so diamond hard, it made his eyes ache to look at them.

Lapis lazuli. Gemstones of the Kokcha River. There was an old name for them. Something he'd read once in a book, probably right here, in this very house.

Yes. He'd been a studious boy. Every Sunday evening spent poring over passages of rich prose from the beautifully tooled library volumes. That was probably the reason he could so clearly remember. The name had resonated from the Sar-e-Sang mine to Mesopotamia. Amazing.

Particularly that old name, first forged at Sar-e-Sang and known by Sumerians and Assyrians alike ...

Sapphire.

The reason she was here? The one he'd entirely overlooked?

The only one that would entice her back to this area?

The Wentworth emeralds.

***

What the blazes had this bastard done with the Wentworth emeralds? In his damned pocket still, that place where she'd stuck her hand that night? Or found by a laundry maid the next day, or otherwise? No wonder she pondered. Pondered the row of yellowing ivory keys that swum into her vision too. The silence on the subject of the emeralds had been deafening. Except in her own ears. When she thought how she'd been beaten. How Matthew, who was her whole life ...

"I think you've made quite an impression on Devorlane. Why! He can't seem to take his eyes off you."

Cass groaned. A pity she couldn't lay her head on the keys, strike the odd note with her forehead. The last thing she needed was to sit here while the entire pile of gold-tooled music books careered about the top of the pianoforte because Belle was in a temper. Oh, and the carefully constructed temple came down about her ears. But she couldn't exactly bolt, could she? Not when Devorlane Hawley knew who she was and would bolt after her.

How could he know? What had she missed? What gave her away? Her hair was black, back to its normal coloring. She was ten years older, she didn't look anything like that any more.

She swept a lose strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, I don't think he means anything by it."

"Then why does he keep doing it, pray tell? Why did he take your arm like that to lead you here, as if he couldn't let you go? You tell me when he's only just met you."

Cass swallowed, feeling sweat stand in the armpits of her gown. Because he knows I stuck a very valuable necklace I'd just nabbed in his trouser pocket ten years ago. As to how I had access to his trouser pocket ... What I did in it ... You work that one out, if you can ... weren't words to say. Not and be allowed to sit here. Although equally, imagine the heart attacks it would cause all these stuffed shirts gathered around the piano waiting for their ears to be murdered, if she did say it. It would keep the local vicar in business for months.

She stared impassively at the silver candelabrum that might have looked perfect on top of the piano at Barwych, but would look even more perfect being smacked off of Belle's head. When so much hinged on her ability to manage through the next five minutes or so, and then get the blazes out of here, she wasn't going to scrap like a gutter-snipe in front of this lot, was she? 'Toasty,' Ruby would call them, frying their whiskers on the end of the fork. Toasty.

She must pray as she sat in suffering agony that the story she'd told about living in Mysore, and that poor brother of hers getting that posting, had been convincing. It wasn't as if she'd ever set foot in the place.

Still, Matthew would be glad to know he had died a hero's death in the field of battle though instead of being turfed into the gutter and expiring outside Bessie Bridlock's All-You-Can-Pay-For-You-Can-Keep hock shop.

She fingered the back of her neck. Perhaps for that matter Devorlane Hawley didn't know she was actually Sapphire? She was very young after all to have been stealing like that for years. Perhaps he thought she was some other thief? There were certainly plenty about. Pearl and Ruby were just along the road at Barwych.

"Well, Belle, it's like this. I have no idea why he's staring. Perhaps I remind him of someone he once knew?"

An understatement.

"He's not staring at any of us. That's for certain." Belle slammed the book onto the stand. "Yes. We might as well be invisible. Me especially."

A first. But actually not as welcome as it should have been.

"Don't be stupid. He's not remotely interested in me."

"Well, he's not interested in me. After I have pined and longed and was promised by his dear mama to him."

"I see. Well, I'm sure you still are."