But without her, the answers were thin. He was tracing a shadow that refused to resolve into form.
He drifted toward the edge of the room, where the candlelight pooled thickest and conversation slowed to murmurs. A few womenwore unusual pieces of jewelry, chokers with antique clasps, brooches glinting with stones that caught the light wrong. Pieces like those had already been stolen, worn now by women who didn’t know they might be next.
Two women who’d worn similar jewels had already been attacked. One refused to leave her home after dusk. The other now traveled with a manservant trained in defense, under the pretense of needing assistance on the stairs.
Only one remained. Leticia. His fingers tightened around the stem of the glass. She was the next target, and he still didn’t know who the thief was.
The air changed. Not the music. Not the lighting. The atmosphere shifted as the far doors opened.
She stood in the doorway. Leticia.
Every inch of her was poised, each step deliberate. She wore the same green gown from the masquerade. Silk with silver threads. But this time, no mask. No anonymity. Only resolve.
And at her shoulder, glistening like a mark of fate, rested the brooch.
The room exhaled, murmurs rising through the room. Not about the party. Not about the ball. About her. About it.
Gabriel did not move. He couldn’t.
She greeted her aunt, turned toward the heart of the room, drawing every eye with her. The crowd parted for her like the tide.
Not with bravado, but with certainty. She hadn’t come to be bait. She had come to set the terms.
Gabriel’s pulse pounded in his ears. He handed his champagne to the nearest footman and crossed the room.
*
She stood beneaththe candlelight near the pianoforte, her chinlifted, her shoulders relaxed, the brooch catching the flicker of flame like it had a mind of its own. She held a glass of champagne, which she had no intention of drinking.
Gabriel approached without haste. He had imagined what he might say, what he might do if she were here. He had not expected to find himself silent.
“You wore it,” he said, though the words carried to the room as much as to her.
Leticia turned, slowly, as if judging the moment. “It was the only way to test a theory.”
She stood composed, unyielding. Radiant, untouchable. And his. Except she wasn’t.
“I wasn’t certain you’d return,” he admitted.
“I didn’t,” she said. Her gaze scanned the crowd. “I came for this.”
Gabriel moved closer, close enough that his next words would not carry. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve compared the sketches. The flaw in the center stone. The engraving.” Her eyes lifted to his. “It’s the sixth piece. And it’s mine.”
His throat worked. “You’re making yourself a target.”
“I know.” Her voice didn’t waver, the words carrying the conviction of someone who had already accepted the consequence.
“Let them look,” she said. “Let them wonder. Let them try.”
His mouth twitched. “You sound like Barrington.”
“I sound like myself.” She paused. “This isn’t about my safety. It’s about my mother’s name. My aunt’s. And yes, yours.”
He studied her. She had always been like this. It simply took him too long to see it.
“I’ve spoken with Barrington,” he said. “And Mrs. Bainbridge. The house is secure.”
