But someone was.
Creeping down the hall, he stayed close to the wall. As he neared the room, he could hear rustling of things being moved about as if someone was rifling through something.
He paused outside the door and waited. The rustling continued so whoever was inside didn’t hear his approach.
It appeared the viscount’s investment was well-spent this eve after all. The door was slightly ajar, but the dark room didn’t allow him to deduce who was inside—other than it was someone who shouldn’t be there.
Carefully, he nudged the door slightly wider so he could slip through, thankful that the hinges were well-oiled and remained silent, not alerting the thief to his presence. His pistol was strapped into a holster hidden under his jacket.
Pulling it out, he pointed it at the figure hunched over the viscountess’s jewelry chest and cocked the hammer. “I suggestye back away from the jewels,” he said quietly, his voice a dire warning.
The figure jumped back with a yelp, and clenched a handful of jewels to…
…her chest.
Hell’s teeth. It was the lass from earlier.
“Please,” she whispered, her hands up in defense. “Ye dinna understand.”
He holstered his pistol. He wasn’t going to shoot the lass.
This was an interesting turn of events. He’d never expected the prowler to be a lass. No one did. All the papers spoke of the thief being a man. And she was most definitely no man.
“These are mine.” She dangled what appeared to be a necklace in front of her. “Well, no’ mine, exactly,” she stammered.
“Exactly, indeed. They belong to the viscountess.” He shook his head with an unbelievable laugh and wagged a finger at the lass. “Ye are good. I will give ye that. Ye had all of us fooled thinking ye were a man.”
Moonlight filtered in through the window and he could see her expression change from despair to dawning.
“I am no thief.”
“Those items in your hand say otherwise.”
“These are mine.” She raised her fist to him, which he found comical, but he hid his laughter. She was a thief after all.
“Just a moment ago, ye said they werena yours.” He crossed his arms. “What say ye to that?”
“They belong to my grandmother.” A frown creased her forehead. “Belonged. She has passed on.”
His heart tugged in his chest, and he tamped the unexpected feeling down. This was no time for sentiments. The lass was a thief. Though with how much noise she made, he hadn’t the faintest idea how she hadn’t been caught before now.
“I will call for the viscount. ’Tis up to him to decide what he would like to do with ye.”
The lass rushed forward and grasped his sleeve.
“Nay, please dinna do that. I speak the truth. Do I look like a thief to ye?”
She did not, but he wasn’t going to confess that to her.
“I can prove it to ye,” she blurted out, nodding her head. “Aye. There is a portrait in my family’s home of my grandmother wearing these very pieces.”
He lifted a brow at the lass as he studied her. Her stance seemed to lend truth to her statement, though she could just be a prolific deceiver along with being a prolific thief.
“It has taken me months to track these down. I wasna e’en certain they would be here until I actually found them.”
What were the chances of there being two thief’s stealing from party hosts? Nil, he concluded.
“The viscount could have your hand for such an offense. And that is no’ taking into consideration any of the other burglaries ye have committed.”
