“You are lying. You seek to protect me by serving up my brother instead.”
He sat beside her on the bench. “Do you want me to make you the criminal, Eva? Do you want to spare your brother’s name enough for that?” He took her hand between his. “I will do what I can to keep his role from being well known, but they name him as their partner with this bold move they have made. I will not pretend they did not, because it would be convenient or might end your coldness toward me.”
Her lashes fluttered. Her gaze lowered to the shrubbery and flowers, then to nothing. “I am angry with you, for forcing the truth on me.”
“I tried alternatives. I had good excuses to offer last night.”
“It appears we know each other too well for me to believe them. I am so embarrassed, Gareth. For him, and for me. To now face the duke, and Lord Ywain—”
“They have nothing but sympathy and concern for you, Eva. And relief, that we can settle this quickly and your sister will be back home.” He stood, still holding her hand. “Come and write this letter.” He picked up her sketchbook and tucked it under his arm.
She finally looked at him. As they walked to the house, she favored him with a small, rueful smile. “Whoever would have guessed that in seeking a few moments of wicked pleasure, I would find such a good friend.”
He gave her hand a reassuring kiss.Whoever would have guessed.
CHAPTER25
Eva sat in her library, trying to read. Three lamps burned, so anyone looking inside could see she was alone. They could also see ten paintings propped against the walls, their colors glowing like melted jewels.
The plan was simple and, she hoped, not at all dangerous. She had carried her letter into the tavern all alone, and left it for the proprietor, with nothing untoward occurring. In it she acknowledged she had the treasure, expressed relief someone had finally come for it, and declared she would, of course, trade it for her sister. They were to come tonight and take the pictures that exceeded her brother’s share. If they did not bring Rebecca with them, she had threatened to raise the hue and cry.
She tried to contain her fears, but they chewed away her confidence as time passed. No matter how often she reminded herself she was in no danger, that three armed men roamed outside and would watch everything, she could not remain calm. If Rebecca were not in the middle of this, it might be different. If Rebecca had not taken the pistol, having it nearby might have helped too.
There was no telling how long she would have to wait. She tried reading again.
She had turned ten pages when she heard a gentle commotion outside. Soft voices and quiet footsteps approached the house.She bent forward so she could see the reception hall. The door opened and Rebecca’s yellow dress appeared. Three sets of boots followed her in.
She stood, and Rebecca ran to her. While they embraced, Rebecca whispered, “I’ve the pistol right here in my shawl. They don’t. Have pistols, that is.”
Eva looked past her to the three men. One might be thought a gentleman on a good day, but drink had turned his skin ruddy and eyes shallow, even though he was probably only thirty years old. The other two were working men. She recognized the biggest one as one of the strangers she had noticed in the area the last couple of months. The other, smaller one’s presence shocked her.
“Erasmus? How are you involved in this?” she demanded.
He gave her one of his grins. “Just making sure no one gets hurt, Miss Russell, least of all you or Miss Rebecca. Some of these sort forget their manners at times.”
“You can picture my surprise to see him upon being removed from the carriage that took me away,” Rebecca said. “I am very disappointed in you, Erasmus.”
“Life has a way of doing that, Miss. Disappointing one, that is,” he said.
The gentleman ignored them all while he peered at the pictures.
“They call him Crawley,” Rebecca whispered. “Appropriate, since he makes my skin crawl when he looks at me.”
Right now Mr. Crawley examined the pictures like someone who knew what he was about. These were originals, not her copies, in the event the thieves had very good eyes for art.
“Where are the others,” he asked. “There should be more. Twenty or so.”
“The others are my brother’s share. I was told I could keep them.”
“The shares are not a matter of number, but value. These here are the smallest, and not one third the value, so the rest is not all yours. Not that offering that was agreed to by me to start. I will need the others too.”
“My brother insisted the rest were ours. He was very clear on that when he told me the location of the art while on his deathbed. Therefore, I arranged for their sale.”
Crawley’s expression hardened. “You sold them? That was most unwise.”
“I said I arranged for their sale. This was recent, and they are not yet sold as I understand it.”
“Then I ask again, Miss Russell. Where are they?”
