To Trust a Thief (5 page)

“Oh, sir, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry… I—”

He released her. “I wear the gloves to protect the delicate sensibilities of innocent young girls.”

His words hit Min like shards of glass. The music ceased and she became aware of a dozen pairs of eyes locked on them.

Mr. Westley’s face cleared and he turned a dazzling smile to the rest of the girls. “I think that will be all for today.” He strode out the door, his boots echoing in the silent room.

As the students left, the corridors were abuzz with excited voices, each exclaiming how exciting, handsome, and wonderful Mr. Westley was. Charlotte immediately turned to Min, who filled her in on their conversation.

“Well, I guess that solves the mystery, doesn’t it? He is a definite improvement over Mr. Larsen, I will give him that. It’s about time we had an instructor who was at least born in this century. I’ll wager he’s not a day over twenty-two. Our classmates will be clobbering one another for the chance to dance with him. And you are the lucky lady who won the first dance.”

“Hardly lucky.”

“What did you say to him? For a moment there he seemed quite cross. Are you all right?”

Min looped her arm through her friend’s, her heart sinking into her boots. “Fine. Just…” She sighed. “I asked him why he wore gloves. It upset him.”

“Why?”

“Don’t be so eager to hear all the sordid details.” Min glanced up and down the halls, making sure the other girls were occupied with their own conversations before she described Mr. Westley’s injuries.

“Oh my.”

“I know it was unforgivably rude of me. But he just held me so close, and I was being my usual clumsy self, and my mind drew a blank and…it just came out.”

Charlotte smiled and gave her a quick hug. “Oh, it’s not so bad. In fact, I think Mr. Westley was quite taken with you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did he ask anyone else questions about their Christian names? Did he stand for a full five minutes holding someone else’s hand? And who was the first to dance with him?”

“Yes, but—”

“He was taken with you,” Charlotte insisted.

“More like he was scrutinizing the competition.”

“Ha!”

Min shrugged. “Even if he’s not a murdering thief, and he very well may be, he’s an instructor. I’m a student.”

“What of it? Your mother married
her
teacher.”

Min’s head jerked in surprise. She had forgotten that fact for a moment. “Yes, but she had to give up everything to do it. Being married by a ship’s captain while running away from your home and family doesn’t sound like the best solution to me. They love each other, yes. But…” Min huffed in frustration. “It doesn’t matter, Charlotte. At worst, he’s dangerous competition I can ill afford. At best, he’s a mildly attractive gentleman who is trying to ingratiate himself with his new students. Besides, I’ve already made a more…suitable match.”

“Right.” Charlotte smiled and put an arm around her. “Well, that settles it, then. Let’s go for a walk in the gardens, shall we?”

Min looked behind her as Charlotte steered her down the hall. Mr. Westley stood in the doorway of the salon, rubbing his maimed hand. His eyes burned into hers until she turned the corner, out of his sight.

Chapter Six

Hanging out with a bunch of dead people in the middle of the night was
not
Min’s idea of a good time. But as the locket’s map seemed to lead to the Courtland family cemetery, it was a good place to start. She just hoped Arthur would hurry. Min settled onto a bench behind the marble wall of a mausoleum, wrapping her cloak tightly about her. The back of the mausoleum offered surprisingly good protection from the cold breeze blustering around the headstones, but it was still chilly.

She pulled the book out of her pocket and huddled over the lantern, trying to ignore the creepy setting. She’d read through it dozens of times, but maybe she’d missed something.

“Min.”

She jumped, stifling a yelp. “Charlotte. For crying out loud, you scared me half to death. How did you find me out here?”

“Sorry,” Charlotte said, her tone anything but apologetic. “I followed you. What on earth are you doing? It’s the middle of the night! And you’re sitting in a cemetery!”

“I’m reading.”

“Reading? You stole out in the dark of night to come do a little light reading? Here?”

“Well, I didn’t want the candlelight to wake you.”

“Very funny. Don’t tell me. More necklace intrigue?”

Before Min could answer, a dark shadow crept from the corner of the mausoleum. Charlotte shrieked.

“Oh hush.” Min grabbed her friend’s hand and yanked her down on the marble slab. “It’s just Arthur.”

Arthur stopped short when he saw Min was not alone. “Oh. I, ah… Excuse me…”

Charlotte frowned. “Dr. Carmichael. How very strange to meet you out here.”

“Miss K-Kensington,” Arthur stammered, starting to back up, “this isn’t… I wasn’t expecting…”

“Obviously. I’m apparently intruding. Not what I’d call the most romantic of locations for the two of you—”

“Oh, good grief.” Min jumped up and pulled Arthur into the light of her lantern. “Charlotte,” Min said, turning a stern gaze on her friend, “he is helping me search for the necklace. There is nothing else going on here.”

Charlotte turned an incredulous gaze on Arthur. “Why would you be helping her with this crazy scheme? You actually agreed to meet her in the middle of the night, in a cemetery of all places, to search for some nonexistent treasure?”

“It’s not nonexistent!” Min and Arthur both protested. Min opened her mouth to argue further but sat back with a frown and allowed Arthur to continue.

“And I have my reasons for helping her. None of which I am required to explain to you.”

“Well, you obviously don’t care as much for her as you pretend to,
Dr
. Carmichael. If you did you wouldn’t have agreed to meet her out in a creepy old cemetery, in the dead of night, risking her reputation, and possibl—”

“You think it’s better for her to roam around alone? And don’t you think for a moment she won’t. At least with me here she’s got some protection—”

“Protection? I should just march right back to the manor and tell Lady Courtland what’s been going on. You think that—”

“Enough!” Min shouted. Arthur and Charlotte turned twin looks of exasperation in her direction. “Charlotte, Arthur would never do anything to hurt me, so you aren’t going to tell my aunt or anyone else. And Arthur.” She took a deep breath. “Charlotte is my best friend. I’d trust her with my life, and I’m tired of lying to her. Just tell her the truth.”

Arthur’s glare faded as he stared at Min. Then he sighed and slumped onto the bench. He rubbed his hands over his face, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I would marry Min in a heartbeat if she’d have me, but for the moment, our engagement is one of convenience. She needed to appease her aunt, and I wanted my grandmother to know I was settled before she died. As for the necklace, I’d have helped Min find it no matter what. However, as it stands, I need it as well. I ran into a bit of trouble with Lord Rellik. A small gambling matter that got out of hand. I owe him a great deal of money and if I don’t pay him soon, he’ll take everything. My clinic. My house. Everything.”

“But you don’t really believe the necklace exists, do you?”

“Yes, I do.” Arthur straightened and pulled a silver chain out of his pocket. The locket glinted in the faint lamplight. “My grandmother gave me this.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch as Arthur explained the locket’s significance.

“As interesting as that may be, it doesn’t help you find the necklace,” Charlotte said.

“I know there’s not much to go on,” Min conceded, her excitement deflating. “But Mrs. Carmichael confirmed that the necklace is real. And that Edward did have a mistress who wore this locket. If that much of the story is true, then the rest must be as well. Which means the map must lead to the necklace.”

“Is that what you’re doing out here? Checking graves for stolen necklaces?”

Min and Arthur looked at each other and then back at Charlotte, but they remained silent.

Charlotte stood, her gaze flicking between them. “You’re both insane.” She shook her head and turned back toward the manor. “I’m going back to bed. Don’t get caught.”

“I’ll be along soon,” Min said.

Charlotte marched off, muttering dire words of warning into the night.

Min closed the book. “Don’t worry about her.” She nudged Arthur’s shoulder with her own. “Thank you for telling her. It’s been difficult lying.”

Arthur rested against her. “You know, you could just agree to marry me for real. Then you wouldn’t have to lie to anyone.”

Min looked up, startled at the intensity in his eyes. He leaned forward, brushing his nose against hers, his warm breath mingling with her own.

“Would being married to me really be so bad?” His deep voice held a note that was both teasing and promising and it triggered a rush of emotions Min had a hard time identifying. A small tremble ran up her spine as she thought of several things that would make marriage to Arthur…less than bad.

Then the memory of ocean blue eyes intruded, leaving Min wishing a very different pair of arms held her. She shifted subtly, just enough so their faces were no longer touching. Arthur’s caresses were pleasant, but the feelings they created were nothing like the heart-stopping rushes of heat she experienced every time Mr. Westley so much as looked in her direction.

Still, Arthur was attractive and marriage to him would no doubt be agreeable. She enjoyed his company, felt safe with him, comfortable.
Is that love?

“No, it wouldn’t be so bad.” She smiled up at him. “For me, at least. You, I fear, would grow to hate me within a month. I’d nag you within an inch of your life.”

Arthur chuckled and Min breathed a little easier as the tension between them relaxed.

“Come on, my would-be wife,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go look at some headstones.”

Min laughed and turned toward the cemetery, but Arthur tugged on her hand. She turned back to him, her eyebrows raised in question.

“Here,” he said, slipping the silver chain over her head. “You keep this.”

The heavy weight of the locket thumped against her chest. Min clutched it in surprise. “Arthur, I can’t keep this. Your grandmother gave it to you.”

“And I want you to have it.”

Min opened her mouth to protest further, but Arthur took her hand and started walking toward the headstones, pulling her behind him.

“It will be safer with you. Besides, it looks much better around your neck.”

“Well, that’s true enough. I’m surprised the silver isn’t tarnished from resting against your toxic skin.”

“You’d better watch that wicked tongue, my dear, or I really will marry you, and then you’ll be sorry.”

His tone teased, but Min’s heart clenched at the tiny lines of hurt creasing around his eyes.

“Arthur, I—”

“Here’s the first one,” he said, holding the lantern closer to the stone.

Min took the hint and dropped the subject. For the moment.

They searched the graveyard for the better part of an hour. Several stones were so worn with age they couldn’t be read. A few bore the initials AB but either belonged to men or were the wrong years. Though they couldn’t be exactly sure what year Anne Benton had died, if she had ever lived, they knew Edward Courtland’s son had been only a few years old at the time. That gave them a rough timeline to shoot for, somewhere in the late 1780s or early 1790s.

But nothing fit.

“Come on,” Arthur finally said. “Let’s get you back in your bed before the charming Miss Kensington raises the house.”

They walked in silence back to the manor, Arthur’s hand wrapped warmly around Min’s. As they drew nearer, Min spoke. “Arthur, about what you said earlier…”

“Shh,” he whispered. They’d reached the back entrance of the house. He kissed her gently on the cheek and then gave her a little shove through the garden gate. “Off to bed with you.”

“Good night, Arthur,” she whispered. But he’d disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter Seven

Min sat straight in her chair, the picture of ladylike decorum, while Charlotte choked on her water, shaking with barely controlled laughter.

“Min.” Charlotte held her napkin to her mouth and cast an anxious glance around the dining table at their classmates and instructors. “You’re going to get us in trouble. Stop!”

Min snared another pea and shoved it in her mouth. She grinned at Charlotte, two of the small green vegetables wedged firmly in her teeth. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, blinking her eyes in feigned innocence. She stuck her front teeth over her bottom lip in an excellent imitation of a green-toothed beaver.

“Min…” Charlotte trailed off as she glanced over Min’s shoulder.

Min swiveled around just as Mr. Westley slid into the empty chair beside her. She inhaled, her eyes widening in sudden panic as one of the peas lodged in her windpipe. She coughed violently, trying to fend off Charlotte, who attempted to beat the pea out of her. Finally, the murderous vegetable slid down her throat and she forced a breath past the constraints of her corset. She glanced at Mr. Westley, her cheeks burning.

“Are you all right, Miss Sinclair?” His words were sincere, but his voice was tight with laughter.

Min forced what she hoped was a polite smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Just a little tickle in my throat.”

“Glad to hear it.” He grinned and glanced away, rubbing a gloved knuckle over his lips. His gaze wandered across the table. “Good evening, Lady Katherine.”

Katherine simpered at the attention and Min’s smile faded. Mr. Westley brushed his hair from his face. His sleeve rode up, revealing the jagged scar that slashed up his arm. Min’s breath caught in her throat and Mr. Westley glanced at her as the sound escaped her lips.

Min forced herself to turn back to her dinner, knowing her mouth was gaping like a fool. As her lips closed, a small object bounced out of her mouth and onto her plate. She stared in horror at the shell of the second pea that had been covering her front tooth.

Oh holy Moses!
She’d been grinning like a green-toothed idiot. Her face grew so hot her eyes watered. She took a sip of water and risked a glance at Mr. Westley.

He leaned closer. “The peas look delicious tonight.”

Min choked and grabbed her napkin, mortified as a few drops of water trickled from her nose.
Sweet heaven, what else can go wrong?

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Min tried to behave like a proper, elegant lady. This proved a very difficult task with Mr. Westley seated so near. Her hand trembled when she picked up her knife and fork, preparing to cut into a tempting piece of meat. Everything would have gone quite well if Mr. Westley hadn’t chosen that precise moment to reach between them for the saltcellar. His hand brushed her bare arm and the sudden sensation caused her hand to jump, sending the poor little filet of beef skidding across the table. Right into Katherine’s lap.

Min calmly laid down her utensils, finding vague solace in the fact that the meat had landed on Katherine. Lady Courtland stared at the scene in openmouthed astonishment.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Courtland, but I am feeling unwell. May I be excused?” Min dared not look directly at Mr. Westley, whose expression was hidden behind his napkin.

No one’s mouth is
that
dirty
, Min thought.

Lady Courtland merely nodded her permission. Min hurried from the room as Agnes, with an amused smile hidden from Katherine, attempted to retrieve the meat from her cousin’s lap.

Min began to climb the stairs to her room but stopped, her mind churning. Why did that man affect her so? She knew nothing about him, except that he was most likely involved in disreputable dealings and was searching for information she’d rather he not have.

Yet she craved his company. Thoughts of him intruded into every waking moment of her day…and night. If she didn’t pull herself together and stop mooning over him like some lovesick fool, he’d find the necklace before she did. And she just couldn’t allow that.

Min turned and headed for the library, determined to drive him from her thoughts. There were numerous small portraits and knickknacks strewn about the shelves of books. Min hadn’t found an eye portrait, but perhaps she’d overlooked it. No better time to look than while everyone else was busy in the dining room.

Pausing just inside the large polished doors of the library, she took a deep breath and immediately relaxed in the comforting quiet. Her eyes scanned the familiar surroundings. She hiked the steep, circular staircase to the third floor and began to peruse the odds and ends nestled among the books. Every now and then she stopped and took a volume off the bookshelf, adding it to the growing pile in her arms after leafing through the pages. Might as well gather some reading material if she was going to be searching the shelves anyway.

…

Bryant watched Min as she hurried from the room, still fighting back the laughter that bubbled in his chest. He was amazed the girl hadn’t burned the school down yet. She was a walking menace. And thoroughly charming—even more so because she had no idea of her appeal.

His amusement evaporated with the realization that she had left the room and could be anywhere. With most of the students and staff still at dinner, she would be free to roam the house. Bryant inhaled his food, excused himself as soon as was polite, and immediately sought her out. A difficult feat to accomplish with most of his simpering pupils dogging his every move. He finally managed to extricate himself from a gaggle of giggling girls and quickly made himself scarce.

Trying to keep up with the intriguing Miss Sinclair was proving to be a challenge. Where would she have gone? The attics? Cellars? As the niece here, she’d know the house better than anyone. There was no telling where she could be. He needed to find her. Get as much information out of her as he could. He’d need to tread carefully, though.

Bryant had at first hoped he could charm a bit of information about the Courtlands out of her, but his hopes had been dashed when he’d seen her sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. He had followed her into the cemetery and saw her and Arthur exploring. He’d kept an even closer eye on her since that night.

He was convinced that she was after the necklace. Why else would she spend all her spare time prowling about the estate or burying her nose in history books about the area? She’d taken the book he’d tossed in the barrel. Had she found anything useful in it that he’d missed?

Her searches appeared to be more calculated than his explorations. She knew something. And he needed to find out what. Which meant he needed to keep an eye on her. He just had to find the bloody girl first.

…

Min flinched when a shadow settled over her. During the last hour, several groups of girls had spread throughout the house. But none had ventured to the third level or noticed Min there, as far as she could tell. Until now. A few pretended to sew or read, but most sat staring up at the magnificent man who stood beside her. She tensed her muscles, refusing to squirm under his scrutiny.

“Looking for something to read?”

“Yes, sir.” She hadn’t found any eye portraits with maps drawn behind them, blast it all, but she had found a few favorite books to reread.

“And what is that you’re reading?” he asked, taking the book from her. “Hmm,
Oliver Twist
. ‘Please, sir, I want some more.’”

He winked at her and she drew back in surprise.
What game is he playing?

“Wonderful scene,” he continued. “Do you enjoy Dickens?”

“Yes, sir. This story in particular. I’ve read it many times.”

Mr. Westley glanced at the stack of books in her arms.

“Jane Austen, Lord Tennyson, Charlotte Brontë, Robert Browning…” He cocked his eyebrow. “You’ve read all of these?”

His incredulous tone got on her nerves. “Yes, sir.” She took her book back with a sharp flick of her wrist. “Several times.”

“No Shakespeare?” Now he was mocking her. The amused disbelief on his face enflamed the familiar ire she felt whenever a man dismissed her as too weak and womanly to have a working brain.

“No. I don’t care for Shakespeare.” She snapped her book shut and gathered the rest to her chest.

Mr. Westley’s smile grew broader by the minute. “And why would that be, Miss Sinclair? Do you find him too difficult?”

Min took a deep breath through her nose and prayed for the strength not to strike him. “Not at all, sir. He writes prettily enough, and some of his works are acceptable. But I don’t care for his attitude toward women.”

Mr. Westley looked at her with genuine interest, the teasing light gone from his eyes. “I have always found the women in Shakespeare’s plays to be strong-willed, passionate, and powerful characters. In what way would that be displeasing to you?”

“If you’d really like to know, I’ve always thought Shakespeare’s view of women was too subject to the beliefs of the patriarchal society in which he lived.”

Min smiled as Mr. Westley’s jaw dropped. A rush of excitement flooded her chest.

“I do not care for Mr. Shakespeare’s portrayal of women,” she continued, “because strong-willed, passionate, and powerful or not, they all represented the type of woman that was ideal in his time. In short, women who were seen as inherently inferior and therefore in need of male guidance and protection. A belief that has, unfortunately, persisted.”

Min enjoyed the stunned shock on Mr. Westley’s face.
Well
, she thought,
that will teach him to think I am some silly girl without a thought in my head…but how devastatingly handsome he is.

He closed his mouth and leaned closer, eyes alight with curiosity. “But many of Shakespeare’s female characters flouted their conventions, refused to marry their father’s choice, spoke their minds, and chose their own paths. So perhaps he was really an advocate of the independence and emancipation of women.”

“Perhaps,” Min replied, “but you must remember the fate of these characters. No matter if the women began the play as strong-minded, independent forces to be reckoned with or as weak-willed, obedient slaves to other’s desires, they always ended in the same place.”

“And where is that, Miss Sinclair?”

“Exactly where every proper Elizabethan woman ended up, Mr. Westley. Safely married or dead.”

Mr. Westley stared at her with a strange mixture of shock, amusement, and something else she couldn’t quite name.

“If you will excuse me, sir, I believe I should retire now.”

“Of course, Miss Sinclair, of course.” He bowed over her hand and straightened with an almost bewildered expression. “I wish you a good evening.”

Min dropped a small curtsy. “Thank you, Mr. Westley. Good evening.” She turned to leave but Mr. Westley tugged on her hand.

“I’m curious…” he began. Min remained silent, willing her fingers not to tremble in his grasp. “What type of woman are you?”

“Pardon?” Min’s voice squeaked and his hand tightened.

“If you were cast in one of Mr. Shakespeare’s plays…who would you be? A weak, obedient slave to others’ desires? Or a force to be reckoned with?”

“I’ve never considered myself weak, Mr. Westley.” His eyes burned into hers as she pulled her hand away. “Good night.”

“Good night, Miss Sinclair.”

Min forced herself to walk calmly from the room, her head swimming. She reached the staircase and gripped the banister with extra force. She’d never spoken to a man so forcefully before. And certainly never to an instructor. Every cell in her body pulsed with energy, a strange mixture of exhilaration, fear, and sheer determination.

The rush of emotion soon faded. Her mind kept drifting to Mr. Westley’s eyes, his hair, the way he smelled, and even to his amused grin that appeared whenever she made a ninny of herself. His gloved hands. How had he lost his finger? What had caused that horrible scar? What sort of man stood on the streets and spoke of guns and pickaxes and loss of life with such ease, yet could dance so gracefully? She was a fool to bait him.

But he made every inch of her sing with unadulterated vitality. Even if it did stem from fear. Mostly. Maybe irritation. Maybe.

Min reached her room and flopped on her bed with an exasperated growl. She was attracted to him, plain and simple. It was an impossible situation. She couldn’t trust the man not to rob her blind or strangle her into silence.

What sort of a prized idiot was she?