Kathryn Smith (35 page)

Wynthrope managed a self-deprecating smile. “I do not trust easily.”

“Well then,” his brother said, elbowing him out of the way so he could enter the carriage first. “It’s about time you started, don’t you think?”

Wynthrope considered the suggestion as he followed him into the vehicle. Yes, it was time. Past time, in fact.

W
hen the summons came early the next morning for her to come to Bow Street, Moira’s heart very nearly stopped. What could Bow Street possibly want with her? Had some harm befallen Nathaniel again? Or was it Wynthrope? Had he been caught during a robbery? Had he turned himself in? Or, dear God, was he dead?

The idea of living in a world without him in it was inconceivable to her now. Even if things were never right between them, even if she never again in her life knew the sweetness of being held in his arms, she could not bear to think of him no longer existing. The pain of never seeing him again would be infinitely worse than seeing him and never being able to have him.

It was better not to think about it. It only made her chest ache and her eyes burn.

Perhaps this summons had nothing to do with him. That made more sense. Perhaps she herself had done something
wrong, although she had no idea what that might have been. She dressed quickly and dashed off a note to leave on the table for Minnie, letting her know where she had gone and that she would be back as soon as possible.

Her poor coachman looked as though he was still half asleep, as he was hardly ever called for service at this time of day. Moira apologized to him for the inconvenience and bade him to make haste to number three Bow Street.

By the time she reached her destination, her feet and fingers were nearly numb from the lack of warmth in the carriage. There had been no time to send for heated bricks, and the lap robe had been cold when she draped it over her. Her nose was frozen on her face and her teeth were chattering. She should have worn thicker stockings. She should have worn a wool gown and a fur-lined cloak, but she hadn’t thought of these things.

She must have looked quite a sight, judging from the reaction of the woman who met her in the open waiting area.

“You must be Lady Aubourn,” she said, cupping her shoulders with warm hands. “I am Mrs. Periwinkle, Mr. Reed’s new assistant. Though I’m more like a nanny than anything else.” She chuckled. “Let’s get you into the master’s office and warm you up.”

Moira couldn’t have moved her jaw to argue even if she had wanted. Her limbs were stiff and uncooperative as she allowed Mrs. Periwinkle to propel her toward a closed door to the side of the room. The plump, elderly woman knocked once, not bothering to wait until she was told to enter before doing so. She practically had to shove Moira into the room.

Ah, but it was warm in here. Already, Moira could feel it seeping through her clothes. The air was rich with the smell of coffee, and beneath that, smoke and beeswax. A man sat behind the massive scarred oak desk—a shrewd man with pale, watchful eyes.

But he was not the only man in the room, Moira noticed. There were others watching her as well. Brahm Ryland, Devlin Ryland, North Ryland, Leander Tyndale—what the devil was he doing there? And Wynthrope Ryland. He didn’t even offer his usual smirk.

Dear God, she had done something! Why else would they all be there? It was impossible, though. She had never broken a law in her life. Well, almost never.

A sudden, irrational thought occurred to her. Had Wynthrope accused her of some wrongdoing and convinced his brothers to stand with him against her? No. Wynthrope had done something awful to her, that was true, but he said he had his reasons and she wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe in him. More than that, a part of her
did
believe in him, and knew that he would never sink to such depths, especially not where she was concerned.

They all stood, and Mr. Reed gestured toward the one empty chair in the room. It was directly in front of his desk, with the other men flanking her on both sides. Nothing like making a lady feel as though she had no chance of escape.

“Please sit, Lady Aubourn. I apologize for inconveniencing you at this early hour. Would you care for some coffee?”

Coffee would be good. And hot. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Reed.”

She moved toward the chair, careful to avoid meeting Wynthrope’s gaze as she sat. “May I ask what this is all about?”

“Of course.” But the magistrate waited until Mrs. Periwinkle had handed Moira her cup and left the room before saying or doing anything else.

With the door closed, sealing them inside the warmth of the office, Mr. Reed opened the top drawer of his desk, reached in, and withdrew a very familiar-looking box. Moira frowned as she sipped at her coffee, both hands wrapped
around the cup for warmth. Was that what she thought it was?

“I believe this is yours, my lady.”

Moira was very much aware of Duncan Reed’s watchful gaze upon her. How best to act? She had not reported the tiara stolen, so it would not do to simply thank him.

She took the saucer from her lap and set it on his desk, then placed her cup on it. Trying her best to look nothing more than merely curious, she reached for the box and opened the lid.

It was the tiara, all right.

She raised her gaze to Reed’s even though she wanted to turn to Wynthrope for an explanation. “Where did you get this?”

Steepling his fingers beneath his chin, the magistrate regarded her with no emotion whatsoever. “It was found in the possession of a man we apprehended last evening.”

Last evening? Dear heaven, was that why Wynthrope was there as well? He had been captured? It took all her strength not to turn to him.

What did she do now? Admit to giving the tiara to Wynthrope or pretend innocence? Moira glanced at the sparkling gems and chose a less direct route. “How did you know it was mine?”

“Mr. Ryland, who aided in the apprehension, recognized it.”

Moira turned to North. “Thank you.” How had he managed it? Had Wynthrope tipped him off? Or had he caught his brother with it?

North smiled. “Oh, it wasn’t me. It was my brother.” He pointed at Wynthrope.

It was all she could do to hide her surprise. Wynthrope? Had he betrayed his partner to save himself just as he had betrayed her, or had this been his plan all along?

She cast him the briefest of glances, to look too long
would be to reveal her confusion. He simply gave her a casual tilt of his head. Instead, she turned her bewildered gaze back to Duncan Reed and waited for him to explain. She did not have to wait long.

“Apparently the thief tried to blackmail Mr. Ryland to steal your tiara or reveal your…
relationship
to the public. He immediately went to North here, and they concocted a plan to catch the spider in his own web.”

Moira resisted the urge to let her expression say exactly what she thought of
that
explanation. They hadn’t had a “relationship” until the night Wynthrope tried to rob her. He had lied to Bow Street, and now he had brought North into his little scheme as well. Was North completely innocent, or did he know about his brother’s criminal past? And just what the devil were all four of the Ryland brothers doing there?

She turned to Wynthrope with a hurt expression that was more sincere than she would have liked. “You might have told me of your plans.”

He shrugged. “I did not want to risk your safety, my dear.”

His dear. Butter wouldn’t melt in this man’s mouth. Moira hated being part of this deception, but she couldn’t reveal the truth, not with all these people present. She didn’t want to risk saying anything that might put North in an uncomfortable situation. Octavia was her friend, and she would do anything to spare her from discomfort. Her own discomfort she could live with, at least until she could get Wynthrope alone and demand an explanation.

She didn’t bother responding to Wynthrope’s false endearments, but turned to Leander instead. “And why are you here, Lord Aubourn?” It felt so strange calling him by his title, but in public it was the socially expected thing.

Leander flushed to the roots of his fair hair. “For some reason, the thief claimed that I had hired him to steal the tiara.”

As ludicrous as it sounded, there was something in Leander’s tone that gave Moira pause. Had he been the one to hire Wynthrope and his crony? No, it couldn’t be. He would never want to hurt her or Nathaniel, never. But he might not have been able to control what his hirelings did on his behalf.

Still, it didn’t make sense. Why not just ask her for the tiara? He had known her for years, there would be no need for such deceit.

Moira looked at Mr. Reed. “That is simply ridiculous. The viscount is family. If he wanted the tiara, he would have asked me for it. Wouldn’t you, my lord?”

Leander shifted slightly in his chair, but he met her gaze with a direct one of his own. “Why would I ask for something that means so much to you?”

Meant so much to her? It was an adornment, for heaven’s sake! It wasn’t as though Tony had crafted it himself. Besides, as the new viscount, didn’t Leander have a right to it? It wasn’t part of the jewel collection that belonged to the title, but the tiara had been in Leander and Tony’s family for years. He certainly had more of a claim to it than she did. And there was something so strange in his demeanor…

Dear heavens, was everyone in this room something other than what he seemed?

Yes, there was something odd afoot here. Something far stranger than Wynthrope claiming to have found the tiara or suddenly being in cahoots with Bow Street. Perhaps that had been the secret he had felt he couldn’t reveal to her, that he wasn’t a criminal after all, but a champion of sorts.

Perhaps she was clutching at straws.

Her head was beginning to ache. “I do appreciate your recovering the tiara for me, Mr. Reed.”

The magistrate held up his hands. “Do not thank me. I simply made certain my men were on hand to make the arrest. Thanks belongs to Mr. Ryland here.”

Moira gazed at Wynthrope. Her expression was carefully schooled, but she knew the disappointment had not entirely vanished from her eyes. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

To his credit, Wynthrope darkened at her words, as good as admitting to her that he didn’t deserve the sentiment. As much as she wanted to believe he was innocent, as much as she wanted to forgive him, there was a part of her that balked at thanking him. What was she thanking him for? Trying to steal her tiara, only to return it? Or for breaking her heart and not trusting her enough to tell her why? All she had wanted was more of an explanation.

All she wanted was to know that he was sorry. He had already made some gestures that were far grander, but had yet to ask for her forgiveness. She didn’t want the damn tiara. She wanted him to feel as horrible as she did, and she wanted him to promise to never hurt her like this again.

She wanted him to be the man she knew he could be, and not the one he seemed determined to continue presenting to the world. That Wynthrope wasn’t a man, he was merely armor, and he certainly wasn’t the man she had adored.

Her attention returned to the man behind the desk. “Is there anything else you require of me, Mr. Reed? I am afraid I have a very busy agenda this morning.” That wasn’t a total lie. She did have many things to do, such as shopping for Minnie’s wedding and planning the betrothal party. Everything had to be perfect—not just for Minnie, but for their mother. Mama would be the first person to find fault with any of the preparations, and the last thing Moira wanted or needed right now was her mother telling her what a disappointment she was.

“No,” Reed replied. “Thank you for coming in, Lady Aubourn. You as well, Lord Aubourn. Both of you are free to go.”

But not the Ryland brothers. As much as Moira would
have liked to corner Wynthrope and demand an explanation, it was going to have to wait—if she ever received one at all. If he thought returning the tiara was enough to placate her, he really didn’t know her at all.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said to the brothers and the magistrate, singling out no one in particular. Let Wynthrope think she was as unmoved by the whole situation as he was. Let him think whatever he wanted. At this point she was so unsure of what to believe, it might be safer to believe in nothing.

The men all stood and wished her a good day. Wynthrope’s voice was low and personal, and Moira cringed at the sound of it. He was still playing at being her lover for Reed’s benefit, not for hers. She ignored him.

Outside the office, she took the arm Leander offered her and strode to the exit beside him. She waited until they were outside, the noise of the city bustling around them before speaking. They stood beside her carriage. His was parked just ahead.

“Leander, may I speak to you?”

He turned to her, his brow knitted with concern. “Of course.”

How to phrase this? She had to be delicate or risk insulting him. “Tony gave me many things that I will always treasure, but this”—she held up the box—“is not one of them. I am not insinuating anything, nor do I ask you for a reply at this time, especially given the fact that we are still very much in plain sight of Mr. Reed’s office, but if this tiara is something that you would like to call your own, you may call on me this evening to claim it. I ask nothing but answers in return, after which we will never speak of this again.”

He stared at her, his expression a strange mixture of horror, bewilderment, and relief. It had been he, of that Moira was now certain. He was the one who hired Wynthrope—or
his associate. Strangely, that made her heart sink more than the realization that Leander was inadvertently responsible for what had happened to Nathaniel.

Leander’s mouth opened, but Moira cut him off before he could say anything. “Do not say anything now. If you want this box, then come to my house this evening. If not, I will put it back in my safe with the rest of my jewelry, and there it will sit until I feel like taking it out again.” Which would be never. She would never wear the tiara again without thinking of Wynthrope and all the heartbreak he brought with him. She would rather not wear it than think of him every time she did.

And she would rather Leander simply take it than hire someone to try to steal it again. Even if that never happened, she would spend the rest of her life waiting for it, probably distrusting anyone who showed the least bit of interest in her.

Or anyone who warned her about a thief being on the loose. Both Leander and Wynthrope had done that.