Unknown (30 page)

There was an intriguing pyramid of little round balls at the end of the table, stacked atop a sort of elegant silver platform; they had the look of sweets. She was dying to have a crack at those. Perhaps she should ask one of the army of footmen—nearly one to a diner, she guessed—to fetch some for her. They were liveried in blue and gold, the footmen, like the furniture; in the candlelight, from a distance, it was sometimes difficult to discern them from the chairs.

Lily was unsurprised to find she’d been relegated to the table’s equivalent of St. Giles; to her left sat a surly elderly man who had belched audibly several times now. Lily was sympathetic. She was certain the pickled vegetables were at fault. Kilmartin and Lady Anne Clapham were in neutral territory, a few more seats toward the middle.

Gideon, on the other hand, was at the far end of the table, seated, of course, next to Constance. Lord Jarvis sat directly across from Constance. Constance had ensured that she was, in fact, the filling in a sandwich of admiration and competition.

“Oh!”

The amiable conversation and clinking of silver and porcelain came to an abrupt halt. All eyes turned toward the piercing little cry of distress.

Which had issued from Constance, if her wide eyes and the hand splayed across her chest were any indication. “I know I would have seen it fall.” She directed her breathless words to no one in particular. “I would have
felt
it fall…”

Everyone stared at her blankly.

“My necklace! It’s gone!” she clarified indignantly. “My new necklace is gone!”

An alarmed collective murmur started up; as if on command, everyone sitting at the table dove beneath it to take a look. Much rustling about ensued, mingled with a few undignified giggles. One by one, heads popped back up and seats were retaken.

But no one had retrieved a necklace.

“We shall find it, Constance,” Gideon soothed. “No doubt it slipped from your neck and is somewhere nearby. We’ll all help to search for it, is that not so?” Gideon’s tone, gentle though it was, brooked no argument. Again, as if on command, all the heads at me table nodded vigorously.

Constance lowered her voice. “Perhaps one of the servants…”

“If one of the servants found it, they would never dare keep it from you, Constance.” He matched her low tone. “But we shall investigate that possibility, as well. Meanwhile, we’ll all do a proper search. When did you see it last?”

“Well… I believe it was when Miss Masters and I repaired to the withdrawing room. Miss Masters admired my necklace excessively,” she added. “She said that her papa would never buy her anything so fine—that it was a job for her future husband.”

Gideon almost smiled;
how
did Lily come up with these little embellishments?

“Well then, we shall look in the withdrawing room, of course,” he told Constance. “But can you describe to me anything you may have done there—without divulging all of your feminine secrets, of course—that may have jarred your necklace from you?”

Constance cocked her head. “Well… my hair seemed to be coming loose of its pins, so Miss Masters offered to help me to put it up again. And that’s when she admired my necklace, and said all those kind things about it. And then we put my hair up, and we returned to my guests. The clasp was a bit loose, but I was certain it would hold.”

Gideon pictured it: the two lovely women facing the mirror, Lily’s slim fingers lifting Constance’s hair—

Suspicion struck the air from his lungs.

I am an excellent thief, Mr. Cole.

It made a terrible sort of sense: Their plan—
his
plan— had succeeded so brilliantly it would never occur to anyone that the lovely, genteel Miss Lily Masters of Sussex—La Belle Lily, whose father was very, very rich—would steal a necklace. He’d provided Lily with the disguise; Constance had presented the opportunity. Lily’s light fingers had sustained her and Alice for years, but the income from the sale of Constance’s necklace would mean Lily would never have to steal again.

His suspicion sickened him. Perhaps Lily had never dreamed Constance would announce the loss in such a public fashion, but he knew that if even a whiff of suspicion wafted her way, Lily, who so excelled at telling stories, was capable of gazing into anyone’s eyes and… lying.

Perhaps even to him.

No, not to him: for he wouldn’t give her the opportunity.

What will you do
? he’d asked Lily that day in the garden. As though her life could not possibly go on without him after their kiss. He now felt like a callow fool.

What I have always done
, she’d replied.
Survive
.

* * *

After dinner, Constance’s guests repaired to the drawing room for cards and chatting. A search party was dispatched to the withdrawing room, and those whose eyes were deemed the sharpest fanned out to search the rest of the premises. But the necklace remained stubbornly missing.

Constance recovered from the trauma rapidly enough, however. A necklace could be replaced, and the prospect of new things always pleased her beyond measure.

In the drawing room, two simultaneous card games were assembled; a few other guests were distributed about the chairs and settees, idly chatting. Once Constance was seated and holding a hand of cards, Gideon appeared at Lily’s elbow.

“A word, Miss Masters.”

He gestured subtly with his chin to the next room and walked in that direction; she followed. He paused by a short pillar supporting a sprawling fern.

“Where did you put it, Lily?”

No preamble; just a swift decisive blow. Lily was thunderstruck.

And then her chin snapped up. “That’s it? Not even ‘
’Bid
you take it, Lily?‘”

Gideon remained silent; his face was ashen. His eyes burned down at her, scouring her soul for the truth.

“Or how about, ‘Would you like to split the take, Lily?’” she hissed. How could she possibly defend herself? She could only use words, and he would believe what he believed. And apparently Gideon believed she was a thief.

Because she
was
a thief.

“You admired the necklace, Lily, and men it disappeared.”

“Oh yes, and that’s just the sort of thief I am. I announce what I’m about to take, and then I take it.”

He took a deep breath. “I know you dislike her, and I can understand the temptation—”

“
Stop
.” Her voice was low and furious. “Just stop. Don’t try to explain away my ‘actions,’ Gideon. Don’t try to be a
barrister
with me. I didn’t take the necklace.”

He didn’t reply. He simply watched her. He was always watching, watching; as though if he watched long enough she would reveal some essential truth about herself to him.

She wanted to lash out, to free herself from his gaze.

“I didn’t take it, Gideon. But could you blame me if I
had
! For what will become of me when your
game
is over? How do you suppose I will continue looking after myself and Alice? Perhaps I should begin receiving ‘gentlemen’ callers.”

He flinched.
Good
. She was glad she had the power to hurt him. Or at least shock him.

She watched him, waiting for a sign, willing him to believe her, to smile at her, to—

“You can give the necklace to me, Lily.” His voice was low and tense. “I’ll simply tell Constance I found it. We’ll speak no more of it, I swear it.”

Lily closed her eyes briefly; she refused to allow him to see on her face what those words had done to her.

Her voice was a dead thing when she spoke. “I’ll see your game through, Gideon. That is, if you trust me to remain under Aunt Hester’s roof. You never know. I might steal the silver plate and copulate with the footmen.”

Gideon’s mouth parted a little as though someone had just kicked him squarely in the ribs. And then—and this frightened her more than anything had in a very long time— the searching light went out of his eyes.

What replaced it was indifference.

“You can remain with Aunt Hester, Miss Masters. What you choose to do there is none of my concern, for I shall repair to my own lodgings for the duration of our stay in the
ton
. And of course you will see our
game
through, Miss Masters, if you wish to remain out of Newgate. For it would be a simple thing for me to put you there.”

He bowed to her, and sauntered back into the room full of card players, right into the rays of Constance’s welcoming smile.

Chapter Sixteen

All right, old man
, the note read,
if this is a strategy, it’s working: Constance has asked after you several times, in her own subtle fashion, and she seems increasingly nervous. I have told her you were called away on business. Meanwhile, Jarvis seems more and more enamored of Lily, though he has still enjoyed a few waltzes with Constance. Still, it would have been helpful to be privy to this part of the plan, if it is indeed part of the plan. Yrs
—
Kilmartin

After Constance’s dinner, Gideon disappeared into his own lodgings for three days, wallowing in his dim rooms until he could scarcely tell day from night, drinking all manner of things, ignoring the concerned and then irritated and then
deeply
concerned messages sent to him by Kilmartin. He didn’t know precisely why he was so darkly, furiously miserable; every time a reason began to swim into coherence—betrayal? desire? ambition?—he drowned it ruthlessly with whiskey.
Take that
, he told it grimly. He didn’t want to know.

In short, he’d behaved abysmally. Like a child.
Completely
out of character.

But Kilmartin’s last message had struck a new note; Gideon could practically hear the taxed patience and hurt feelings in it. It cut through his self-absorption, and he managed to sober up enough to feel ashamed.

And so he pulled himself together: washing, shaving, dressing. And showed his face again at last at Aunt Hester’s town house.

“Why, Gideon,” Kilmartin drawled when he saw him standing in the parlor.

Gideon shook his head once, abruptly, a warning.

And Kilmartin, good friend as always, heeded it, shaking his own head.

“I apologize, Laurie,” Gideon added, a little defensively.

“Perhaps you should apologize to Miss Masters, too,” Kilmartin suggested gently.

Gideon’s jaw tightened; he said nothing.

Kilmartin didn’t press him; he sighed. “The plan is still on?”

“It is still on.”

“I heard word that Constance intended to ride in the row today. Perhaps you’d better take out my high flyer. And Lily.”

So Gideon took the high flyer. And Lily.

Lily sat next to him now in stubborn silence, looking delicately smart in a blue riding habit.

Gideon didn’t know what to say to her. Part of him clung to the perverse hope that she
had
stolen the necklace. Because it would be much, much simpler to say good-bye to a thief who had betrayed his trust than to the remarkable girl with whom he had shared an unforgettable kiss.

The deepest, truest part of him was certain she had not taken it.

Almost certain.

Odd that Kilmartin had never voiced any sort of suspicion; instead, his face had reflected only reproach when he’d reappeared. As though
Gideon
was the only one who had committed any sort of transgression.
She’s gotten to all of us
, Gideon thought.

Well, it wasn’t as though a rash of jewel thefts had been reported about the
ton
, was it?

The problem was this: Ever since Lily Masters had appeared in his life, Gideon had grown increasingly unsure about who he was. Or perhaps the problem was in fact the opposite: It was increasingly clear
who
he truly was.

But it had very little to do with who he intended to be.

Rotten Row was teeming with people and horses and stylish equipages, but Constance was easy to find. Constance’s posture—regal perfection—was unmistakable, as was the air of complacent serenity that surrounded her like a nimbus. She was perched on what must be her nameless bay mare.

And then he noticed her companion: Lord Jarvis. “Bloody hell.”

Lily jerked in the seat next to him, as though he’d shaken her awake, and followed Gideon’s gaze; her features settled into comprehension, and then became opaque. “Don’t worry,” she said quietly, her first words to him in nearly an hour. For some reason they seemed almost excruciatingly intimate for that very reason. “I will honor my
promise
, Mr. Cole.”

The word “promise” fairly sparkled with malice, but when he slid a glance sideways, Lily’s expression was rosebud-sweet. Gideon pulled the high flyer up near Constance.

“Why, Cole! How goes it?” Jarvis beamed at him from atop his handsome mount and tipped his hat. Jarvis continually bemused Gideon; he didn’t seem to realize he was Gideon’s rival. Or perhaps he merely considered the search for a bride a benign, manly sort of competition, like grouse hunting—no hard feelings when all was said and done, and may the best man bag the best grouse.

“Hullo, Jarvis. Good afternoon, Lady Clary.” Gideon tipped his hat while Lily sweetly echoed his greeting.

Constance nodded; the plume on her hat nodded along with her. “Mr. Cole. Miss Masters.” Her voice was cool. “Lord Jarvis and I were just discussing Lady Pemberton’s ball of last night. The orchestra she engaged was most accomplished.”

“Oh, was it grand? I was terribly sorry to miss it—and the opportunity to dance with you.” Gideon was all sincerity. “Unfortunately, I had some pressing… business to conduct.” And then he smiled at Constance, the sort of smile that could coax a return smile from a corpse. Constance, not being a corpse, smiled back at him, officially thawed.

“Yes,
business
to conduct,” Lily echoed, with an enigmatic smile, as though Gideon’s business had everything to do with her.

Constance’s smile vanished abruptly. “
You
were at the ball, Miss Masters.” She sounded terse.

And Gideon had never before heard Constance sound anything other than
mellifluous
. At last: an obvious ripple in her aristocratic serenity. No doubt because Lily Masters had been steadily skipping little stones across it for days now. Gideon began to feel more cheerful.