Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 7

Allie sat on a curved stone bench in Hyde Park under the shade of a massive willow and drew in a deep breath that did little to calm her.

She should not have come here.

Oh, yes, the weather was indeed lovely. A warm, summer breeze ruffled her hair, and ribbons of late afternoon sunshine filtered down through the leaves, casting striped shadows upon the ground. In the distance she could see handsome horses and carriages moving slowly around the park, and fashionably attired ladies and gentlemen strolling along the cobbled paths.

Less than thirty feet away stood the elegant black carriage that had brought them here. The coachman tended to the gray mares, offering them each a carrot he pulled from his pocket. While she couldn't deny she'd enjoyed the ride, the fresh air, and the sunshine, neither could she deny that Lord Robert's presence unsettled her in a way that was becoming more and more disturbing. Despite her best efforts to stop it, he was awakening feelings in her she'd thought she'd buried long ago. Spending more time in his increasingly pleasurable company was a very poor idea. Yet she'd been unable to resist his invitation for a ride in the park.

Holding up her gloved hand to shield her eyes from a swatch of sunlight, she observed a footman near the carriage hand Lord Robert what appeared to be a pouch. Lord Robert then walked toward her, pouch in hand, crooked grin curving his lips.

She tried to force her gaze away, but could not. He moved with lithe grace, his long, powerful boot-clad legs eating up the distance between them. An involuntary hum of pure feminine appreciation tickled her throat. Heavens above, he was truly heartstoppingly attractive. Dozens of female hearts no doubt littered his doorstep. His tailored clothing fit him to perfection, accentuating his muscular thighs and the broad expanse of his shoulders… shoulders that she vividly recalled the warmth and strength of.

Her fingers clenched in her lap, and she firmly pushed the disturbing image away. She hated that she was so intensely aware of him. What character flaw, what weakness of spirit did she possess that wouldn't allow her to strike the man from her mind? The mere thought of him made her skin tingle. And he had a way of looking at her that rendered her flustered and confused. And aching. The way he laughed one minute, then regarded her with the most serious of expressions the next, utterly confounded her. The problem is that he is just like David.

The thought stilled her. Was that the problem? Or was it perhaps the even more disconcerting possibility that he wasn't exactly like David. Certainly, in many ways he was-his easy charm, the secrets flickering in his eyes-yet in other ways he was nothing like her husband. He appeared not to possess David's impatience. And while Lord Robert was solicitous of her, he somehow did not make her feel like a useless, fragile piece of china as David often had. And his willingness to laugh at his own expense, well, that was something David never would have done. Yes, if he were just like David, she could guard herself against him. But it was these differences she sensed-

The realization of what she was doing slammed into her and she froze. Dear God, she was finding excuses to… like him. Rationalizing this impossible, unwanted attraction toward him. Convincing herself it was acceptable.

This had to stop. Immediately. She'd allowed one charming, attractive man to sweep her off her feet and he'd nearly destroyed her. She would never allow herself to fall victim to another such man or those feelings again.

"Are you ready?" Lord Robert's voice dragged her from her thoughts. He stood before her, a broad smile on his face. "This is a favorite activity of my nieces and nephew. Watch."

He set the pouch down on the bench beside her, then reached inside, pulling out two large handfuls of what appeared to be bread crumbs. He then spread his arms straight out and opened his hands, palms upward.

"Whatever are you doing?" she asked, curious in spite of herself. "You look like a scarecrow."

"Just watch. You'll see."

A trio of pigeons fluttered down. One landed on Lord Robert's outstretched right arm, the other two on his left, then proceeded to feast upon the bread crumbs in his palms.

Before she could stop it, a giggle bubbled up in her throat. "Now you truly resemble a scarecrow… a decidedly unsuccessful one."

He grinned. "I'm about to become even more unsuccessful."

Several more birds joined the fun, and in less than a minute, the very finely garbed Lord Robert Jamison had cooing pigeons resting all along his arms and shoulders. Just when she thought another bird couldn't possibly fit on him, a particularly plump, gray-breasted pigeon fluttered in. And perched itself on Lord Robert's very elegant black hat.

"Oh, my!" A burst of uncontainable merriment erupted from her, and she pressed her hands to her cheeks. "I believe the one on your hat is settling in for an extended stay."

"No doubt. Care to try it?"

She pursed her lips. "Thank you, but I'm not particularly fond of the taste of bread crumbs, and in truth, I don't believe you have any more room on your arm, or your hat, for me."

He chuckled and several pigeons ruffled their feathers. "They're very gentle. Take a handful of bread crumbs and join us."

It instantly occurred to her that David never, ever, would have suggested such a thing. And his disapproval would have prevented her from doing so. David is gone. I can do as I please.

With an almost defiant air, she rose, reached into the pouch, and grabbed two handfuls of bread crumbs. She then spread her arms as Lord Robert had done.

"Prepare yourself," he said with a chuckle. "Here they come."

A fat pigeon landed on her right arm and delicately pecked crumbs from her gloved hand. "Oh!" Before she could recover from her surprise, two more landed on her other black sleeve. The overwhelming urge to giggle seized her, yet she tried her utmost to contain it, not wanting to startle the birds. But the endeavor proved hopeless, and a fit of laughter seized her. Gray feathers ruffled a bit, then quickly settled back in place, the birds clearly not overly concerned about a chuckling perch.

"I wish Elizabeth was here," she said. "I would love for her to capture this moment in her sketchbook. You look so funny with that pigeon on your hat!"

"You're looking rather comical yourself. Brace yourself. One is heading for your bonnet."

"Oh, my…" She felt the weight settle on top of her head, and merriment simply consumed her. Bit by bit, the mantle of her concerns slipped from her shoulders, falling into a heap at her feet. She laughed until her sides ached and tears streamed down her cheeks. Dear God, how long had it been since she'd laughed like this? Enjoyed herself so thoroughly? Years… although it seemed like decades.

"A suitable sobriquet for you suddenly occurs to me," he said, blowing a pigeon tail feather from his chin. "I dub you Madam BOB, short for Bird-on-Bonnet."

"Very well, Sir FOF."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Feafhers-on-Face. There's a small one clinging to your cheek, and a particularly lovely one attached to your earlobe."

The laughter continued for several more minutes, then, when the supply of bread crumbs was eaten, the pigeons departed one by one. Except for the one on Lord Robert's hat.

"I think she likes you," Allie said with a laugh, as she brushed off her sleeves and resettled her bonnet.

"Either that or she's made a nest. I hope not, as this is my favorite hat." He made gentle shooing motions, but the pigeon remained. "It appears we have an extra passenger for the time being. Do you mind?"

She pressed her lips together to contain her amusement at the picture he made with that pigeon perched on his hat, but wasn't the least successful. "Not at all."

"Excellent." He extended his elbow with regal solemnity, and with equal pomp, she accepted. "I suggest we make our way to Regent Street," he said as they stepped onto the tree-lined, cobbled path leading back to the carriage. "No visit to London is complete without sampling the shops."

She hesitated, overcome with a sense of wistful nostalgia. At one time she'd have accepted the invitation with alacrity. She'd adored perusing the shops, choosing lovely gowns and frivolous hats. But now, with no excess funds to spend, the prospect was nothing short of depressing. He glanced down at her, and she instantly wondered what he'd discerned in her expression, for a look that could only be described as chagrin passed over his face. Before either could speak, however, a familiar voice hailed them.

" Alberta! Lord Robert!"

They turned in unison and were greeted by the sight of Lady Gaddlestone bearing down upon them, with Tedmund, Edward, and Frederick straining at their leads. A harried-looking footman trotted behind the baroness, his arms laden with a trio of colorful fabric-covered pillows that clearly belonged to the Maltese brood.

"Guard your ankles and skirt," Lord Robert warned in an undertone. "Here comes Sir Piss-a-lot, Sir Bite-a-bit, and Sir Hump-a-leg."

Laughter gurgled in her throat, and she coughed to cover it. Good Lord, the man was outrageous!

"What a delightful surprise," the baroness exclaimed as she and the boys drew near. She pulled back on the leather leads, but the dogs forged ahead, poufy tails wagging, heading straight for Allie and Lord Robert while emitting sharp yips of unrestrained glee. "Tedmund! Edward! Frederick! Cease at once!"

The pigeon nesting on Lord Robert's hat clearly disliked the din and flew off with a loud flapping of feathers. He turned to Allie, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. The pigeon's takeoff had pushed his hat askew and it now rested on his head at a precarious angle, completing hiding one eye.

"You're not laughing at me, are you, Madam BOB?" he asked in a mock severe tone.

She widened her eyes. "I, Sir FOF? Certainly not."

One mischief-filled, dark blue eye blinked at her. "Banbury tale," he decreed.

The baroness finally managed to halt her barking brood, her plump face red with exertion. Lord Robert straightened his hat, then looked down at the boys. "Sit," he commanded. The boys instantly obeyed, looking up at him with button-eyed devotion.

"You really must show me how you do that," the baroness panted, dabbing her glistening brow with a delicate lace handkerchief. "The wicked darlings simply refuse to obey me when they're excited. Now tell me, my dears, why are you still in town? I thought you'd have traveled to Bradford Hall by now." A look of concern passed over her face. "I hope there is no problem with the duchess and the babe?"

"All is well," Lord Robert assured her. "And as far as I know, I am not yet an uncle again. Mrs. Brown needed to remain in London for several days to settle some business affairs. I shall escort her to Bradford Hall when she is finished."

The baroness looked back and forth between them, her face alive with interest. "I see. I would ask if you are enjoying your London stay, Alberta dear, but I can clearly see that you are. Why, I don't believe I've ever seen you looking quite so… animated." She leaned toward Lord Robert and whispered loudly, "Did I not tell you that she is very remarkably pretty when she smiles?"

"You did indeed."

For several seconds, Allie held her breath, waiting to see if he'd say more… if he'd agree with Lady Gaddlestone's opinion. But he said nothing further, rendering her strangely disappointed. Sanity returned, along with a strong flare of self-directed annoyance. For heaven's sake, why would she care if he thought her pretty? Desperate to change the direction of the conversation, she quickly asked, "How are you faring now that you're home, Lady Gaddlestone?"

"Very well, my dear. I've had dozens of callers and am nearly all caught up on the latest on dits." She shot an arch look at Lord Robert. "Although I've heard nothing about this apparent trend of gentlemen wearing pigeons upon their hats."

"Indeed? How shocking, for it is the very latest in manly headgear."

"Humph. You wouldn't have thought so had that feathered beast ruined your hat."

"Ah, but it would have been a small price to pay."

Allie felt his gaze shift to her, and he flexed his arm where her hand rested in the crook of his elbow, lightly squeezing her fingers. A frown tugged at her brows. Those words sounded very familiar…

Realization hit her. He'd repeated her own words about juggling the eggs for Joshua. It was a small price to pay to see him smile. His meaning was suddenly perfectly clear.

He'd brought her here and risked his clothing for one purpose. To make her smile.

She turned swiftly and discovered his gaze resting upon her. Such beautiful eyes, filled with mischief and warmth, made all the more alluring by the small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. A river of feeling cascaded through her, simultaneously warming and confusing her.

Before she could even think of a reply, he returned his attention to the baroness. "Mrs. Brown and I were just about to visit Regent Street. I thought she might enjoy a visit to the confectioner's and then tea at The Blue Iris. Would you care to join us? I'd love to hear about your travels in America."

The baroness beamed a smile at him. "My dear boy, I'd love nothing better."

Comfortably ensconced in a plush, indigo velvet chair near The Blue Iris's massive brick fireplace, Lady Gaddlestone sipped her tea and chatted gaily about her adventures in America, all the while thanking her lucky stars for her most useful ability of requiring only half her attention to be engaged to carry on a conversation. Because the other half of her attention was riveted on the absolutely fascinating tableau unfolding right before her very eyes between dear Alberta and Lord Robert.

While she regaled her audience with tales of elegant soirees, her mind made avid notations. Heavens, the way he just looked at her! With that teasing, yet somehow heated expression. She fought the urge to fan herself with her linen napkin. And look at that blush creeping over Alberta s cheeks. And that delighted smile she just gave him!

Oh, there was no doubt Lord Robert was smitten. And clearly dear Alberta was far from immune to Lord Robert's undeniable charm. She'd suspected such might be the case, and allowed herself a mental pat on the back. Of course, she was rarely wrong in such matters. She paused for a sip of tea in order to hide the satisfied smile she could not suppress behind her porcelain cup.

With her facial expressions once more under control, she continued her tale. "Yes, the costume ball hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Whatley in Philadelphia was all great fun, but it could have been a complete disaster. I found out that the very next night after the ball, the Whatley mansion caught fire!"

Lord Robert's hand jarred to a halt halfway to his lips, sloshing several drops of tea over the edge of his cup. Something the baroness could not decipher flashed in his eyes. "Was anyone hurt?" he asked tightly.

"No, thank goodness," the baroness said. "Mr. and Mrs. Whatley were not at home, and the servants all managed to escape. The house, however, was completely destroyed." A shudder passed through her. "If the fire had occurred the night before, with all those guests in the house, why there's no telling how many people might have been hurt or lost their lives."

Another odd expression passed over Lord Robert's face, and his jaw appeared to tighten. It also looked as if his face paled, but surely that was just a trick of the tea room's subdued lighting? Still, he seemed somehow distressed. Her gaze shifted to Alberta, who also seemed to note Lord Robert's sudden tension. But then, in the blink of an eye, his expression cleared, leaving her to wonder if she'd imagined his momentary discomfort. She shook her head. Gracious, it was a trial to get on in years. Perhaps she needed spectacles.

Well, she may have imagined his reaction to her story, but there was no mistaking his reaction to dear Alberta. Settling herself more comfortably in her chair, she launched into another account of her travels, all the while planning the dress she would have made to wear to the undoubtedly upcoming wedding.

By the time Robert settled himself on the gray velvet squabs across from Mrs. Brown for the carriage ride back to the Bradford town house, shadows of twilight were darkening the sky. After signaling the driver to depart, he smiled at his companion. To his immense satisfaction, her lips curved partially upward in return.

"Did you enjoy your afternoon?"

"Very much. Indeed, I'd be hard-pressed to choose what I liked more-the delicious confections you very generously purchased for us all-"

"Only a cad would buy just enough for himself."

"-the divine tea, or the stimulating conversation."

"The baroness is quite talkative."

"Yes. But you well knew that when you asked her to join us and regale you with stories of her travels. You knew it would please her immensely to tell you." She gave him a look he couldn't decipher, then she added softly, "And I suspect you would have sat there without complaint until midnight listening to her."

He felt an odd urge to squirm under her steady regard, as if he were a green boy and she'd caught him at a falsehood. "As I enjoy traveling myself, I like hearing about such adventures."

"As do I. However, I do believe that my favorite part of the afternoon was seeing you with all those pigeons perched upon you." Her lips twitched. "It is an image I shall never forget."

"As I shall never forget the sight of you, weak with laughter, with a pigeon on your bonnet."

Their gazes held for several seconds, and his heart performed a crazy roll. Such lovely eyes. Their deep, golden-brown depths reminded him of fine brandy: warm and intoxicating. Indeed, he could almost feel himself growing befuddled just looking at her.

"I realize," she said softly, "that the only reason you made such sport of yourself was to amuse me. It was a very kind gesture." Her gaze fell to her lap. "It felt good to laugh. Thank you."

His fingers twitched with the desire to lift her chin, but he clenched his hands, resisting. Damn it all, did she have any idea how expressive her eyes were? How they glowed when she smiled? Or how they so heartbreakingly reflected the sadness she clearly felt? Did she know that the painfully obvious fact she harbored secrets was shadowed in them?

God help him, every time their eyes had met during tea, his heart had pounded in a way that indicated he'd just run a mile, as opposed to sitting in a chair. And her lips… his gaze riveted on them and he swallowed a groan. Her lovely, full lips had curved upward in a smile four times during tea. He'd counted. And all four times his pulse had raced.

Recalling his reaction, annoyance edged through him. Ridiculous. His physical response to her absolutely bordered on the ridiculous. Perhaps that blow to the head he'd suffered had damaged him in some way. A fine theory… until faced with the fact that she'd affected him from the moment he laid eyes on her.

No, if he were to be scrupulously honest with himself, she'd affected him even before he saw her. His interest, or whatever name he chose to put to this preoccupation, had started when Elizabeth had given him the sketch of a beautiful, laughing, vibrant young woman.

Damn it all, if a mere charcoal image of her had fascinated him, he should have known that the actual woman would affect him profoundly. And perhaps, in the inner recesses of his mind, he had. But he hadn't known she would make him feel like… this. So unsettled and frustrated.

His gaze skimmed over her black mourning dress and his jaw clenched. Bloody hell, those morbid clothes irked him. She should be garbed in pastels and airy muslins. Rich silks and satins. Yet there was more to it than that. The fact that after three years she still proclaimed her devotion to a dead man through her attire disturbed him in a way he was reluctant to examine. He did not consider himself a saint by any reckoning, but he did pride himself on being a man of integrity. A man of decency. And surely a decent man of integrity would not harbor lustful urges for a grieving woman. Wouldn't long to erase the image of her dead beloved from her mind, or be so utterly, painfully attracted to her that he'd rack his brain for any excuse to touch her.

The carriage jerked to a halt, and he expelled a breath of relief when he saw they'd arrived at the town house. He helped her from the carriage, noting that she did not look at him, and pulled her hand away from his the instant her feet touched the cobblestones-facts which surely should have pleased him, not left him feeling both irritated and mildly hurt. He led the way up the walkway, chiding himself the entire distance. She doesn't feel it, you dolt. Clearly she has no trouble resisting you. But what about that moment in the billiards room this morning? She'd sure as hell felt something then. 'Twas obviously just a momentary lapse of judgment on her part. She s forgotten it. Now he needed to do the same.

Just as they climbed the steps, the double oak doors flew open. Robert's greeting to Carters died on his lips when he saw the butler's stricken face. Striding into the foyer, he grabbed the man's upper arm. "What's happened? Is it Elizabeth?"

Carters swallowed hard, then shook his head. "No, Lord Robert. No one is injured."

"But something is wrong."

"I’m afraid so. I'm sorry to tell you, but the town house has been robbed."

Darkness had fallen by the time Geoffrey walked with deliberate calm up the brick steps leading to his town house. The instant he set foot on the top tread, the oak-paneled front door opened inward on silent, well-oiled hinges. Willis bowed from the waist as Geoffrey entered the foyer.

"Any messages arrive for me?" he asked the butler.

"Two arrived earlier this afternoon, my lord," Willis said, accepting his hat, coat, and walking stick. "But I did not forward them to you at White's, as neither was from the gentleman you were expecting to hear from. The letters await you on your desk."

His hands clenched. "I'll be in my study. Unless another message arrives, I do not wish to be disturbed." "Yes, my lord."

Seconds later, Geoffrey entered his private study and headed directly for the decanters. The pain in his head had swelled to an unbearable, rhythmic pounding that set his teeth on edge. He tossed back a fingerful of brandy, relishing the slow burn edging down to his belly. The liquor did little to ease the thumping behind his eyes, but it helped settle his nerves, which teetered dangerously close to the edge.

Damn Redfern to hell and back! He'd give the bastard one more hour. If he had not heard from him by then, he would be forced to put his plan into action. This uncertainty had dragged on far too long. The possibility that he could be destroyed… sometimes he felt as if he were going mad.

No! Not mad. It's simply the strain. This impossible state of suspense. Wincing, he pressed his palm to his temple in a useless attempt to stem the relentless banging. He would not, could not, lose what was his.

He looked around the room, at the opulent cream silk wall coverings, the handsome furnishings, the priceless works of art, and a red haze seemed to envelop him, cloaking him in a dark rage that thundered through his veins and threatened to suffocate him. This is mine. All of it. Every bloody last bit of it. I sold my soul for it… and I'm not the only one who did so. Like father like son…

That bastard David Brown had stolen the ring and its box- had discovered the truth. Had blackmailed him. And now the ring and the proof that could cast doubt on the validity of his parents' marriage was God only knew where. If the truth were discovered…

Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he clenched his snifter, the cut glass digging into his fingers and palm. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it beating in his ears. Forcing long, deep breaths into his lungs, he strove to compose himself. Can't lose control. Must remain calm. Focused.

He wiped his damp brow with his handkerchief, then, with jerky steps, crossed the maroon-and-gold Persian rug to his desk, where his gaze fell upon the two letters resting on the polished cherry-wood surface. Picking up the top one, he broke the seal and scanned the brief contents.

Dear Lord Shelbourne,

I am in possession of a ring that belongs to your family. I would very much like to return this ring to you at your earliest convenience. Please contact me at the Bradford town house on Park Lane to set up a meeting.

Yours truly,

Mrs. Alberta Brown

Stunned, he reread the missive, then crumpled it in his fist. A maelstrom of thoughts and emotions twisted through his mind, and he fought to sort them into some semblance of order.

She did have the ring. Thank God. He no longer needed to agonize over its whereabouts. Relief smacked him like a blow, only to be immediately replaced by fury at her gall.

She wanted to return his ring? A humorless laugh erupted from his lips. Of course she did-but at what exorbitant price? No doubt more than her bloody husband had demanded.

He heaved her letter into the hearth with a vicious oath, then watched the flames consume it. Redfern had failed yet again. Damn it all, why couldn't the man manage to steal one small ring from one small woman? Surely that was not too difficult a task!

Dragging his hands through his hair, he turned, and his gaze locked on the other note on his desk. What was this, a blackmail request? Snatching up the vellum, he ripped open the seal and quickly read the few lines.

A frown pulled down his brows and he pursed his lips. With the duke and duchess still in Kent awaiting the birth of their child, clearly Robert Jamison was serving as Mrs. Brown's escort during her London stay. And Jamison wished to introduce him to an American woman named Mrs. Alberta Brown whose deceased husband David-how had he put it? He scanned the letter again. Ah, yes… Whose deceased husband was an acquaintance of yours.

Bitterness burned Geoffrey's throat. Oh, he was acquainted with David Brown, all right. He recited a silent prayer of thanks every day that the bastard was dead. His only regret was that he hadn't had the pleasure of wrapping his hands around Brown's miserable neck and squeezing the life out him himself. If not for Brown, he'd not be in this damnable mess. And what about Jamison? What did he know? Was he somehow involved as more than Mrs. Brown's escort? Damn it all, he couldn't risk anyone in the duke's family finding out-

A knock sounded at the door, jerking him from his disturbing musings. "Come in."

Willis crossed the room, holding out a silver salver. "This just arrived, my lord."

Geoffrey accepted the missive. Anticipation curled through him as he saw his name scrawled in Redfern's familiar, coarse scrawl. The instant Willis quit the room, he tore open the seal.

I've got the ring. Expect me tomorrow.

He stared at that single line, his jaw working. Obviously either Redfern or Mrs. Brown was lying. Or foolishly attempting to play an elaborate game with him. Or perhaps not…

Willis had said the other two notes had arrived earlier this afternoon. Realization dawned, and a bark of laughter burst from him. Mrs. Brown must have sent her note before Redfern stole the ring. She no longer had it. But just as quickly as relief came, it vanished like a puff of smoke.

She might no longer have the ring, but that didn't mean she hadn't discovered its secret. She still might know… might know that another could rightfully lay claim to his title.

Pitching Jamison's and Redfern's notes into the fireplace, he grasped the mantel with a white-knuckled grip. He watched the flames lick at the vellum, his mind working at a feverish pace. There was only one answer. He'd have to meet with her. Get to know her. Find out what, if anything, she knew about his secret. Discover if she planned to blackmail him. Did she know the identity of the man who could destroy his life and take everything from him? If only I knew who he was. I could destroy him first.

He had to get that ring.

Walking to his desk, he composed a note inviting Mrs. Brown and Robert Jamison to call upon him the next morning.

He folded the vellum, then pressed his seal into the wax with far more force than necessary.

He debated sending a note to Redfern, but decided against it. Now that the whereabouts of the ring was assured, if Redfern killed Mrs. Brown before Geoffrey met with her, so be it. In fact, so much the better.

By this time tomorrow, he would be a free man. His gaze narrowed and drifted to the fireplace, where nothing but ashes remained of the letters from Mrs. Brown, Robert Jamison, and Redfern.

And all the loose ends would be eliminated. Permanently.

Leaning against the thick, polished oak mantel in the library, Robert listened to Eustace Laramie, the magistrate, recite what he knew of the crime, much of which Robert had already heard from Carters.

"A maid discovered the theft when she entered Mrs. Brown's bedchamber. Found the room all torn apart, garments and bedding shredded and strewn all around. Carters conducted a thorough search of the house and reported Mrs. Brown's bedchamber was the only room disturbed. The thief most likely climbed the trellis, then entered through the French windows leading to her balcony. According to Carters, a number of the Bradford family's possessions are missing from the bedchamber. They include a sterling hairbrush and comb, as well as two silver candlesticks and several figurines from the mantel. Mrs. Brown will be able to tell us what, if any, of her belongings are missing once she's finished looking through the mess." He fixed a penetrating look on Robert. "First the abduction you reported to me only this morning, and now this. Odd how you and Mrs. Brown have suffered from such a recent spate of crime."

"Indeed." Robert scrubbed his hands down his face. "Have there been any other reports of thefts in the immediate area?"

"No."

"Do you think the same person is responsible?"

Laramie stroked his chin and nodded thoughtfully. "It's certainly possible, although we're talking about two different sorts of crimes. And what with so many thieves about, it could just as easily be two different dirty dogs." He waved his hand and made a disgusted sound. "Damn bastards. Seems like for every one you send to Newgate, a dozen more take his place."

Robert fixed a meaningful look on the man. "Two different crimes, but the same victims. It certainly gives one pause."

"Indeed, it is something to consider. I'll-"

A soft knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Robert said.

Mrs. Brown entered, closing the door behind her. She crossed the Axminster rug, stopping in front of the fireplace. In spite of clearly trying to appear calm, Robert could tell she was shaken. Her complexion resembled chalk, and he detected a tremor in her walk, as if her knees weren't quite steady. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and there was a haunted look in her eyes. She reminded him of a piece of glass about to shatter.

He could understand her being upset-he was so himself- but she seemed even more tense and afraid than she had when they'd escaped from the warehouse.

"Have you determined if any of your belongings were taken?" Laramie asked.

She hesitated, then jerked her head in a nod. "Yes. There is one item missing. A ring."

"So jewelry was what he was after," Laramie said, nodding. "Typical. But I'm surprised he stole only the one bauble. Are you certain that's all that is gone?"

"Positive. It was the only piece of jewelry in my possession."

"I see. Was it valuable?"

Again she hesitated. "It was my husband's…" Her voice trailed off, then she cleared her throat. "There was more sentimental value attached to it than anything else, Mr. Laramie."

"Mr. Laramie and I were just discussing the possibility that this robbery is linked to last night's events," Robert said.

Her gaze flew to his. Was that alarm that flashed in her eyes? It disappeared so quickly, he couldn't be certain.

She returned her attention to the magistrate. "I understand there is a very high rate of crime in London, Mr. Laramie. Surely these are just random acts. Unfortunate and coincidental, but random just the same."

"That is possible. However, it is also possible that someone is targeting the duke's household." Laramie 's eyes took on a keen edge. "Or you, Mrs. Brown."

She raised her chin. "I think that extremely unlikely, for as you know, I just recently arrived and am completely unknown in London."

"Have you experienced any other problems or unusual occurrences since arriving?"

"No."

A determined look gleamed in Laramie 's eyes. "Rest assured we'll do what we can to find him, but I must warn you against getting your hopes up for recovering your possessions. These blokes strike quick as that"-he snapped his fingers- "then disappear like rats scurrying into holes. Your belongings have probably been sold three times over by now, I'm sad to say. But if there's any news, I'll contact you immediately." He nodded to them both, then quit the room, closing the door with a quiet click.

Robert's attention turned to Mrs. Brown. She stood in front of the fire, perfectly still, her face ashen. She stared into the flames, her lips pressed into a grim line. After several seconds, however, she seemed to recall herself.

"If you'll excuse me," she murmured, turning toward the door.

"Actually, I'd like a word with you, Mrs. Brown," he said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "In fact, I'd like more than a word with you."

She turned so swiftly her skirt billowed out. "I beg your pardon?"

He walked toward her in measured steps, not halting until he stood directly in front of her. "I want to know exactly what the devil is going on here."

Color suffused her pale cheeks. "I'm certain I don't know what you mean."

"Indeed? Then allow me to enlighten you. Since your arrival here yesterday, you have been coshed, abducted, trussed up like a goose, and robbed. These same unfortunate circumstances have befallen me. It certainly makes one wonder what circumstances might greet us after you've been here a week."

Her gaze remained steady, and he had to applaud her show of bravery. The effect would have been perfect except for the slight trembling of her lower lip. "I'm sorry-"

"It is not your apology I seek, Mrs. Brown. What I want is an explanation and the truth."

"I don't know-"

"You lied to Laramie. I want to know why. And you are not leaving this room until you tell me."