“It would slow them down. I would never have been able to take the brooch if the museum had a better lock on its case. There were people about. If I could not do it fast, I could not do it at all.”
“I will respect your expertise and tell the butler to see to better locks.”
“Wait until I am gone. Just in case I want to escape.”
He had to smile. Yet her reference to leaving caused a stirring of the anger again, because he did not want to think about that yet. Whenever he did, he tasted an emotion that reminded him too much of grief.
“I think there may be a way to compromise how we try to find your mother,” he said. “It may be possible to do it both ways. Go to Devon as you want, but also follow the dagger.”
“I suppose if we separate in our actions, that might work.”
“We will not separate. There is no telling what waits at the end of the search.”
“You are being stubborn again.”
“Did you think a good rut would change my mind? I appreciate the effort to seduce me to your plan, but it failed.”
She laughed and kissed him. “I wanted to seduce you for my own pleasure. Of course, if it made your thinking more pliable, all the better.”
“It did that, but not in the way you wanted. I have concluded that you and I should go to Devon once the directions come. Someone else should make the delivery and follow the dagger. If it is as we suspect, we will all end up in the same place. If it is not, we will still have the location where the dagger went.”
After a moment of consideration, she said, “I suppose you intend to have Vincent follow the dagger.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“He is green and rash. He will never be careful enough. If it is merely posted by a go-between to its destination, he does not have the skill to learn where it is going. He is not clever enough to find a way to get a look at the direction on the box.”
“Vincent would be insulted by your lack of confidence.”
“He has the heart for such work, but not enough experience. You should tell him to apprentice himself to a runner if he thinks he wants to become an investigator. It is a skill not unlike thieving. One must learn the trade.”
“I was not thinking of Vincent. This requires someone whose discretion I trust without question.”
Which meant only one person.
* * *
The horses charged at a hard gallop across the park’s hills, pulling far away from the carriages and walkers on the Serpentine. At the tree designated as the end of the race, Gabriel pulled up his horse in a pivot while Brentworth closed the last few yards.
“Damnation,” Brentworth cursed. “If this horse can’t beat yours, he will hardly do well in a real race.”
“You bought him without my advice. That was a mistake.”
Brentworth frowned darkly, then acquiesced the point. “It was an impulse at an auction. One which you did not attend.”
He would have gone if requested. However, Brentworth prided himself on knowing horses. He owned several strong winners that he raced all over England. Gabriel had been with him when he purchased those.
Brentworth usually approached horse trading the same way he arranged for a new mistress—with little emotion. That he had bought on impulse was surprising.
“I am perplexed that you succumbed to auction fever for this animal. It has good lines, but I can see nothing special that would provoke such a reaction.”
Brentworth patted the chestnut’s neck. “I think he reminded me of the first horse I had as a boy.”
“Then keep him for riding. It is a better life for him anyway.”
They walked the horses to cool them down. Gabriel made sure they moved far away from any other riders who might choose to race to the tree.
“I have another favor to ask,” he said.
