All my love from your brother Alex
She caught her breath. Anne was not her mother. Alex was not her father. In fact she knew of no one in her family with either of those names.
Which meant her fears were likely true. This was a stolen piece, one her father had hidden. She turned it over again and realized the brooch had a clasp, as well. She opened it and revealed two portraits inside, one of a beautiful young woman, one of a handsome man.
She stared at their faces and caught her breath. She knew the woman. She was almost certain of it. It was Lady Anne, the sister of the Duke of Avondale. She and Anne had been of an age, though they hadn’t been friends. The young woman had died a few years back after an illness.
Her brother, the duke, had not been seen in Society since. Once a dashing rake with a reputation of taking whatever he desired, he had disappeared. Rumors abounded that the man had gone mad. Or had been horribly injured in some way. Or perhaps even died.
Andthiswas the brooch of Avondale’s late sister. How in the world had her father come to possess it? It had been so long since anyone saw the duke, her father likely would have had to break into his home and take it right beneath his nose.
“Damn it,” she muttered as she put the brooch back into its place and slammed the box shut so she wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.
She got up and paced across the room, staring into the fire for a moment before she turned back to the item. The box was still there, no matter how she wished it away. And now she had to decide what to do with it.
“You have four options,” she said out loud to herself as she glared at the offending little cube. Talking things out had always helped her. “You could call the guard again. Only then thatloathsomeCaptain Black will likely take great pleasure in leveraging our family drama for his own good. Just like he did last time.”
She shook her head. No, that wouldn’t do. The damage already caused was so great. Further information leaking into Society could be the death of any future Juliet might have.
“You could put the box back,” she continued. “Just place it in Papa’s desk where you found it, close the drawer and never speak of it again.”
It was a temptation to do so, indeed. But then what would happen? She wouldn’t truly forget she had found this thing and she knew she would likely forever wonder what had happened to it. Depending on who found it in the future, the damage she feared it might cause could still be out there, only waiting for some inopportune moment to strike and destroy her and her sister.
She huffed out a breath. “You could…sell it,” she continued, with uncertainty in her tone.
Certainly there must be unscrupulous people who would buy such a fine piece. The money she collected would help her and Juliet in their dire straits.
Only the idea of doing that made her stomach turn. She would be no better than her father if she benefitted from his thievery. That kind of blood money could bring no luck, that was for certain. She would have to live with what she’d done. Not to mention that if selling the piece was ever traced back to her, the ruin she feared would be even more certain.
“I could not live with doing such a terrible thing,” she muttered. “And that leaves me with my last option. I could…I could return the brooch to Avondale’s house here in London.”
Saying those words made her entire body quake with terror. By God, just the idea of it was enough to make the blood drain from her cheeks.
But the fear didn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea. As far as gossip said, Avondale was not in Town at present. His London estate was shut up, with likely only a servant or two in residence to manage it. If she could find an unlocked door or window, she could sneak in and leave the brooch somewhere it would be found. The duke would have his sentimental item returned, so she would have no guilt to hang over her head. And as long as she wasn’t caught, she could rest easy, knowing the brooch could no longer be traced to her father.
It was a risky option, but no more than the others. And at least she could live with herself when it came to returning what her father had taken.
She nodded slowly, wishing that action could convince her she wasn’t a fool, and walked back to the desk. She opened the box, took out the brooch and thrust it into her pelisse pocket. Then she tossed the box into the fire, watching the evidence burn away.
Now she just had to find a way to break into the Duke of Avondale’s home. But perhaps that was something that would come naturally once she got there. After all, shewasher father’s daughter.
Chapter Two
Alexander Wittingham, Duke of Avondale, sat in the far corner of his office, watching as his fire burned down to nothing but faint embers, leaving the room in almost total darkness. He gripped a glass of scotch in his hand, but had not taken a sip of it in nearly an hour. The room was quiet but for the faint ticking of the clock. The house was quiet, too. He only kept a servant or two, just the bare minimum. Most of the time no one even knew when he was here in London. He came, did his business, and returned to his country estate like a ghost.
In some ways hewasa ghost, living only half a life. He deserved no more than that. He probably deserved less.
He lifted his glass to his lips at last and swigged back most of the liquor in one gulp. As the drink burned down his throat, he froze. From the corner of his eye, he thought he’d caught a bit of movement from the door to his office.
He turned toward it and watched as his door opened, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway that outlined a shadowy figure who slipped into the room. Although he couldn’t see the intruder’s face, he knew it wasn’t one of his servants. They were all trained to stay out of his private rooms. He didn’t even allow them to be cleaned, and he trusted his staff implicitly.
So this was a blackguard who entered, not a friend. The figure hung at the door a moment, then stepped forward slowly, moving toward his desk. There the person stopped and there was a rustle of fabric in the silence. The shadow of his intruder’s hand reached out and took something.
At that, Alexander moved. He jumped up and lunged forward, catching the person before they could abscond with anything of his. But as he wrapped his arms around the shadow, he caught his breath. He had expected to tackle a man, but the figure now trapped in his arms was a woman. He felt her curves pressed against his forearms as he held her from behind and her backside wriggled against his pelvis.
“No!” she cried out in a musical voice that broke the silence of the room and shocked his senses. “Please!”
A whiff of the scent of her hair wafted to his nostrils as he dragged her toward the fire. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, spicy and sweet and that, coupled with her continued movements in his arms, inspired the strangest reaction.
