The Duke's Stolen Heart (London Scandals Book 4) Page 4
But then, Antonia had never been a lady.
Her cheeks burned as she contemplated what she had almost done. Though the sky had lightened with portending dawn, it was not yet light enough for Havencrest to see it. She composed herself with a sharp inhale and removed her foot from between his calves as if her leg had been caught in a steel trap.
“If I help you, I want money,” she said carefully. “I am the best jewel thief on two continents, and the best don’t work cheap.” Antonia’s natural language was blunt and mercenary. She sat straight and unyielding in her seat.
“Done.” Havencrest’s lips twisted into a ghost of a smile. It might have made him handsome if not for the self-satisfied arrogance. Antonia read disdain in his face for matters involving coin. It was a luxury she had never had an opportunity to enjoy. She was looking forward to the experience, though, just as soon as she fleeced him out of every farthing she could get. The Duke of Havencrest would have empty pockets by the time she was done with him, Antonia vowed.
“Oh, no, we aren’t done,” she declared with false sweetness that made the span between his eyebrows pucker. “I haven’t told you how much I want.”
“Name your price.”
“A hundred thousand pounds.”
Havencrest gaped at her for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. Damn the man for possessing the kind of rich laugh that could make a woman’s knees weak and her heart beat faster, if Antonia had been inclined to emotions of any kind. It was bad enough how the organ in her chest skipped a beat at the sound.
This man had everything. He wanted her to risk her life over a few ounces of metal and fancy rocks, when she had nothing. No family. No country. No friends that she hadn’t lied to from the first moment she said the words, “My name is Antonia Lowry.”
How dare he laugh.
“Leave me here at the corner,” she ordered. That cut off his laughter in a hurry. Good. Antonia had underestimated him twice now; she wasn’t making that mistake again. She still had one objective. To disappear. Hang this arrogant aristocrat with his pretty eyes and his obsession with a damn necklace he didn’t need.
“The next time I extend to you an invitation, whether it is to dance, or to attend the opera, or to dine privately with me, you will accept it,” Havencrest growled, and Antonia’s pulse turned thready in response. All she did was lift one eyebrow.
“Alas, I am ever disappointing people,” she sighed in a tone like sugar doused in honey, so sweet as to be unbearable. “If you expect me to maintain my residence with the Evendaws, you’d best leave me off out of sight so I can slip into the house through the stables.”
As though she had any intention of doing so. The instant the coach was out of sight, she would simply go to her hideaway and disappear into London’s underclass. How convenient for Antonia that these toffs couldn’t tell one maid apart from another. There was no valor in a hangman’s noose.
But there was Margaret’s needy friendship to think of. When Margaret found the note she’d left…Antonia sighed. She needed to get into the house and out of these clothes, right now, or risk discovery.
Havencrest tapped the roof and called to his driver to halt. The footmen must be freezing, not that she counted on a duke to mind to his servants’ physical comfort. He eyed her suspiciously as he leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. Given his height, the man dominated the space until Antonia had no room to move away and was forced to sit back against the backrest. He brushed her chin with his thumb.
“You won’t disappoint me, Antonia.”
The gentle touch did strange things to her stomach. It stole her will to protest.
He sat back with a self-satisfied smirk. “Now get out of my carriage, Miss Lowry. You reek of corpse.”
* * *
Antonia almost made it. A creak on the main stair gave her away.
“Toni?” Margaret half-whispered, half-hissed. Antonia winced at the way panic and relief commingled in those two syllables. Her friend launched herself down the stairs in a flurry of white ruffled wrapper and lawn nightdress, like a deranged ghost, but no phantom could crush Antonia’s ribs the way Margaret’s embrace did. Antonia smoothed her friend’s soft blond hair and dropped a kiss on her head without thinking.
Antonia recoiled from her instinctive affection. She was playing a role, one that could determine whether she slept in a plush, warm bed tomorrow night or shivered her way through long darkness on the cot in her bolt hole. Having slept in any number of egregiously uncomfortable bowers Antonia held a strong preference for soft beds.
“You smell,” Margaret said with a wrinkle of her small nose. “Where have you been? I found your note just a moment ago. I cannot believe you were going to leave in the dead of night like that. I was about to fetch my brother to go looking for you.”
Yes, this was going to be a monumental mess to clean up. Antonia sighed in what she hoped passed for remorse. “I changed my mind.”
“Why are you dressed as a stable hand?” Margaret asked, holding her at arms’ length. “Come. To my room, before my sister-in-law finds you. They weren’t home until after midnight so I don’t anticipate they’ll be up before ten. I’ll ring my maid for a tray and a hip bath.”
Food and hot water sounded glorious, though she winced at the thought of waking the maids at this ungodly hour. Antonia’s muscles ached as she mounted the stairs arm-in-arm with her friend. Yet tonight—this morning, rather—Antonia was too bone-weary to do more than wilt into her hostess’s care. The hip bath needed half an hour to fetch the extra water and heat it on the stove before a servant carried it to Margaret’s room. Antonia stripped the begrimed shirt and ill-fitting trousers stained with lord only knew what offal from her body and applied a cold cloth from the pitcher behind Margaret’s privacy screen to her face, washing down her body as best she could.
When she emerged, she still reeked of death. Antonia had the sense it would never leave her, this scent of bad endings.
“We ought to burn the clothes,” Margaret called from the other side of the screen. “They’re unsalvageable.”
They weren’t, if they were washed with a pinch of lye, but Antonia was too exhausted to argue. She piled them in the corner and tugged the night rail Margaret had fetched from her room. Wan January sunlight that poured in through the window. Fatigue tugged her eyelids southward. Antonia’s jaw into a deep yawn.
“Toni, why would you leave this on your pillow?” Margaret asked, her blue eyes wide with hurt. She held out a note. Antonia knew damn well what it said. Melodramatic to the end, and it was going to get her hung if she wasn’t more careful.
Lady Margaret,
Without you, these past months amongst strangers would have been impossible to bear. I regret that I must leave you on such short notice. Farewell.
With affection,
Antonia Lowry
As goodbye notes went, it left much to be desired. In fact, only a girl as cotton-headed as Margaret would accept it at face value, particularly when the note’s author skulked back into the house dressed like a farmhand and reeking of corpse, as the despicable Duke of Havencrest had phrased it. A more suspicious woman would have raised the roof and started poking into Miss Lowry’s past. If she had anticipated such an outcome, she might have put more effort into the sincerity of the note.
“I couldn’t leave you without saying goodbye,” Antonia said after a beat. It was an outright lie. She could have moved on without ever thinking of Margaret again. Yet Margaret’s blue eyes welled with tears.
“I was so lonely before I met you, Toni,” she sniffled. Margaret plucked a lace-edged handkerchief from the drawer of her nightstand. Rather than delicately dab it to her cheek, she blew a honk worthy of a goose. The tip of her nose had turned a becoming shade of pink. The woman was incapable of ugliness. Even during her illness a few days ago she had been demure and sympathetic.
Whereas, Antonia had been born with vinegar in her blood. She had carved her way through life through sheer force of will t
o create this tenuous life for herself. Antonia covered the other woman’s hand with her own. Her throat scratched. Her eyes watered. A sneeze burned her sinuses. “Margaret. I’ve never had a friend like you.”
It was the truth, for all that mattered.
Chapter 5
February 4th, 1826
Dear Miss Lowry,
I trust you have recovered from your recent river excursion.
In accordance with the understanding we reached last night, you are invited to see Charles Kemble’s production of Cymbeline tomorrow night. I desire to formalize the details with you on the subject of payment for your services. While your request is an absurd sum, I am prepared to offer a very generous one thousand pounds. Two hundred up front, as a retainer, with the remainder due upon completion. We may discuss further in the privacy of my box.
Yours,
Havencrest
P.S.: Maria Theresa Kemble makes rare appearances these days, but when she does, it is often in male dress. I think you’d enjoy that.
* * *
February 6th, 1826
Dear Miss Lowry,
Your absence yesterday was not in keeping with the understanding we reached after your disastrous nighttime jaunt in the river. As the saying goes, there to be no honor amongst thieves. Nonetheless, I find myself disappointed.
The Dowager Duchess of Summervale will attend a musicale this evening. I have it on good authority that Evendaw has been invited. Meet me for a game of whist and I shall enlighten you as to the details of the mission for which I have hired you.
Respectfully,
Havencrest
* * *
February 7th, 1826
Dearest Miss Lowry,
One thousand pounds was, upon reflection, a considerable insult to your professional skills. I am prepared to offer five times that—five hundred in advance, the remainder upon delivery of the Heart’s Cry diamond necklace to me.
Regretfully,
Havencrest
* * *
February 8th, 1826
Miss Lowry,
I dislike making threats. If one is not prepared to follow through, one ought to refrain from making them.
Meet me tomorrow in the British Museum. Bring your companion, if her health is up to it. Ten thousand pounds is my final offer.
If you are not there at noon, I shall be forced to inform the magistrate where the lady in the pink silk ruffled dress who was recently fished out of the Thames was last seen—and with whom.
Havencrest
P.S.: Your silence is enough to shake a man’s faith in womankind.
* * *
Havencrest,
Forgive my silence. I have fallen ill with the ague which recently plagued Lady Margaret. My health has necessitated confinement to my bed, which you ought to know considering you have had four men posted to watch the Evendaw’s house night and day ever since our midnight misadventure. (Don’t you dare take that the wrong way.)
Heart’s Cry is worth four or five times your proposed fee. Twenty thousand in gold, half deposited into escrow before I so much as glance in Lady Summervale’s direction, and you absorb all expenses. They will be substantial.
If you agree to my terms, meet me on Saturday in Kensington Gardens.
-A
P.S.: If you continue to write me with such frequency I will lose my happy perch with the Evendaws. Do be more discreet.
* * *
Miss Lowry,
I wish you a rapid recovery. Twenty thousand pounds is usury. I shall deposit five thousand pounds into an account to cover your “expenses.” I presume you mean gowns and the fripperies commonly expected of ladies who move in Lady Summervale’s circle.
If you should manage to secure the top half of the Heart’s Cry, and return both halves to me, I shall deposit an additional five thousand pounds into the account. It is my final offer.
Havencrest
* * *
“Are you certain you feel well enough to go out this evening?” asked Margaret solicitously as her maid twisted Antonia’s dark locks into curls and pinned them, not gently, to the crown of her head. Paste pearls gleamed among her tresses.
“I wouldn’t have gone to the effort of obtaining a new gown if I meant to rusticate in your guest bedroom for the rest of winter.” Antonia shivered as a brisk winter wind rattled the window. “Though I confess the idea holds some appeal.”
Antonia would not have gone to the effort of dragging herself out of bed with a wicked cough, had the issue of her favorite pink gown being found in the river not been a constant shadow behind her. One more shadow among the many that dogged her. Antonia’s determination never to let the ghosts of her past catch up with her had led her to feign decent health long enough to visit Margaret’s dressmaker and order a reasonable replica of her sadly ruined pink dress and this one, in plain ivory silk. The only adornment was a bit of lace at the back and over the bust.
No matter how many bracelets and ear bobs one stole, there never seemed to be enough money. Gold and silver sold for scrap brought coin enough to keep her in gloves and hats, but it was never enough coin to purchase her a permanent place in this world. Jewels, once she amassed enough of them, would.
“You ought to stay home if you don’t feel well enough.” Margaret countered. “A trip to the theater is never necessary.”
“I had heard there is the possibility of an appearance by Maria Theresa Kemble,” Antonia commented idly as she dabbed pale pink cream on her cheeks and lips. “Not to be missed.”
“Who says that?” asked Margaret as she settled into place before the mirror. “She hasn’t made an appearance in years. Besides, you haven’t left the house in days and the new season only just opened.”
“I read it in the newspaper while you were out,” Antonia said hastily.
“Are you sure it hasn’t anything to do with these mysterious daily notes?” Margaret asked. “My brother’s wife is most concerned for my reputation. She thinks you have found a beau.”
Antonia snorted. “Me? A gauche foreigner?”
Liar.
“You’re so beautiful, Toni. The very opposite of me,” Margaret sighed.
“Nonsense. The world is big enough to accommodate beauty in all forms. Variety is the spice of life and all that.”
Margaret nodded gravely. “Cowper.”
Antonia filed this information away for future reference. “Things rarely end well for the women in Shakespeare’s stories, do they?”
The only reason Antonia liked theatres was that they proved easy hunting grounds for jewels. The ladies’ retiring room between acts was a reliable place to bump into a woman and relieve her of a bracelet or tug a diamond drop free from her ear lobe. It didn’t matter if she didn’t get the mate, since Antonia pried the jewels out and sold the setting in a twisted ball of wire to be melted down. Bracelets were easiest. Necklaces were hit-or-miss, as were hair ornaments. Pull too hard, and she risked alerting the owner with an accidentally plucked hair. Rings, Antonia rarely attempted, unless they were loose and worn over a lady’s glove.
“Havencrest sent no letter today,” Margaret said idly.
Excitement skittered up the back of her neck like an electric current.
You will not disappoint me, Antonia.
The buzz along her nape sharpened. At least she would be safe from Havencrest’s intervention tonight. She had sent a crisp response, what she hoped was a final reply, to put to rest the nonsense that she would risk her life so a rich man could have a shiny rock. It was one thing for her to risk her own neck to steal for her own benefit. It was another entirely to risk it on someone else’s behalf.
“Are you ready?” asked Margaret, rising from the ottoman where she had perched while her maid twirled her blond locks around a hot iron rod. Antonia could see how a man—or woman—might find her innocent radiance appealing.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Antonia replied, taking her friend by the arm and shortening her stride to match Margare
t’s. Once they were in the carriage she asked for the details of the evening’s performance. Evendaw and his wife awaited them.
The earl’s jaw unhinged twice as they jostled over cobblestones, closing each time. He regarded Antonia with frank curiosity and more than a dram of skepticism. Antonia folded her gloved hands in her lap, waiting. “It is, of course, beneath an Earl to ask the contents of a private letter, however, I cannot help but comment upon the unusual number of deliveries to Miss Lowry over the past few days. Is it possible we have an attachment forming?”
“Do not press our guest,” his wife chided, casting a chilly sidelong glance at Antonia. Lady Evendaw, never an enthusiastic hostess, had acquiesced to Antonia’s extended stay out of pity for a foreigner alone over the Christmas season and from her misguided notion that Antonia would help to further her mission of marrying Margaret to the first man who offered. Antonia lifted her chin, tempted to feign an attachment just to spite her hostess. But the too-real danger of an attraction in truth put a quick stop to that line of thinking.
“It is nothing,” Antonia assured her hostess. She smiled slyly at the blonde woman on the bench beside her. Margaret’s eyes went wide.
“Do you mean to imply that Havencrest has developed an interest in my sister?” demanded Evendaw, his ruddy complexion brightening considerably. Antonia lifted one wool-and-silk-draped shoulder. The convenient lie had slipped out without thought. She would figure out what to do with it later. In the meantime, Margaret’s wide eyes had petrified into a grimace of worry.
Caring about people was such a bother, Antonia sighed inwardly. This was why she tried to avoid it at any cost. But when she had needed a friend, Margaret’s focus had sharpened. Without her intervention, Antonia would be shivering her way through winter in her secret bolt-hole while she tried to fence the gems which she had already stolen for money to escape the country.