An Honorable Thief (23 page)

Kit's Italian was a little rusty, but she was able to pick up most of the words
—he was singing about love, of course... Interspersed with the passionate Italian, other fragments of dialogue wafted to Kit's ears.

"Another robbery last night...becoming an epidemic! None of us safe in our beds any more."

The tenor sang on, his voice tragic with passion and unrequited love.

"I blame the Watchmen
—drunk as wheelbarrows, no doubt."

The tenor strode about the stage, singing, watched se-. cretly by his love...

Kit was seated at the front of the box. Lady Hester, knowing she had never been to the opera before, had seated her there, adjuring her to, "Sit up and make sure everyone sees that lovely blue thing, my dear. Oh and make sure you notice who else is here, tonight
—here, take these glasses. Got to see and be seen, my dear, see and be seen."

Meanwhile Lady Hester and her cronies, Lady Gosper, and the Honourable Pearl Hamnet, retired to the back of the box, where the noise of the music would not disturb them so much. Kit leaned back in her chair and eavesdropped unashamedly.

"What did the devils filch, Hettie?"

"Haven't you heard, my dear? Brackbourne's precious Bronzinos."

“What's a bronzino?''

"A little statuette, Pearl, made of bronze, obviously," explained Lady Gosper kindly.

Kit stifled a giggle.

"No, no, Maud, they are paintings
—a little risque, I have heard—painted by a sixteenth-century painter, Bronzino— an Italian chappie."

"What?"

"Bronzino
—an Italian painter. Dead now, of course."

The music swelled, the tenor poured his passionate heart out at full voice and Maud had a little trouble hearing.

"What, who's dead? Can't hear with all that dratted cat-erwaulin' goin' on," shouted Maud. "What happened to the fellow with the bronze statues?"

"Bronzino
—it's his name, dear," Hettie shouted back, just as the tenor finished. Her words echoed through the auditorium.

A ripple of laughter ran through in the audience.

Maud, relieved that the music had stopped for a moment, responded in disgust, “Oh, an Italian, I see. Big on art, the Italians. Went to Italy once
—paintings and statues all over
the place! Amazin'!" She cast a glance of misgiving at the tenor on stage. "I suppose he's Italian too."

"Yes, dear. He's very good, isn't he?" said Pearl. "Don't you agree?"

Maud pursed her lips and listened as he started the next song. "His tights are too dratted tight, that's what I think!"

Giggling, Kit returned to the marvellous spectacle that was the opera. The music was beautiful, the costumes magnificent. She felt wonderful; relaxed and at peace with the world.

Four compartments filled; only two to go.

The operatic heroine's maidservant was disguising her mistress as a boy. Kit watched critically; it was not at all convincing, but the poor creature was in desperate straits. Kit hoped the hero was blind.

There was a slight disturbance at the rear of the box. Another person had arrived, late. It was very fashionable to arrive late, apparently. Many of the boxes were only now filling up and yet the opera was well advanced. It was a waste, Kit thought. And a nuisance, for the new arrivals were quite unworried about disturbing people with their noise and chatter. Kit was entranced with the music and she wished people would be quiet. But it seemed the last thing people came to the opera for was the music. It was simply the fashionable place to be seen and the highlight of the event was the interval between acts, when everyone would visit each other's boxes.

"Miss Singleton, you seem pale," said a deep voice beside her.

Kit turned indignantly to shush him. "I am not in the least bit pale," she hissed. "Good evening, Mr Devenish." She turned back to the stage.

"She is looking quite ill," he stated. "It is the stuffiness

in here. I think I should take her outside for a breath of air. Miss Singleton, Lady Hester, what do you think?"

"Oh, indeed, yes. Take the gel outside," agreed Lady Hester instantly. "Can't have her faintin'."

Kit felt a firm, masculine hand on her forearm. Crossly, she shook it off. She wasn't the least bit ill and she wasn't going anywhere; she wanted to watch the opera.

He took her hand in a determined grip. "You are dizzy, perhaps. Let me help you to your feet, Miss Singleton."

Annoyed, Kit turned to him, equally determined he should do no such thing, but as she turned, she caught a glimpse of his expression. His eyes were glittering, his mouth tense and compressed. He was utterly furious. If she didn't go with him and listen to whatever he was clearly determined to say to her, he was clearly quite capable of having a loud quarrel with her right here, in public. And she didn't want that!

With bad grace she got to her feet and allowed him to lead her solicitously out of the box.

"I cannot think why you should
—" she began.

He silenced her with a curt look. Wordlessly he gripped her arm and hurried her into a corridor, up a flight of stairs, down another corridor and into a small room where a faded
chaise-longue
and a small table were the only furnishings.

"Sit down," he said grimly.

Kit rolled her eyes and sat down. At least this quarrel would be in private, she thought.

He loomed over her. "Now, perhaps you would care to explain!"

Kit stared at him, outraged. "You burst into Lady Hester's box and drag me off in the middle of the most beautiful opera
—I've never been to the opera before and I was enjoying it so much—under the most blatantly false pretext! And then you drag me, unchaperoned, down dusty corridors and up dark and narrow stairs to a room which is
obviously designed for illicit assignations and then you demand that I explain?"

He was not the slightest bit abashed.

"I have done nothing wrong. You, on the other hand, have!"

She arched her eyebrows haughtily.

He shook his head. "Oh, do not give me that look of false innocence. I know what you are about! There is no point in denying what you got up to last night!"

She looked vaguely puzzled. "Last night? The Baden rout? It was a little dull, and I do believe I accidentally spilled some ratafia over Sir Bartlemy Bowles, but it was an accident, I assure you. You cannot be so very angry with me over an accident, surely."

"I am not talking about Sir Bartlemy!" he said through gritted teeth. "You may tip a gallon of ratafia over him, for all I care! No, what I meant was
—"

"Really, what a splendid idea. I just might take you up on that generous offer," said Kit provocatively. "I'm sure when I explain to Sir Bartlemy that you gave me permission
—''

"Will you be serious!"

Kit regarded him warily. "Since I do not know what you are talking about
—"

"You know very well what I'm talking about!"

"But I do not!" she insisted! She was not going to admit a thing. He had not a shred of evidence, after all.

"The Brackboume House robbery."

"Brackbourne House?" she said vaguely. "Oh, yes, I heard Lady Hester and her friends discussing it. What a dreadful thing. Lady Gosper blames drunken Watchmen."

He didn't rise to her bait. "You and I know differently, don't we?"

She arched her eyebrow again, "Do we?"

"I suppose you have them packed away in some secret location."

Kit gave him a puzzled look. "The Watchmen?"

He swore. "Do not play games with me!"

"Well, as I have not the slightest idea what you are so out of reason cross about, I cannot help it! I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You are responsible for the Brackbourne House robbery!"

She gave a great gasp of amazed surprise. “I? What on earth would give you the idea that I did the Brackbourne House robbery?"

She laughed incredulously and clapped a hand theatrically to her forehead. "Oh, yes, that's right, I did! It slipped my mind for a moment. I clambered up a drainpipe
—or did I slip down the chimney? I forget which—and then ran off with Lord Brackbourne's bronze statues in my reticule!"

He made an impatient sound. "Oh, don't be ridiculous. You know perfectly well what was stolen. And I do not mean you did it yoursel
—" He looked at her in sudden suspicion, an arrested look in his eyes. "You didn't, did you?"

She laughed.

"No, I...I suppose not..." He didn't look convinced. 'At any rate, you organised it."

She gave him another look of amused disbelief.

"Or it was done at your instigation."

She gave another incredulous laugh. "Why on earth would I instigate such a thing?''

"Revenge on behalf of your father."

Kit forced herself not to react. He was most frightfully acute, the Watchdog.

"Revenge?
Whatever for?" She was tired of doing incredulous laughter so she shook her head. "It sounds like you have been watching too many stage melodramas to me, Mr Devenish. Which reminds me, I would very much like to return to the opera if you have finished accusing me of breaking into people's houses and stealing their statues
—"

"Paintings, blast it! You know perfectly well
—"

"I thought my first visit to the opera would be memorable, but I never could have imagined in what way! Imagine, hustled away from my chaperons on a pretext, dragged up shadowy corridors to a place of illicit encounters and accused of breaking and entering a lord's mansion and making off with his stat
—'' she caught his eye ''—paintings, all for the sake of some thrillingly antiquated notion of revenge! You know, it's better than the opera, only it does not sound so pretty!"

He stepped forward. "No, it does not sound pretty at all. does it?"

She pouted. "You misunderstand me."

"I understand you very well, minx. I am not the slightest bit deceived by your airy act of innocence, so you need not waste your play-acting on me! Listen well. You endanger yourself and others and I will not stand for it, understand me?"

Kit sighed like a spoiled schoolgirl.

Infuriated, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Listen, damn you! Don't you know what will happen if you are caught, you little fool? Do you wish to be hanged by your pretty neck? What have you done with the stuff Give it to me
—I'll make sure it is returned with no questions."

Kit's heart was pounding, but she managed to shrug coolly and say plaintively, "I still don't understand what you are talking about. What stuff?"

He shook her again. "Oh! You are infuriating! What the devil do you think this will do to your aunt? Have you thought of that, miss, have you?''

Kit felt a surge of guilty irritation. How dare he raise the question which had plagued and worried her most! Rose might not be a true relative, but Kit was coming to care for her as if she were. “My aunt is no business of yours, Mr Devenish. Now please let me go. You are making me very uncomfortable!"

"You are lucky I do not strangle you!"

"Let go of me this instant!"

"I will, as soon as you admit to me what you have done!"

"I admit nothing! What I do or don't do is no business of yours!"

"It
is
my business!" He gave her a little shake and glared at her furiously. His long, strong fingers slipped from her shoulders and curled around her upper arms in an unbreakable grip. She could feel the heat of his angry flesh burning through the thin fabric of her sleeves. It felt like she would be forever branded with his mark.

She started to panic a little, feeling out of her depth. She'd had people
—men—try to hold her against her will before, and she'd always been able to escape. She had many tricks up her sleeve, some of which Mr Devenish had experienced before, but she was oddly unwilling to use them. She twisted angrily, trying to pull away. “Let go of me, I said! I will not—"

"I'm not letting go of you until you tell me the truth!"

"The truth! The truth is you have dragged me here and you are holding me against my will."

" I will release you as soon as you admit what you have been doing." His voice deepened. "You can trust me, you know."

Even as she scoffed, a part of her wanted to tell him. It was a sacred promise to her papa. If he knew the whole -tory he would realise she was morally justified in what she had done.

But would he really understand?

No, he was a staid Englishman. The English revered property. What was that expression they had? Possession is nine-tenths of the law.

How would he understand? He would condemn her, as a criminal and a thief. He'd despise her. He'd look at her with contempt, as if she was as far beneath him as...as...

Better to leave him suspicious and steeped in uncertainty, than to confirm she was everything any decent English gentleman would despise.