graciously nodded to the lady eyeing him like a bug she wished to squash under her shoe. “I’m deeply sorry to hear you’ve suffered such an unfortunate incident. However, the man who robbed you was not me.” He glanced at Hawthorne. “Why would you believe so?”
The lady glared at him. “Because,” she began, then turned and addressed Lord Hawthorne as though Pierce were not worthy of her attention, “as he remounted his horse, he smiled to himself and I distinctly remember,” she held up her forefinger for emphasis, “that he chuckled, saying ‘The Black Baron strikes again.’” Her eyes swerved to meet Pierce’s. “Is that not what people call you? Are you not the Black Baron? Can you truly deny it?”
Pierce shrugged, trying his best to remain calm. “I do not deny that I’ve heard others call me by that name,” he replied, then smiled as though he truly did not have a care in the world, “mostly behind my back.”
An amused murmur went through the crowd.
“However, I was not the one to rob you last night,” Pierce continued, holding up his hands as a sign of innocence. “I swear it. I would never dream of taking something so precious from you, my lady.”
The matron grunted under her breath as she swatted her closed fan against her open palm.
“Perhaps if you inform us of your whereabouts the night before, Lord Markham,” Lord Hawthorne suggested diplomatically, “it will convince everyone here that you are not to blame for this heinous crime against a treasured member of the peerage.”
The lady cast Lord Hawthorne an appreciative look at hearing him speak of her thus.
“Very well.” Pierce nodded to his host, grateful for the man’s calm authority. “Last night, I attended the Whitherton masquerade.”
Lord Hawthorne nodded, then turned placating eyes toward Pierce’s accuser. Before he could say a word, Coleridge strode forward, all but elbowing his way into the small circle in the middle of the crowd. “As it was a masquerade, I cannot help but wonder,” he said, feigned concern on his face as he glanced at the elderly woman, “if there is anyone here who can verify his presence there.” He looked around the assembled guests.
Pierce cleared his throat and did the same. Unfortunately, he did not spot Mr. Caswell anywhere. Neither did he see Charlaine. Where on earth had those two gone? “Mr. Caswell, Lord Pembroke’s brother, accompanied me last night. I’m certain he will—”
“And at no point of that night did you part ways?” Coleridge interrupted, an annoyingly pleased look in his eyes that made Pierce want to punch him.
Gritting his teeth, Pierce felt his hands ball into fists. “Of course, we did. But there were others who saw me.”
“With a mask on your face no doubt,” Coleridge pointed out eagerly. “How is anyone to know who was there and who was not? Would it not be simpler if you would allow us to search your home? Your person? For instance, I suggest you empty your pockets right here in front of us so as to alleviate Lady Brockton’s accusations.”
Pierce’s gaze narrowed and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the lady’s precious necklace was somewhere on his person, planted by the man currently looking at him with a look of restrained triumph.
“Your pocket for instance,” Coleridge prodded, pointing to the right one, “what is in it?”
Pierce glared at the man, then slid his hand into his pocket, knowing he didn’t have much of a choice as the crowd watched him with eager eyes. “You seem to know precisely where to find the lady’s heirloom. I cannot help but wonder why that is?”
Coleridge merely shrugged, but Pierce could see the excitement in his cold gaze. It would seem the man had put a plan of his own into action. Had he suspected Pierce of gathering evidence against him? Had he done this as a preemptive strike in order to discredit Pierce?
Glancing up at Caroline’s furious face, Pierce prayed that she did not believe a word spoken here that night. Still, there was no way he could think of thwarting Coleridge’s plan, not without ruining Caroline.
And that, he would never do.
As expected, as his fingers neared the bottom of his pocket, their tips touched upon a cool metal chain as well as a large, smooth jewel. With a tense glare at Coleridge, he pulled it out for all to see, and a shocked murmur went through the crowd.
Lady Brockton turned a dark shade of angry red, and her forefinger