eyebrows yet again, which Jess read as an unwillingness to commit himself one way or the other.
Jess nodded slowly as it occurred to him that this gently reared young woman may have a good bit of her brother’s wildness in her, very carefully tamped down, which made him think of any number of things it would be “fun” to do with her.
“Exactly how would you undertake the fraud?” Lord Belmont asked. Jess feared that a question like that was similar to lighting a fuse.
This time Beatrice ate some of the pâté before speaking, though Jess was willing to wager she had no idea what she was chewing so thoroughly. He watched her expression as her clever brain worked out the perfect crime. From puzzlement to idea to wicked certainty.
He glanced at Belmont, who was watching her too, but with a smile that could only be called avuncular.
“I would choose someone who is not well schooled in art, someone who only bought the Rembrandt painting to impress others.”
She must know many who fit that description among the circle of newly rich mill owners in Birmingham, Jess thought.
“Then I would hire a competent forger to create a copy. I would confront the owner of the original about its authenticity, using my knowledge, which would certainly be far superior to his. I suppose that is prideful to say, but do you not think that someone who has spent years pursuing an interest is naturally more informed than a newcomer?”
“Yes, I do,” Jess agreed, thinking of his passion for gaming and the way he was torn between educating newcomers or taking all their money.
“That’s true for many of us at this very table,” Lord Belmont said with a serious face. “Your father when it comes to business, the baron and fisticuffs, Lord Destry and riding, the countess and entertaining. I do not know your sister well enough to guess what her expertise is, but it is the rare person who does not excel in some area.”
“Thank you, my lord. Somehow that is very reassuring to me. Lord Jess, what is your area of expertise?”
“Gaming,” he said, and waited to see how she would react.
“Yes, you and Ellis shared that interest for a while, but you did bring my brother back to us. For that I am grateful.” She searched his eyes as if she was trying to find that goodness. Generosity and guilt she might find, but very little goodness.
“So you are now confronting the owner of the Rembrandt and are about to convince him it is a fake,” Lord Belmont reminded her. Jess was grateful to have her vivid imagination focused on her “clever construct,” as she phrased it, and away from his virtue or lack thereof.
“I will not bore you with the technical details but I could easily convince him that someone had duped him. His pride would be savaged by the thought and he would willingly let me take it away for further study.” She paused and gave them a look. “Does this work so far?”
Jess pretended offense, matching her mood. “Theft is not one of my areas of expertise. Belmont would know better.” His inference was quite deliberate and Miss Brent gave all her attention to the earl.
Belmont shook his head. “What Jess means is that I have helped several friends find lost items. As I told you, I can never resist a puzzle.” Belmont finished off his wine before adding, “It sounds plausible so far, Miss Brent. Pray, continue.”
She closed her eyes as though that would fortify her as much as the wine was fortifying Belmont. “I would replace the real painting with the forgery and return it to the owner with the sad news that it is not truly a Rembrandt—the advantage being that when I am able to sell it, the buyer could announce the discovery of the original from which my owner’s forgery was copied. Is that too complicated?”
“Not at all complicated, my dear,” said the earl and then waited for the footman to step back after refilling his glass.
Despite the amazing amounts of wine the man imbibed, he was never foxed. The only sign that Jess could find was when he began to call the ladies “my dear.” Was it because he drank only wine, never brandy or other spirits?
“Not too complicated,” Belmont repeated, “but it does involve at least one other person who could attempt blackmail at some later point.”
“Do you think so?” Beatrice said with some disappointment, but after a brief pause she