Page 16 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

“No again!” Ashington exclaimed. “Hello! Is no one listening to me?”

“I’ve thieved, too,” added Fitzsimmons, somewhat sheepishly. “Before, you know…during darker times.”

“You certainly thieved my heart,” said Rollo. “Does that count?”

Willoughby made retching noises. “I once stole a meat pie from cook’s baking sheet, cooling on the kitchen sill,” he offered. “Does that count?”

“You bugger!” Rollo rounded on him. “I took a wooden spoon to the arse for that!”

“Good lord, I’m surrounded by scoundrels.” Ashington tugged madly at his thick hair. “You’ve all lost your minds.”

Mickey cleared his throat, recalling Beauregard’s words. “Is it stealing, though, if one takes from another thief?”

“Excellent point, Mickey,” Rossingley praised. “And arguably not.”

“Especially as the parure belongs to you to begin with, Benedict,” Tommy coaxed. “You’d simply be reclaiming that which is rightfully yours.”

“But how?” The duke paced towards the window, where he took up position, hands on hips, staring out and shaking his head. “How the blazes can we? What if—”

“That part I haven’t quite worked out yet,” Rossingley confessed. “But we’re a group of bright chaps. Surely, we can put our heads together and come up with something sensible?”

“Sensible?” Ashington tugged on his hair again; he’d be bald by dinner if he kept that up. “I’m the only one in this room with any sense!”

Behind his back, the others eyed one another. Mickey wondered who’d make the next move. When Tommy offered him a questioning eyebrow, Mickey returned it with a nod, excitement mounting. Across the room, Fitzsimmons mouthed something to Rossingley, who also nodded, then flicked his blue gaze up at the duke’s broad back.

“Who’s in then?” said the earl brightly.

“Me,” declared Fitzsimmons. “The parure is Ashington property. I want the damned thing back and, in doing so, shall avenge my grandmother.”

“Then I’m in too,” said Rollo. “You’re not placing yourself in the path of danger without me by your side, Fitz.”

“Super,” answered Fitzsimmons drily. “Everybody needs a small blond chatterbox full of bad ideas when they’re imperilled.”

“It sounds jolly exciting, Papa,” Rollo continued, unabashed. “And of course, we’ll need Willoughby, seeing as he’s so close to Miss Amelia. So, he’s in too.”

“Charming,” muttered Willoughby. “She’ll never break things off with Talybridge when she discovers I’m a common crook.”

“She won’t,” Rollo insisted. “Because Papa and Kit will come up with a foolproof plan. Kit? You’re joining us, too, aren’t you?”

“Wherever your papa leads, my sweet, I shall follow,” replied Kit placidly. “And, as we’ve already established, November is such a dreary month.”

“I’m in too,” said Mickey. “I have already made the…um…acquaintance of Beauregard. If it enhances our cause, then I’m happy to pursue it further.”

“I bet you are,” teased Tommy. “Obviously, I’m game.” He raised his voice. “So that simply leaves you, my love?”

Ashington turned from the window to be greeted by Tommy’s rare, slow smile. Mickey believed it to be his most persuasive weapon. Indeed, the duke’s expression softened to one of resignation as Tommy walked over and took his lover’s hand, lacing his fingers through his own.

“Et tu, Brute?”

“’Fraid so.” Tommy brushed his lips across Ashington’s knuckles, employing another excellent weapon in his armamentarium. “It may not be how you prefer to do things, but how bad can it be? By all accounts, your grandfather was a decent man. You’ve told me so yourself. The only criminal here is the person who murdered your grandmother and stole your family heirloom. And, working together, we’re going to avenge her poor soul and see it back in its rightful place.”

The duke groaned, a single mournful expulsion. “I’m feeling horribly outnumbered.”

“You are. But you know we’re right.” Tommy’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Honestly, the parure will be snug in your safe back at Ashington before anyone has even noticed that I’ve lured Talybridge to Hampstead Heath in the dead of night, tied him to an oak, then slit his throat with a rusty blade.”

“You wouldn’t—” The duke groaned again before the corners of his mouth pulled into a wry smile, not quite amused, more like a gentle acknowledgment of life’s absurdities. “Tommy Squire. You bloody man. How I love you.”

Ashington swung his arms wide, embracing the room. “How I love all of you, dammit.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Yes. Agreed. We might have to make it Richmond Park, but, yes. Yes, yes, yes. I’m in. When do we start?”