“Awaremight not be quite the right word,” she said. “He’s got a talent for it himself. Taught me a few tricks I’d not have learned otherwise, though I like to think I’ve taught him a few myself. I’m far more skilled at palming cards than he is, for example, though I’d say we’re evenly matched at picking locks.”
Probably his brows had twitched straight up into his hairline. What sort of upbringing had Grace had, exactly?
“It would be disastrous, you see, were I to be caught in possession of stolen goods,” Grace explained. “So on those occasions that I steal something, I send it along to Uncle Chris. He knows every fence in the city. Once he’s divested himself of the goods, he sends the proceeds back to me—minus a fee, of course.”
Stunned, all Henry could utter was, “A fee?”
“Well, of course. He really isn’t the sort to do a favor without expecting anything in return.”
No; Henry supposed not. He didn’t seem much the sort to have a charitable bent.
“But I have no need of the money,” Grace said. “I receive ample pin money from my family. So what Uncle Chris returns to me, I distribute to various philanthropic causes. I prefer tothink of it as…charity, of a sort, donated on behalf of those least likely to give it.”
A thief with scruples. Henry rather liked that. A skewed sense of morality, perhaps. But not an altogetherbrokenone. “Will you help me, then?” he asked. “I haven’t the faintest idea of how I might go about obtaining the proof my uncle claims exists. Nor have I any of the—er, talents that might be necessary in the doing of it.”
“Thievery, you mean to say,” she said.
“Yes. Thievery.” A sigh collected in his lungs; an accumulation of all the anxiety which had plagued him these last days. “I’ll admit my motives are not entirely selfless.” He didn’t know who he would be if not an earl, if not his father’s heir. He had always known the expectations that would be settled upon his shoulders someday, and had been prepared from birth to bear them. “But if it is to be between my uncle and me, by no means can Uncle Nigel be allowed to inherit the earldom.”
Grace blinked those obscenely long lashes, and a flicker of interest kindled in her eyes. “So it isn’t only the scandal, then, for you?”
Henry loosed the sigh and bowed his head. “I have a duty,” he said, “to my mother and sister. OfcourseI would protect them from the scandal, if it were within my power to do so. But I have been brought up to be the earl, and my uncle—my uncle has been a wastrel since before I was born. He has no sense of duty, no sense of obligation. I doubt he’d even go to the bother of paying people to see to his responsibilities for him. Across our properties, we employ some two hundred people, and lease land to nearly five hundred more. It’s not only my position and livelihood which is presently at risk. It istheirs. My uncle is not a good steward to those beneath his protection.”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” he said, earnestly. “Because Idotake suchresponsibilities seriously. Probably there are some areas in which I could improve, but my tenants know that any concerns they might have will be addressed, and I have never failed to make necessary improvements when they are due. My employees are treated well and paid a good wage, and I have no doubt but that they would tell you so, if you were to ask them. Would you like to?”
“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” she said slowly.
He had surprised her yet again, he thought. Probably she had not expected him to be quite so candid with her. To not only not have taken offense at the question, but to offer her proof of his claims.
She was going to help him. Not because of his reputation, or to save him and his family from the scandal—but for every person who relied upon him who would suffer for it if he were forced from his position. Charity, then, for people who—if he were very lucky—would never know what she had done for them.
“I have one condition,” she said as she rose to her feet and extended her hand to him. Not to kiss—toshake. The sealing of a bargain; a shared secret stored between the clasp of their hands.
“Anything,” he said. “Anything within my power.”
She canted her head to the right, and he followed the direction of the motion with his eyes, across the stone to the place where Tansy rolled exuberantly within a patch of catmint.
An exasperated groan slid up Henry’s throat. His shoulders slumped. “Really?”
“She has got a marked preference for your garden. You may return her in the evenings, if you wish. Only let her come and enjoy it during the daylight hours.”
Probably the blasted beast would gore him before she let him lay so much as a finger upon her. He’d seen the state of those massive claws; it would not have surprised him to learn that thecat had committed several murders already. And still—still it was so much less than she might have asked. So much less than he would have been willing to pay. “Oh, all right,” he found himself saying in a gritty grumble that bore a striking similarity to the cat’s ominous, threatening purr. “Your damned cat has got a standing invitation to visit my garden as she pleases.”
Chapter Six
Grace settled into a corner of the couch in the drawing room after dinner, enjoying the quiet that had fallen after the children had all gone off to bed. There was something so peaceful about an evening in, when there was only quiet conversation and the comforting presence of one’s family near to hand.
The room was crowded even without the children, but the murmur of conversation flowing about her provided a soothing backdrop to the ministrations of her fingers as she worked idly at the padlock in her hands, listening for the click of the mechanism as she manipulated the tumblers. It had been some time since she had needed to pick a lock, perhaps, but her fingers still remembered the motions, the delicate finessing of the inner workings, the satisfaction of a job well done.
The padlock had been a Christmas gift some years ago from Uncle Chris; a fiendishly difficult piece he’d had commissioned purely for her enjoyment. It had taken her hours to crack the first time she’d tried, and she’d worked at it for months in spare moments, striving to outdo herself each time.
Now she was down to only seconds. Feel for tumblers with the tines of her housebreaker’s keys, a few delicate and searchingprods, twist, and—click. The lock opened as if by magic. She had always had nimble fingers, but very few could claim such skill as this. One she had honed and perfected over the years, even if the need for it had become a thing of the past.
Or…perhaps not so much a thing of the past. Aristocrats tended to lock up their valuables. Likely whatever evidence Lord Lockhart’s uncle had collected—or hoped to collect—would be behind more than one lock. It would serve her well to keep her skills honed.
On the opposite end of the couch, there was the riffle of pages as Uncle Rafe lowered the newspaper he’d been idly thumbing through to his lap. “Haven’t see you with that in quite some time,” he said, with a little inclination of his head to indicate the lock in her hands.
