Page 6 of A Second Chance for Love

“You can explain it to the constable.”

“But Madam, I don’t—”

The older woman’s eyes flickered to something over Oona’s shoulders, and her entire demeanor transformed from a vengeful harpy to a pliable, voluptuous siren. Oona knew who’d walked in the door before Madam LeMonde even spoke.

“Thank God, you’re here, Juss. You’re just in time to help me deal with this.”

Oona gritted her teeth at the woman’s casual, almost sensual, use of his pet name; this would not end well for her. She sighed and turned.

In the light of day she could see the subtle signs of age she’d not noticed last night in the near darkness. Crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, a deep, crescent-shaped groove on the right side of his mouth, likely the result of all the smirking he did, and even a few flecks of gray in his inky black hair. He was dressed for riding and looked twice as broad and even taller in his caped coat and glossy black top boots. He took off his hat and held it under one arm, his unearthly blue eyes moving from Madam LeMonde to Maria before settling on Oona. “What seems to be the problem, Miss Parker?”

Madam LeMonde gave an outraged squeak. “Why are you asking her—”

He raised his hand, the one still holding the crop, in a staying gesture. “One at a time, please.”

To Oona’s amazement, the other woman remained silent, if seething.

“Miss Parker,” he prodded.

“She accused me of stealing.”

His eyebrows rose slightly and he turned to the dressmaker. “What do you think she stole from you?”

“There are all kinds of things missing from the vault—two bolts of silk, a package of ostrich feathers, a cask of paste jewels for slippers.” She cut Oona a slit-eyed look. “I might not have noticed for days had the door not been flapping open when I arrived this morning.”

“The door was open?” he said sharply.

“You should tell the other tenants to check their vaults because she might have stolen more.”

Mr. Taylor’s gaze was heavy on Oona while the other woman spoke. “How long were you here after I saw you in the—”

“You saw her last night?” LeMonde shrieked.

He grimaced. “I’m right here, Dotty. You needn’t yell.”

Oona wasn’t surprised the modiste’s name was Dotty rather than Celine, but she was surprised that Juss Taylor knew and used it.

“What time, Miss Parker?”

Oona forced herself to focus on the moment, rather than this man’s possible relationship to her employer. “I left perhaps five minutes after you. When I came back up to the shop Madam had already locked the front door and was ready to go.” She shrugged. “I took off my apron, found my gloves, and left.”

“Is that true?” he asked LeMonde.

She nodded grudgingly.

“And then you took a hackney home?” he asked.

Oona shook her head. “No, I walked.”

“You walked home in a blizzard? In the dark?”

Oona was hardly going to tell this man that she couldn’t afford to pay for a hackney. “What of it? I like the snow.”

“It means nothing that she walked,” LeMonde said. “She had the key with her. She must ‘av—have—come back with a carriage—and likely an accomplice or two.”

“You had the key?” he asked.

Oona’s face heated. “Yes, I—I forgot to return it last night.”