“Because of the business in Slough?”
“That’s only part of it. I just haven’t felt like company.”
“Nor I at the moment.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“My news will not please His Majesty. He is in Brighton but returns shortly.” He smiled ruefully. “I’ve been incredibly bad tempered. My servants are most likely searching for other positions.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure that once you can put this behind you….”
“Yes. And when you can return to Owltree….”
She nodded, the pink in her cheeks paling.
The deuce! He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the distress in her eyes.
He stood abruptly. “I’ll go in search of Mrs. Grimshaw. My last attempt to find Brookwood’s secret stash before His Majesty demands an audience.”
“I wish you luck, Flynn.” Althea rose and held out her hand. “Please send me any news.”
Flynn raised her hand to his lips. He gazed into her eyes, trying to gauge how she felt about him. “Of course, Althea. Good day.”
Flynn’s inquiries quickly led him to Mrs. Grimshaw’s door in Harley Street. When she greeted him in her modestly furnished parlor, he wondered what attraction she might have had for Brookwood. She was an angular, rather mannish woman with a strong chin, and her dark gown did little to soften her features.
At his bow, she bent her head in acknowledgement. “Please be seated, my lord. How may I help you?”
“You were acquainted with Lord Brookwood, I believe, Mrs. Grimshaw.”
A ruddy flush tinged her thin cheeks. “What is this concerning?”
“I wonder if he might have given you something to look after for him.”
She straightened the high lace collar of her navy gown with nervous fingers. “Why would you think that?”
“I came here in the hope it might be true.”
She nodded. “Lady Brookwood sent you, I suppose.”
“This matter stretches far wider than any interest of Lady Brookwood’s. But rest assured, Mrs. Grimshaw, if you have anything of his lordship’s in safe-keeping, you will not be judged badly for it.” Flynn leaned forward with a look of appeal. “I promise your name will not be mentioned.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why are you so interested, my lord? You are a diplomat, are you not?”
“I act on behalf of His Majesty.”
“The king?” Her brownish hazel eyes widened. Handsome eyes, Flynn noted.
“It’s come to our attention that Brookwood had stolen jewels in his possession at the time of his death.”
“Stolen jewels?” She looked blank. “Brookwood was no thief. He was a gentleman.”
Flynn’s heart sank. Had he come on a fool’s errand?
She stood. “However, Lord Brookwood did give me a package. I was to hold it until he came back.” She swallowed. “He didn’t return, of course. But it is not jewelry…” She went to a bureau, removed a key she carried on a fine gold chain around her neck, and unlocked it. “He told me they were incriminating letters that he did not wish Lady Althea to read.”
She handed Flynn a package. “I had no idea what to do with them. I didn’t wish to disgrace his name, you understand. And I couldn’t see any reason to produce them after he died.”
Flynn ripped off the brown paper, his pulse thudding. “This is not letters, Mrs. Grimshaw.” He opened the package to find a box with another smaller one inside it. A jeweler’s box sat in his palm, big enough for a small parure but hardly a cache of jewels. He flipped open the lid with his thumb and sat back stunned. Nestled within a bed of satin was a magnificent, deep-blue diamond the size of a goose’s egg. As it caught the light, the faceted gem flashed the colors of the spectrum. He took a quick, sharp breath. Crowthorne had been right. Flynn had certainly never seen the like. Not a diamond this large, let alone the depth of color. He recalled some of the diamond’s history, and the realization of what he held in his hand prickled the hair at his nape.
