My Favorite Thief (9 page)

“The Dark Shadow didn't kill Lord Haywood,” she said emphatically. “The shot was fired by someone else.”

“That's ridiculous,” objected Lord Shelton. “The Dark Shadow killed him. Everyone saw it.”

“They are mistaken,” Charlotte countered. “I was right beside him. He never fired his weapon.”

“So you're saying the Dark Shadow had an accomplice?”

“Of course, he must have,” Lord Reynolds interjected before she could answer. “Lord Haywood was killed while threatening to shoot the Dark Shadow, so if the Shadow didn't shoot him, he must have had an accomplice protecting him.”

“I don't know who shot Lord Haywood,” said Charlotte, “but I don't think—”

“That must have been the same person who picked him up after he got out of Miss Kent's carriage,” added another man.

The crowd murmured with excitement at this new possibility as questions and answers began to be tossed back and forth amongst them.

“How do you know someone picked him up?”

“He was wounded, so he had to have had help getting away.”

“Miss Kent, did he ever indicate to you that he had someone waiting for him?”

“Did you have the sense that you were being followed?”

“You are the only person who has ever actually spoken with him at length,” Tony shouted above the din. “What did he sound like?”

Charlotte regarded the crowd uncertainly. She did not want to reveal any more information about the Dark Shadow, but she realized people would think it strange if she refused to answer. She could not afford to give them the impression that she was trying to protect him, as that would only hinder her attempts to raise money. “I'm not sure what you mean—”

“Would you say he was an educated man, or someone of a less privileged background?” Tony elaborated.

She hesitated. “I believe he was probably educated.”

“Are you suggesting he spoke like a gentleman?” Lord Shelton looked outraged by the possibility.

“I suppose so,” Charlotte conceded, “but other than that I don't really recall—”

“Would you recognize his voice if you heard it again?”

Charlotte stared at the tall, dark-haired man who had asked the question. His face was obscured by the fact that he was apparently preoccupied with the task of removing some obstinate piece of lint from his otherwise meticulous evening coat.

“No,” she answered. “He spoke only a few words.”

The recalcitrant wisp of fluff removed, he raised his head to meet her gaze. His eyes were penetrating, but his tone was light as he continued, “Then it would seem that the Dark Shadow could be anywhere—even in attendance at this ball tonight—and you would be unable to identify him.”

“That's correct.”

“A pity.” His mouth curved as his gaze swept over the women around him. “Given the magnificent trinkets on display here this evening, this would be an excellent place for him to peruse some of London's finest jewelry. I know if I were he, I would be quite taken by that dazzling necklace resting so comfortably against Lady Pembroke's lovely throat.”

“Really, Lord Bryden, how you jest!” Lady Pembroke flitted her fan with feigned modesty over the mountainous expanse of her ruby-and-diamond-dotted bosom.

“I believe my sister has answered enough questions for now,” said Simon, aware that Charlotte had endured as much attention as she could.

“Besides, I'm sure there are lots of you who would rather be dancing than standing around talking about the Dark Shadow,” added Jamie jokingly.

The people in the crowd murmured their assent and began to disperse, eager to discuss the deliciously frightening possibility that the Dark Shadow was there amongst them, and to evaluate whose jewels might be significant enough to attract his attention.

“Why don't you sit down over here, Charlotte, while Simon and I fetch you something to eat?”

“I'm not hungry,” she said, grateful for the chair Jamie offered her.

“You should eat something, Charlotte,” Grace told her. “You haven't had much today.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Annabelle regarded her worriedly. “You seem pale to me.”

“I'm fine,” Charlotte assured her. “I just hate having everyone stare at me.”

In fact her stomach had been roiling since her meeting with her father. Standing before those people and enduring their questions about the Dark Shadow and their disparaging comments about her work had only increased her distress. She had found the experience profoundly upsetting and humiliating. They all pitied her because of her leg, and despised her because of her past—two things that she could never change. Worse, she had failed to obtain even one donation.

How on earth was she to come up with the money her father had demanded?

“We should never have made you come here,” Simon muttered, angered by the way the crowd had dismissed her appeal for help. “If you want to leave, I'll take you home.”

“She can't leave just yet,” Annabelle protested. “Then everyone will gossip about the fact that she got upset after all their questions and left.”

“Who cares?” Jamie cast a scathing look around the room. “Let them say whatever they want.”

“It matters because Charlotte is trying to establish credibility amongst these people so that she can turn to them for donations and make a success of her refuge house,” Annabelle explained. “I know it's hard for you, Charlotte, but I really think you should try to stay and at least pretend you are having a good time, even if it's only for half an hour. There could be some people here who didn't want to pledge a donation in front of everyone, but might well approach you later. You don't want them to think that you are easily flustered by a few pointed comments.”

Charlotte realized that her sister was probably right. “Very well.”

“Shall Simon and I get you some refreshments?”

She managed a small smile. “That would be nice.”

“And if you think you're all right resting here for a moment, Grace and I will go over and say good evening to Lord and Lady Chadwick. We won't be long.”

“I'll be fine, Annabelle. I'll just sit here and rest a little.”

She sat perfectly straight in her chair, her hands clenched upon her lap as she watched her brothers and sisters leave. Her leg was throbbing beneath the heavy layers of her skirts. She wanted to stretch it out to ease the clench of its aching muscles, but such a movement would have been considered unladylike. And so she kept her leg bent in its socially acceptable position and tried to distract herself by watching the elegant men and women who were gliding effortlessly around the ballroom.

She had always loved dancing. It seemed to her such a wondrous, joyful activity, with the men in their immaculately dark suits and crisp white shirts leading beautifully gowned women in sweeping circles to the strains of music. The precise, measured grace of their movements enchanted her, from the moment the man extended his gloved hand and escorted his smiling partner onto the floor. She could not remember what it was like to move with ease. Her leg had been brutally shattered when she was only nine. Any recollections she might have had of running or skipping or even just walking evenly had been vanquished beneath the years of crushing pain that followed. But no shard of envy invaded her breast as she watched the dancers move. Instead she closed her eyes and retreated inward, feeling the music filter through her as she imagined herself gliding around the floor, on beautiful straight legs that were strong and supple and free of pain.

“Miss Kent?”

Her eyes flew open. Embarrassment heated her cheeks as she looked at the handsome blond man standing before her. How long had he been watching her?

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you,” he apologized. “I'm Tony Poole. I just wanted to tell you how horrified I was to hear about what happened to you at the hands of the Dark Shadow. Like everyone else in London, I'll be greatly relieved when he is finally captured and hanged. I hope Lord Bryden didn't upset you too much by suggesting that the rogue might actually be here this evening. Bryden was just making a foolish joke without stopping to consider the effect it might have on you, given the ordeal you suffered. I can assure you he didn't mean anything by it.”

His eyes were large and toffee-colored, and they appeared to be genuinely earnest. Charlotte regarded him uncertainly, wondering what had prompted him to walk over and tell her this. A lifetime of being stared at and talked about had left her guarded with strangers.

“Thank you, Mr. Poole, for your concern, but you needn't worry. I'm fine.”

“If you will permit me, I'll bring Bryden over and introduce him to you, and then you'll see he really isn't such a bad sort,” Tony offered. “He might even be willing to help that refuge house of yours with a donation.”

The prospect of a donation eased her initial wariness. “Do you really think so?”

“I'll make sure of it.” He flashed her a conspiratorial smile. “I'll make him feel so guilty for his remark, he'll have no choice but to make an enormous donation just to get me be quiet. If you'll just give me a minute, I'll fetch him.”

“Why don't you take me to him instead?”

“Are you sure you wouldn't prefer me to bring him to you?” His tone was chivalrous, but it was obvious to her that he was concerned about her ability to walk.

“I'm fine, Mr. Poole,” she assured him. She hated the idea of sitting in the chair like some aged matron, patiently waiting for people to be presented to her. It only perpetuated everyone's view of her as a helpless cripple—which she wasn't. “I was only sitting for a moment because I found myself a little tired. I'm quite rested now.”

“Wonderful.” Tony extended his hand to help her up from her seat, then gave her a wink. “Let's go find Bryden and see if we can't get him to give you a nice fat sum.”

 

O
H, COME NOW,
L
ORD
B
RYDEN, YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY
say no to me!”

Lady Elizabeth Collins blinked her long lashes at him, her sultry little mouth drawn up in a pout. It was a mouth made for pleasure, Harrison reflected, watching as she provocatively caressed the edge of her glass with her pink tongue before sipping her drink. A few years ago he might have enjoyed contemplating the soft slickness of that velvety little mouth. Might have spent an hour or two exchanging heated glances and verbal jousts with her, watching as the champagne flushed her skin and the gradual ripening of the evening eroded her defenses. Might have artfully woven a net of yearning around her, waiting for the exact moment when he would lead her out into the warm dark green of the garden. There he would have kissed her and touched her and pleasured her, teaching her all the things she could do with that greedy little mouth. It would have been a pleasant diversion for both of them, nothing more. But as he watched her lapping up the gold bubbles in her glass, the thought of expending so much effort on some fleeting sexual encounter failed to arouse him. He was tired, his shoulder hurt like the devil, and he was badly in need of a drink. But he couldn't drink—he had to keep his mind sharp. And so he tilted his head to one side and said in a tone edged with self-mockery, “Tonight you are all the drink I need, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Now there's a gallant line,” quipped Tony, slipping between the two of them. “Honestly, Harry, I had no idea you were such a romantic. I can see I arrived just in time to save poor Lady Elizabeth from falling victim to your charms. Miss Kent, may I present to you the fatally charming Harrison Payne, Earl of Bryden, and Lady Elizabeth Collins. Harry, I don't believe you have been formally introduced to Miss Kent, who is the ward of the Marquess of Redmond, and more recently, a reluctant acquaintance of the Dark Shadow.”

Harrison stared in surprise at Charlotte. Although she had given no indication that she knew who he was when he had stood at the back of the crowd, he knew better than to test her at such a close range. Perhaps some sliver of male vanity made him believe he had made more of an impression on her than could be hidden behind a mask or dark coat. There was also the possibility that at some point as he lay barely conscious in her home, she or one of the others who had tended him had taken the liberty of peering beneath his mask.

What the hell would he do if she recognized him?

“Good evening, Lord Bryden.” Charlotte wished they had not come upon Lord Bryden at such a painfully inopportune moment. From the way he was staring at her, she felt certain he was annoyed with her sudden intrusion.

“Now, Harry, I believe your little jest about the Dark Shadow possibly being in attendance this evening was rather disturbing for Miss Kent,” scolded Tony. “Knowing that you would be most upset to learn that you had disturbed her peace of mind, I thought you might want to apologize.”

Harrison raised a brow, feigning polite concern. “Forgive me, Miss Kent, if I said anything that may have caused you distress. I can assure you that was not my intent. Will you accept my apology?”

Lord Bryden was an exceptionally handsome man, Charlotte decided, from the chiseled line of his jaw to the sensual curve of his faintly smiling mouth. His hair was the glossy black of a raven's wing, and he wore it slightly longer than was fashionable, suggesting that either he didn't care for trends, or he was too preoccupied with other matters to worry about the details of his appearance. Yet his evening clothes were well cut and well fitted, further emphasizing both his considerable height and the solid expanse of his chest and shoulders. It was his eyes, however, that captivated her attention. They were a combination of smoke and sea, like a darkening sky just before a summer storm. They regarded her with only the politest of interest, asking nothing, revealing nothing.

A strange unease began to well within her.