To Love a Thief (3 page)

He took her waist and clasped her hand as he swept her into the music. His touch was light and gentle. Comforting.

Comforting?

She was not about to think of this gentleman as anything other than a potential adversary. Not given his acquaintances. Best to get to the bottom of that, then. “Lord Carlyle, how do you know Lord and Lady Aldridge?”

He turned his powerful gaze upon her again. Goodness, but she could stare at his eyes for an unseemly amount of time. She refocused on his shoulder.

“Perhaps you know I’m relatively new to Society?” he asked. “I only inherited the viscountcy within the past few years. Before that I was, ah, not raised as a viscount’s son. Lord Aldridge has been kind enough to help me adjust to my new role. Indeed, I don’t know where I’d be today without his assistance and generosity.”

Oh, dear. That was quite a bit more than acquaintances. “He’s a close friend, then?”

“More like a relative, actually. I had a loving father, God rest his soul, but I suppose Lord Aldridge has behaved in that capacity for some time. Yes, I daresay he’s been rather parental in his care and solicitation.”

And with that, her
potential
adversary became her Adversary. How unfortunate, because she really could have lost herself in his eyes.

Chapter Two

DANIEL CARLYLE had struggled to participate in the game of courtship in London Society. Now that he had a title, he attracted simpering young women who sought to gain his name and newfound fortune. He’d yet to meet one with whom he could converse without cringing or whom he cared to actually court. Until Miss Renwick had stepped on his foot.

Instead of gasping in horror and bemoaning her clumsiness, she’d looked at him with curiosity as if wondering where he’d suddenly come from. She hadn’t even apologized. And for that he considered dropping to his knee and proposing marriage immediately.

Her heart-shaped face was averted from him now, but he’d already memorized the delicate arch of her cheekbones, the saucy tilt of her nose, the luscious sweep of her lips, and the errant lock of light brown hair that nudged the perfect outer shell of her ear. But most of all, he wanted to see her intelligent hazel eyes look at him again with that curiosity that made him want to answer every question that tripped off her tongue. If he could. And if he couldn’t, why he’d find the answer and deliver it to her on a silver platter.

Oh, for the love of God, he wasn’t the least bit romantic, so what the hell was wrong with him? He gave himself an internal shake and promptly missed the dance step, nearly mashing
her
foot into the parquet.

“Sorry,” he said, not for the first time annoyed with his lack of polish. Over two years he’d been studying how to be a viscount, and he still wasn’t nearly good enough.

She glanced up at him, and he decided right then he’d step on her toes as many times as necessary to keep her spectacular gaze focused on him and not his shoulder or some object behind him. “It’s quite all right,” she murmured. And then she went back to looking into the distance.

She was a tiny thing; the top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest and her waist was incredibly narrow. He had the sense that his hand could span half the circumference, but of course he couldn’t verify that without completely overstepping.

He searched for an appropriate compliment. “Miss Renwick, may I say you are lovelier than the flowers adorning this ballroom?” He tried not to visibly cringe at how inane that sounded.

Her gaze lifted once more, and Daniel couldn’t help but smile, despite his lackluster flattery. He’d met dozens and dozens of marriageable females, but he’d yet to meet one that looked at him as she did. Like he was a full-blooded man with layers to unfold. Like he was more than just Lord Carlyle. Like he was simply Constable Daniel Carlyle again.

She blinked, fluttering ink-dark lashes. “And what flowers would those be, my lord? There are quite a few varieties in this ballroom.”

Caught
. “You’ve shamed me, Miss Renwick, for I can’t name a single one.” He’d been born and bred in London and had never taken the time to differentiate daisies from lilies.

“Not one?” she asked, her eyes widening. “You must know a rose when you see one?”

“I might, but I don’t think there’s one in this ballroom, so that doesn’t help me. However, I
can
recognize a beauty far greater than a rose. Surely that is a superior skill,” he countered, hoping he’d managed to turn a poetic phrase.

She laughed. Perhaps he’d been too hasty regarding his poeticism.

“You
are
new at this,” she said, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Dreadfully.” Despite his lack of refinement, he was thoroughly enjoying their exchange and hoped she was too. “You won’t hold it against me, will you?”

She canted her head to the side. “That depends. Why don’t you know anything about flowers? You have a country house, don’t you?”

“Yes, in northwestern Essex.” A two-hundred-acre estate he’d inherited with the title. But he’d spent the past two years learning how to manage the tenants and the various business interests of the previous viscount. Defining flower varieties had never once come up. “However, I employ a gardener.” Or rather, the former viscount had employed one and so far, Daniel had seen no reason to replace any of the retainers. Indeed, he’d be quite lost without them. “I have to admit I’m more comfortable here in London.”

“An inclination we share, my lord. I’ve only been to London a few times, but I am always saddened to return to Kent.”

He was hoping for a bit more information about her situation. She wasn’t married and was acting as a companion, yet wasn’t old enough to be on the shelf—or so he surmised based on his limited experience in Society. He assumed she was without family, but didn’t wish to pry if she wasn’t of a mind to share. Perhaps he should share first. “My father would’ve learned the flowers. He would’ve made a far better viscount.”

A pained expression flickered in her eyes. “How long ago did you lose your father?”

“Just over three years now.” Edward Carlyle had been an excellent barrister and had been appointed magistrate at Marlborough Street. He’d been poised for an appointment in the Home Office when he’d suddenly taken ill and died. Yes, he would’ve filled the role of viscount with ease.

She gave a commiserative nod. “I lost mine two years ago.”

They fell quiet as they turned about the dance floor. Daniel wanted to smooth the creases from her brow and coax her lips into a smile. Perhaps with his mouth…

“Why aren’t you a very good viscount?” Her question saved him from pursuing lascivious thoughts, a thoroughly inappropriate endeavor in the center of a ballroom and proof yet again he was a terrible addition to the peerage. “What did you do before?”

“I was a constable in Queen Square.”

Her head perked up. “The magistrate’s office?”

He nodded. “I grew up exposed to the law. My father was a barrister, but instead of following in his footsteps I went directly to work for the magistrate.”

Her eyes widened, and the curiosity burning there increased until they fairly sparked with excitement. “You caught criminals?”

“Yes.” And he’d been good at it. While he appreciated the opportunity to promote police and prison reform from within the House of Lords, he missed chasing down a petty thief or hunting an embezzler.

“Like a Bow Street Runner?” She couldn’t take her eyes off him now.

He stood straighter. “Much the same, yes.” He couldn’t discern the purpose of her unveiled interest. Did she romanticize the occupation? Some women did, and they were not women Daniel cared to know.

She gave him her full attention, and he couldn’t detect a wistful quality to her gaze. On the contrary, she looked quite purposeful and serious. “Perhaps you can help me with a legal problem. Some of my family’s treasures were stolen two years ago. Bow Street never found the thieves or the items. However, I’ve recently seen one of them and would like to have the person in possession of the item questioned.”

Daniel tried to focus on the steps of the waltz as his blood surged with excitement. How he loved a good case to solve. But unfortunately that wasn’t his occupation any longer. “You should visit Bow Street again and ask them to speak to this person. Or you could speak to a solicitor who could represent you in this matter. I would recommend my good friend Mr. Jeremy Bates.”

Her eyes lit—they were so wonderfully expressive. “Thank you. I shall schedule an appointment with Mr. Bates at once.” She paused, and her eyes darkened slightly. “Forgive me, but I’m a bit leery of approaching Bow Street. I don’t believe they spent much time on our case, but then we had to leave London so quickly when my father fell ill after the robbery.”

He couldn’t help but think that if Queen Square had taken the case, they would’ve caught the thieves. “My apologies, Miss Renwick. That must have been a most difficult time. If I may be of any service in recovering your stolen property, I ask that you call upon me.”

“Thank you, my lord. I may do just that.”

He hoped so.

FOUR days later, Jocelyn sat in the office of Mr. Jeremy Bates, solicitor. Possessed of a kind countenance and a thick frame, he’d greeted her heartily and invited her to sit before his massive oak desk. He looked like someone who could protect you, which was precisely what Jocelyn wanted.

Seated behind his desk, he folded his hands atop a sheaf of papers, beside which was poised a pen and inkwell. He sat forward in his chair, prepared to listen intently. “How may I help you today, Miss Renwick?”

Jocelyn was pleased to have secured this appointment so quickly after Lord Carlyle had recommended Mr. Bates. Eager to share her problem, she too sat forward, clutching her reticule in her lap with both hands. “Two years ago, several of my family heirlooms were stolen from our town house. Bow Street was unable to recover the items or determine who stole them. They attributed the theft to one of the gangs of thieves who prey upon townhomes in Mayfair.”

Mr. Bates nodded. “I’m familiar with such gangs. Go on.”

“Several days ago I spotted one of the items—a pendant that belonged to my mother—on Lady Aldridge and when I asked Lord Aldridge where he obtained the necklace, he was rather rude and insisted—”

“Excuse me,” Mr. Bates interrupted. “You questioned Lord Aldridge about this?” His tone was incredulous.

Jocelyn blinked at him, momentarily thrown by his reaction. “Yes. As I was saying, he insisted the pendant had been in
his
family, which is patently absurd.”

“Wait.” Mr. Bates held up his hand and then laid his palm flat against the top of his desk. “Isn’t it possible you’re mistaken about the necklace?”

Jocelyn expected this reaction and schooled her features to reflect a calm she didn’t feel. The more she thought about the pendant—and she’d had plenty of opportunity over the past several days—the angrier she got. “I’m not at all mistaken. It’s a singular piece, commissioned specifically by my father for my mother.”

Mr. Bates frowned. His index finger began a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on his desktop. “He said it had been in his family?”

“That’s correct. However, he’s the one who’s mistaken. I suggested he was confused, that perhaps he purchased the necklace without realizing it was stolen.”

Mr. Bates’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

“I most certainly did.” She was beginning to grow annoyed with Mr. Bates’s reactions. Yes, she’d questioned Lord Aldridge, and she didn’t regret doing so. “That necklace belongs to
me
. I wore it at my debut ball. I should think I would recognize something I’ve seen in my mother’s jewelry box my entire life.” A box that had been left to her upon her mother’s death nine years ago, when Jocelyn was just fourteen.

“I see.” He gave her a sympathetic smile, then pressed his lips together. “However, you must understand, you can’t simply go around accusing earls of harboring stolen property. Especially not Lord Aldridge.”

She felt heat climbing her neck and worked to keep her temper in check. “Why not? He was defensive and became agitated when I asked him about the pendant. It was most suspicious.”

Mr. Bates’s fingertip stilled. “Why have you come to see me today?”

She loosened her grip on her reticule in an effort to ease some of her tension, but her back stayed ramrod straight. “I would like to recover my property. I want you to ask Lord Aldridge to return it, and if he refuses, I want to prosecute him for its theft.”

Mr. Bates slowly leaned back in his chair. “Miss Renwick, have you any notion the trouble this could cause you, or the expense? No, I'm sure you do not, or you wouldn’t have asked. Lord Aldridge is an earl. Furthermore, he promotes police reform and seeks to eliminate crime in London. The idea that he would steal anything is absurd.”

Jocelyn wasn’t sure she could see Lord Aldridge behaving in an altruistic manner, but then her opinion of him was quite ruined due to his deceitful claim regarding the necklace. “Then I should think he’d be doubly pleased to see justice served. And since he’s clearly in possession of stolen property, he should want to track down the thieves who stole it from me.”