Anne Stuart (36 page)

But he’d never been interested in politics, and his family had intermarried with the Sassenachs so often that half the time he didn’t know whether he was Scots or English. His father had supported the Pretender in his fight for the throne, but discreetly enough that in the ensuing debacle he’d still managed
to retain his lands and his fortune. And Alistair, watching the workings of political maneuverings from a cynical distance, had nothing but contempt for both sides.

Snatching the crown that Bonnie Prince Charlie had so coveted was an amusing notion when he’d first thought of it. But by the time he stood alone in the darkened storeroom at the very edge of Tower Green, the torch in his hand illuminating the bright gold of the jewels, he was beginning to find that nothing amused him at all anymore.

Several of the crowns were already denuded—as if a magpie or a discerning thief had been there before him. He’d heard rumors that some of the jewels were merely hired for the occasion, and this seemed to prove him right. He picked up a particularly delicate crown studded with pearls and great empty places that should have held sapphires at the very least. He dropped it back into the crate, then picked up another, a jewel-studded coronet that had probably sat atop German George’s wig. He grinned at the notion, slipping it into the bag at his feet.

His grin vanished at the scraping sound coming from the far end of the room. It might possibly be a live rat. It might also be the human variety.

He rather hoped so. This was all dismally tame, and he found himself wishing he’d stayed in bed with Jessamine. Not that she would have let him. He’d managed to get past her defenses twice, but it was unlikely he’d manage it again.

“
You don’t really want to be doing that, your lordship.”

Robert Brennan stepped out of the shadows. He had a small gun trained at Alistair’s heart, and Alistair had no doubts about his ability to use it.

“
Call me Alistair,” he said blandly. “There’s no need for formality.”

“
Put the crown down nice and easy. You don’t want to be
damaging a bit of England’s heritage, now, do you?”

“
I don’t know if I’d call it England’s heritage,” Alistair drawled. “After all, none of this is much more than a hundred years old. Cromwell had all the old stuff melted down.”

“
I remember my history, your lordship.”

“
How did you happen to find me? Not that I made it that difficult, but the thief-takers have been alarmingly obtuse during my short, colorful career. I was expecting much more of a challenge from you all.”

“
You weren’t my concern,” Brennan said. “Someone who pilfers baubles from people who can well afford to lose them isn’t likely to cause me to lose any sleep. But when you threaten the very treasure of England, and murder a good man in the bargain, then I have to take notice.”

He’d managed to jar Alistair out of his mocking complacency. “I didn’t murder anyone!” he snapped. “Unless you’re talking about Isolde Plumworthy’s majordomo, but I’d consider that more of a boon to society than a crime.”

“
I’m talking about Sammy Welch. A good friend of mine.”

“
I didn’t murder your Mr. Welch,” Alistair said haughtily. “I’d have neither the stomach for it nor the reason.”

Brennan peered at him for a moment, then nodded. “No,” he said. “I didn’t really think you had. But I wanted to make certain. You’ll be coming with me, your lordship. Sir John would like a word with you.”

“
Told him I was coming, did you? How’d he take to the notion of hanging a peer of the realm?” He picked up one of the heavy ceremonial maces, fondling it affectionately.

“
I haven’t had a chance to speak with Sir John. He doesn’t know who you are.”

Alistair lifted the heavy mace, holding it in both hands. “Then I still have a fighting chance,” he said. “If I killed you, no one would know what I’d been doing. I could get away with
it. And I must confess, my friend, that I do very much want to get away with it. To prove to myself that I can walk away from the Tower of London with one of the royal crowns in my satchel.”

“
You could try to kill me,” Brennan said. “Though I should tell you I’m not a man who’s easily killed. And my wife wouldn’t like it above half. Nor would her sister.”

“
I hadn’t realized you were married.”

“
Today, sir.”

“
I offer you my felicitations,” Alistair said politely. “Who’s the lucky bride?”

“
Fleur Maitland.”

“
Oh,” said Alistair. He glanced at the mace. It would be a simple enough matter to fling it at Brennan’s head and then duck to avoid being shot. Whether he could manage to duck in time was questionable, but it might be worth a try.

However, then he’d have to finish off the Bow Street runner. And Brennan was right, Jessamine would be most displeased with him. For some reason, Jessamine’s pleasure seemed of utmost importance.

It was probably because he’d made the very grave, unthinkable mistake of falling in love with her. Trapped in a cavernous storeroom with a gun trained on his heart, he was suddenly unable to avoid that wretched conviction any longer. It was difficult to lie to yourself when you were staring death in the face.

“
Then I suppose I can’t kill you,” Alistair said pleasantly, dropping the mace back into the crate with a loud crash.

“
I’d advise against it, sir.”

“
Pity,” he murmured. “This theft would have been a glorious escapade. A fitting cap to my criminal career.”

“
Your escapades are done, my lord.”

“
I rather suspect you are right,” Alistair said sadly. There
was a shadow against the far wall, behind Brennan. A shadow that was definitely moving. “Then again, you might possibly be mistaken.”

“
I beg your pardon?”

“
I have a confederate.”

Brennan glanced around, only for a moment, but it was enough. The mace made a satisfying thunk as it connected with Brennan’s well-padded skull, and he went down in a large, untidy heap.

Jessamine stormed across the room in a flurry of rose-colored silk, falling at Brennan’s side. “If you’ve killed him...” she said fiercely.

“
I haven’t.” He dropped the mace. “He’s a Yorkshireman—they have very hard heads. What are you doing here, Jessamine? And where the hell is Freddie?”

“
Freddie’s sitting in a boat beneath Traitor’s Gate, freezing his hindquarters off. And I’m here to stop you, of course.”

“
Of course,” Alistair said faintly. “You’re abominably difficult to get rid of, my pet.”

She looked up at him through the shadows. “Are you so very certain you want to get rid of me?”

He couldn’t meet that steady gaze. Instead, he glanced back into the crate, poking among the glittering gold with a desultory hand. “Jessamine, I care for nothing and no one. Haven’t I succeeded in proving that to you?”

“
No.”

“
I’m a thief. A conscienceless, arrogant wastrel with nothing useful to do with my time. Why don’t you marry Freddie? He’s pleasant, amenable, and while his fortune isn’t large, it’s a great deal better than what you’re currently living on.”

“
I don’t want to marry Freddie.”

“
Not even knowing it would annoy Ermintrude Winters exceedingly?” he said.

“
I don’t want to marry anyone.”

That startled him. “Not even me?”

“
I don’t want to be a widow,” she said. “I don’t want to stand at your gallows and weep.”

“
Then stand at my gallows and dance,” he suggested cheerfully.

She rose, glaring at him. “I hate you.”

“
Of course you do, my pet. I truly wish I could say I return the sentiment. Is your brother-in-law beginning to rouse? I expect I didn’t hit him as hard as I should have.”

“
Yes,” she said. “Put the crown back and run, Alistair. You can make it out of the country before they catch you. What possible benefit could there be in dying?”

“
None,” he said. “Unless I’d get to see whether you’d really cry for me.”

“
I’ve cried too much for you already.”

He reached down and picked up the satchel. It was light, with only the denuded crown within, but it was good enough. “Why?” he asked, curiosity stalling his escape.

“
Because I love you, you monstrously selfish, arrogant fop!” she shouted at him.

He didn’t move. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I am not a fop.”

At her feet Brennan groaned, beginning to move. “Would you please leave!” she begged him, and he could see those tears in her eyes. “Take the crowns, take every damned thing, but just escape before—”

“
Too late.” Josiah Clegg stepped out of the shadows. “Lovely little party we have here. All nice and friendly like.” He looked down at Brennan, then kicked him with his sharp-toed boot. “Did you kill him?”

“
He’s just unconscious,” Jessamine said. “Mr. Clegg, you must realize that Alistair—”

“
Shut yer face, Miss Maitland,” Clegg said pleasantly. “I’ll be shutting it for you before long, but if you want to spend a few more minutes on this earth, then you’ll go over there and sit down quietly while I deal with his lordship.”

“
What are you going to do with me, Clegg?” Alistair asked.

“
Why, kill you, your lordship. And me old pal Brennan as well. Can’t have anyone taking credit for yer capture, now, can I?”

“
And Miss Maitland?”

“
Ah, Miss Maitland. I’ll give her a taste of what she’s been begging for. And then I’ll cut her throat.”

Twenty-Four

Jessamine backed away from him, stumbling over a pile of old tools and antique weaponry, but Josiah Clegg had already dismissed her. That had always been Josiah Clegg’s failing, she thought. He couldn’t believe a woman could pose any threat to him.

“
I think I’ll shoot you in the head. It makes a great bloody mess, but it’s very satisfying. I’ve never had the chance to kill a lord before. I think I’ll enjoy it.”

Brennan groaned again, and in the shadows Jessamine could see him struggle to sit up. Clegg turned to sneer at him, enjoying himself. “Of course you’re a different matter, Robbie boy. I’ve killed plenty of your sort, so there’s not much challenge in it. I could shoot you in the crackers. I’m going to tell them his bleedin’ lordship did it, of course, and who would expect an earl to have decent aim?” He chuckled, advancing toward his dazed colleague with malicious glee.

“
No need to kill him,” Alistair drawled. “It’s me you want. Why bother with Brennan?”

“
Because I don’t likes to share,” Clegg said with a raspy chuckle. “And I enjoy killing.” He raised his gun, aiming it directly at Brennan’s groin.

Jessamine scrambled to her feet, grabbing the first metal thing she could find and brandishing it threateningly. It looked like an old ax of some sort. “Leave him alone,” she said, moving toward him.

It distracted him for one crucial moment. In the blink of an eye Alistair reached into the crate in front of him and sent a golden object winging toward Clegg’s head. Brennan rolled out of the way, ducking under a pile of rubbish, but the golden mace only glanced off Clegg’s forehead, falling to the dirt floor with a noisy clatter.

“
Bitch,” Clegg said, no longer interested in his first two victims. “Bleedin’ whore. I’ll take care of you first, and let the others watch.”

“
Keep away from me,” she screamed.

She could hear Alistair scrambling behind her. “You want me,” he said, his voice desperate. “Leave her alone.”

“
Make me, boy-o.” He made the fatal mistake of turning his back on Jessamine. “You can’t stop me in time, and I’m going to put a bullet right between her lovely little—”

Jessamine hoisted the heavy tool over her head, shut her eyes, and slammed it at him as hard as she could. The weight of it threw her off balance. She could feel a solid chunk as it landed, and then she went tumbling to the floor as the weapon took on a life of its own.

For a moment all was eerily silent. Jessamine struggled to her knees, peering through the ill-lit darkness as Alistair suddenly loomed large.

“
Holy Mother of God,” he said softly. “Remind me never to annoy you when you’re near a weapon, dear heart.”

“
Did I kill him?” she asked, aghast. She could see Clegg’s legs sticking out from behind a crate, motionless.

“
I’d say so,” Alistair murmured.

Brennan had managed to rise to his feet. He was bleeding from the blow to his head, and his color was an ashen green. “Thoroughly,” he said.

Jessamine rose, starting to move around the crate to get a better look at her fallen nemesis, when Alistair stopped her with an arm around her waist. “I don’t think you want to see, my pet. Do you have any idea what you flung at him?”

“
No, I was just trying to stop him.”

Brennan reached down and picked up a double-sided ax that was ominously dark on one side. “It’s a headman’s ax,” he said. “Still quite sharp.”

“
I never realized you had Tudor blood in you, my precious,” Alistair said.

“
You mean I...?”