The Theft Before Christmas (6 page)

Her hand stroked his face, her voice lowered. "Tomorrow I shall have to bring Sir Ronald into our investigation. You know you can count upon his discretion."

Since Sir Ronald appeared to have ceased his extramarital affairs, Jack trusted him more. Then there was also the matter that Sir Ronald had saved his life. Jack hated to admit it, but they did need the man's assistance since he was accepted at every club in London. Unlike Jack. "He's not gone to Addersley yet?"

"Oh, did I not tell you? Virginia and the children went on with Cornelia and her children today. Sir Ronald and Lankersham aren't going until tomorrow. So I must get to him very early, before he goes off to Essex.

He pulled her blankets tightly over her and kissed her again. "Good night, my love."

"Don't think I'll accept that as my good-night kiss! On a cold winter night like this, I want to feel your arms around me as I positively mold myself to you."

"I shall be happy to oblige."

* * *

Daphne was unable to sleep. Not so with her beloved. After their. . .warming up, he collapsed and promptly fell asleep. Too many things rushed through her brain. Her husband's soft snore tapped a beat to accompany her racing thoughts.
Get to Sir Ronald. Before he leaves London. Awaken before dawn. Better yet, stay awake all night
.

At the first light of dawn, she got out of the bed, stirred the fire, and began to get dressed. Her actions, as she knew they would, awakened Jack. "What in the bloody hell are you doing awake at this ungodly hour? It's barely daylight."

"I'm worried we'll miss Sir Ronald. He might leave early for Addersley."

"Then we must go ’round and call on him." He slung one leg from the bed, then the other. "I'll alert Andy."

"Good. Tell him about his surveillance. We'll have him drop us at Sir Ronald and Virginia’s house. Sir Ronald can bring us home while Andy's watching Miss Wilson's house."

"It would be better if Andy goes there on foot."

"There is that." She frowned. "I should like Andy's surveillance of Miss Wilson's to start as soon as possible."

Her husband nodded his agreement.

A half hour later they were sitting in the drawing room of Johnson House while a hastily dressed servant was waking Sir Ronald. "At least I remembered to leave a note for Miss Huntington this time," Daphne said. "If she should awaken before our return."

"My dear sister," Sir Ronald said in an icy voice as he slogged into the chamber, "you had better have a good reason for awakening me so bloody early in the morning. It's not yet seven o'clock."

She looked up into her sister's husband's unshaven face and realized she had never before seen Sir Ronald when he was so disheveled looking. Built much the same as her own Captain Sublime, the normally meticulously groomed Sir Ronald was possessed of blond hair which he had not yet combed this morning. He looked much older today, too. She supposed it was because the stubble on his face was gray.

"As a matter of fact, we have a most important reason for waking you," she said. "We are doing a special investigation for the Regent that will demand your complete secrecy—which we know we can count upon."

His face softened as he dropped into a chair. "Go on."

She proceeded to tell him everything she knew of the theft as well as their visit to Harriette Wilson's—which caused his eyes to widen.

"Do you know Strickland?" Jack asked.

Sir Ronald knew everyone. He shrugged. "I've played with him from time to time."

Jack quirked a brow. "Lately?"

His mouth screwed up in thought. "Not lately. As a matter of fact, it seems as if I heard he had run into a spot of bad luck."

Daphne's gaze connected with Jack's. He nodded solemnly. "Do you know where he lives? I think I'd like to question him."

"I don't, but I'll find out." Sir Ronald stood. "Allow me an hour to make myself presentable."

"We'll just drop our coachman off near Miss Wilson's to do surveillance, then we shall be back here," Daphne said, getting up. Her gaze connected with her husband’s. “What did you tell Andy?”

“I thought I’d leave that to you. Since you’re so adept at manufacturing imaginary ailments for me, I thought you might wish to concoct one for him. Perhaps he could disguise himself as a deformed beggar boy.”

She frowned upon him. “That would be entirely too obvious. One doing surveillance must be innocuous.”

In the short span of time they'd been in Sir Ronald's house, the sun had completely risen. Andy was standing beside one of their pair of grays, stroking its nuzzle and sweet talking to it. He had a wonderful way with horses.

“We have an important commission for you, Andy,” she said.

He looked up and arched a brow. Since when had he passed her in height? The lad had really shot up. Of course, he would soon be seventeen. “Remember that St. James house we visited last night?”

“Like it was one of me own fingers. It’s not but a five-minute walk from ’ere.”

“I hadn’t realized it was that close. I suppose you can just walk there.” She lowered her voice. “We need for you to take note of any gentlemen who come to that house today.”

“You want me to watch the back of that house as well as the front?”

“If you can contrive to be in two places at nearly the same time.”

“I’ll do me best. Will ye be wantin’ me to follow any gentlemen what calls there?”

She hadn’t thought of that. “What do you think, Jack?”

“If a man in royal blue livery comes, then yes, do follow him. And make sure he does not know he’s being followed. It could be dangerous for you.”

“What color is royal blue?”

Daphne’s eyes rolled. “It’s not light blue, nor is it dark blue but a blue that looks like it could be paired with gold for a king’s cape.”

“Very good, milady. Who’s house is it?”

“Harriette Wilson’s. No doubt, you’ve heard of her?”

He shook his head.

Daphne shrugged. “She’s the most notorious courtesan in London.”

“Pray, my lady, I ain’t never heard that word afore. What do
courtesan
mean?”

“You tell him, Jack.” She turned back to Sir Ronald’s. “I’ll get Sir Ronald’s cook to find us something to eat. Rest assured, Andy, I won't allow you to starve.”

* * *

"Dearest, that was so clever of you to wrap Andy's food in newspaper which you just happened to drop at his feet." Much to her husband's protestations, she was riding up on the coachman's box beside Jack as they returned to their house.

Andy, who was taking to his role as bees to honey, never even glanced at them as they rode by, but an almost imperceptible nod confirmed that he had seen them.

The resourceful lad had somehow contrived to get his hands on a sack of chestnuts, which he was roasting in a metal bucket there on the pavement across the street from Miss Wilson's.

"Hot chestnuts!" he called as they drove by.

"Is he not the most clever of fellows?" she asked.

"He is very good."

As the lines blurred between Chelsea and Kensington, she said, "I do hope we return home before dear Miss Huntington awakens."

He flicked the ribbons. "Why?"

"I was only thinking of you, wishing to spare you from having to hobble. For you must be very lame in the girl's presence."

Jack did not look happy. "For someone who professes to value truthfulness so highly, you can concoct absurdities in the blink of any eye."

She attempted to look remorseful. "I don’t know why it's always you to whom I seem to affix these absurdities."

"Because you torment me."

"That's so romantic."

"It wasn't meant to be, Mistress of Evil."

She sighed. "You wicked man. I'd just grown used to you referring to me as Maiden of Evil, and now I've got to adjust to being Mistress of Evil."

He pulled the coach up in front of their house.

"You are not to help me down," she said. "It's very likely Miss Huntington may be peering from her window right now." Daphne repositioned herself so she could disembark from the seat backward—rather like descending stairs on all fours, feet first. Once she was on the pavement, she walked around the carriage, aware that Jack hadn't removed his amused gaze from her. "Do. Not. Start. Laughing," she scolded.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing on my side of the coach?"

"You are not to say bloody. Or hell. Think of our children."

"We have no children."

"But we hope to. You must start training that wicked tongue now."

"Your father doesn't."

She almost retorted that her father was an earl, but stopped herself before she slighted her noble-but-not-noble-born husband. "So I've had a very good example of things I shall
not
permit the father of my children to do."

"You are not assisting me from this carriage, madam."

"I know that. I merely am going to give the appearance of assisting my injured husband."

He angrily drew in his breath as he began to disembark. He did pretend to take her hand to steady himself as his feet touched the ground.

She put one arm around his waist and whispered. "Act as if you're leaning on me."

"How long do you think it will be before Sir Ronald comes to us with Strickland's address?"

"It's difficult to say. The dandy my sister married is still primping as we speak. Then he'll have to pop over to White's, then come here. The earliest he could be here is in an hour."

"You know tomorrow's Christmas Eve," he said somberly. "That's when the King of Spain arrives.

"It's not just that I want to restore the statue to the Regent and avert a terrible incident, but I cannot bear the idea of not being at Addersley Priory with all my family on Christmas Day."

"I know, love."

"It's shorter to just plop ourselves down in the morning room. Less feigned limping on your part."

"Then we'll stop at the morning room."

"We'll also be able to hear when Sir Ronald comes easier from there."

"Since we have no servants here watching. . ."

* * *

Charlotte had awakened at the sound of horses in front of Dryden House. She leapt from her bed and peered from the window, surprised to see her hosts. Not only had they been out when it was not even eight yet, but their coachman was nowhere in sight. They both were seated up on the coachman's box. When had they left? And how could a man with a sprained ankle be gallivanting about town like that?

Her brows lowered, she watched him hobble toward the house and realized something was wrong. As she watched, she realized what it was.

Captain Dryden was avoiding putting weight on his right ankle.

But she was certain last night, the left leg was the one he had elevated—the one Lady Daphne
said
was swollen, but which Charlotte was unable to observe any swelling.

Why would they lie about something like that? And why to her?

She did not know what was going on, but she was certain whatever it was intrinsically tied to the cancellation of yesterday's travel plans.

She set about to dress. Her room was icy, so she wore her heaviest merino dress and a heavy shawl, which was actually the only shawl she possessed.

Her governess had taught her how to descend a staircase with the grace of a swan. Therefore, her footfall was so light, the Drydens never heard her.

But she heard them.

"Once you steal the Regent's Michelangelo, how do you get it out of Carlton House?" Daphne asked her husband.

"Well, if Miss Huntington were around, I'd have to feign a bloody limp."

Miss Huntington's heart began to pound prodigiously. She turned and went straight back to her bedchamber, her limbs trembling as if her very life had just been threatened.

Who would ever have thought a nice couple like Lady Daphne and Captain Dryden would be stealing Michelangelos from the Regent?

Oh, dear. What was she to do? She could not calm her galloping heartbeat.

She couldn't face them. They might suspect she knew their vile secret. Would she then be in danger? Oh, what was she to do?

She just couldn't believe it! Lady Daphne was the nicest person she'd ever known, yet now she was lying to her friend of many years. And Captain Dryden? Why, the Regent thought the world of him. How could he abuse that? How could everyone have so terribly misjudged them?

Oh, dear.

Let them think she was sleeping. If she had to pretend to sleep all day, she could not face them.

Less than an hour later, Sir Ronald came. Minutes later, all of them left.

From behind her curtain, she watched the three of them move to Sir Ronald's fancy carriage. The captain was not limping!

Her heartbeat roaring, she knew she had to do something. But what? Who could she turn to? Especially two days before Christmas. London was emptied of their sort of people. Except. . .

Yes! She must go to Colonel Bond. He'd know what to do.

Chapter 5

Miss Huntington once more started down the stairs but decided if she were going to see the colonel, she must make herself more presentable. She hurried back to her bedchamber and peered into the looking glass. How would a man of the world like Colonel Bond perceive the mousy Miss Huntington?

She did look awfully pale. Unbeknownst to Mama, Charlotte had nicked one of Mama's old French rouge pots after Mama made it known she abhorred anything to do with those nasty Frenchies.

Owing to her mother’s strictures, Charlotte had never before used rouge. But today she would. Very subtly. It wouldn’t do to look like a doxy.

A moment later, she had located the French rouge. Throughout her childhood, she had watched with fascination as her mother applied it. Charlotte had always thought it enhanced a lady’s appearance. If used subtly.

Moving even closer to the looking glass, she began to apply it. Her first attempt was too obvious. She wiped it off, then reapplied less than half the amount she’d first used. It was astonishing, really, how natural it looked the second time. Except that mousy Miss Huntington never in her life had natural rose in her cheeks.