Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,6

seen the rightness of it. Indeed, she’d been aghast at the notion, and thus had no idea Julia had become adept at stealing and pawning and charitable donations.

“Don’t get in the suds, dear sister,” Sarah said. “Nothing that will end up in a trial with your getting put in the pillory, if you please.” She laughed at her own words, never suspecting Julia had the Earl of Marshfield’s cravat pin that very moment in the bottom drawer of her chiffonier.

“No, dear sister. I won’t.”

“And stop buying so many posies,” Sarah added, but with no vehemence to her words. They both knew it was one of Julia’s ways of supporting the poor, by buying from the youngest flower girls who stood on London’s street corners. “No, don’t stop,” she amended, crossing the room to give Julia a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“THE DEUCE!” JASPER swore. “It can’t have simply vanished, Blumsey. It is vexing, to be sure.”

His valet blinked. “Yes, my lord. Vexing.”

“You know I have a particular fondness for that pin.” His father had given it to him. And now, when he thought of it, the stunning sapphire reminded him of Miss Julia Sudbury’s equally stunning eyes. If only he could find the damnable thing.

“I know, sir.” Blumsey was so particular, too, always putting everything in its place. And entirely trustworthy, to boot.

Moreover, Jasper had brought on no new staff for over a year, no one he might doubt as being light-fingered. There’d been an incident with a frisky maid two months earlier, trying to tempt him in some scheme she’d cooked up. He’d been too smart to fall into that muddy puddle of trouble. And no one else had been in his bedroom since last autumn when he’d allowed a willing widow to come home with him, usually preferring to do the deed at the lady’s home so he could leave when ready.

Tonight, he wanted that particular pin, front and center on his perfectly tied cravat when he met up with—

“Miss Sudbury!”

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Blumsey asked.

“A young woman was in my bedroom. And I was not wearing the pin that night. Remember last week for the concert?”

“Yes, sir. You had on a black cravat and your diamond pin with the gray pearl.”

His valet had a good memory, which was crucial if one didn’t want to show up at every ball or party looking precisely the same. Moreover, the man had enough discretion he neither raised an eyebrow at the notion of a woman in his master’s room, nor would ever mention it outside the four walls.

“Just so, Blumsey. Is it possible she came in here to steal from me?”

His valet remained silent and expressionless.

Then Jasper shook his head. “Why, yes, it is! She all but admitted she had. She said she was here for a token, a handkerchief! I bet she took something more valuable.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Such a response was intense for his unflappable valet.

“I shall see the very same female tonight at Pritchard’s ball, and I intend to confront her. Hurry, Blumsey.” Jasper held his hands out for his jacket. “I was going to show up fashionably late, but now I don’t want to chance missing her.”

JULIA KNEW HER QUARRY for the evening, and it was an easy one. Lady Pritchard was renowned for wearing a different set of earrings every day of the year. The sheer quantity of her jewelry collection was astounding, and Julia intended to relieve her of a negligible, hopefully unnoticeable amount. With a little luck, the viscountess wouldn’t realize anything was missing until the following year.

After her mantle was stowed in the cloakroom of Lady Pritchard’s mansion on St James’s Square, Julia ascended the stairs to the public rooms. By her side was a married acquaintance of Sarah’s, Mrs. Zebodar. The matron had been eager to accompany her as a chaperone, disclosing in the carriage how bored she was at home. Her husband, an officer, had spent most of the past decade fighting Bonaparte’s army. Now home in jolly old England, Mr. Zebodar wanted to stay in his own parlor with his feet up and a glass of French brandy in hand to remind him of his victories.

“So glad your sister asked me,” Mrs. Zebodar said for the umpteenth time as they wandered into the dazzling ballroom.

Julia sent a discerning gaze over the evening’s setting. The parquet floor shone like a mirror, and the flame of oil lamps danced merrily all around the great room, augmenting the chandeliers.