Page 74 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“You don’t know that,” Desmond protested.

“I know he’s not at home, he’s not at the laboratory and he’s not here.” Carson ticked off his points on his fingers.

“It’s understandable that you don’t want your friend to be a thief,” Thisbe told Desmond, her voice more gentle than it had been any other time today. “But it doesn’t look good that he’s nowhere to be found.”

“People go places other than home and work.”

“Gordon?” Carson raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Point taken,” Desmond admitted.

“He has to be somewhere,” Thisbe said. “He cannot simply vanish. We must—”

“Wallace,” Desmond said.

“He’s also someone to look into,” Carson agreed. “But first—”

“No. I mean, Professor Gordon could have gone to Wallace’s house. Wallace has been pressing him about the Eye. I think the professor would have been eager to show the Eye to his patron.”

“Yes. And if Wallace stole it, he’d want Gordon to examine it. Conduct some experiment with it.” Thisbe smiled at Desmond, and for an instant, everything seemed as it had been, their conversation easy.

Then Carson spoke, and the moment was gone. Thisbe’s smile dropped away, and her body stiffened a little. Clearly she had remembered that she was supposed to despise Desmond.

The visit to Wallace’s house proved equally fruitless. No one answered their knock, and the windows were shuttered, with no bit of light showing.

“He’s bolted, too,” Carson said, turning away. “What’s your plan now?”

“I don’t know that I have one,” Thisbe admitted as they gathered at the carriage.

“I think we’re done for the day,” Desmond said. He didn’t want to discuss the subject with Carson. The sooner they could rid themselves of the man, the better. “It’s getting dark, and we’ve run out of options.”

To his surprise, Thisbe didn’t protest. “Yes, perhaps you are right. I must talk this over with my grandmother. Please, I beg you, both of you, don’t let out word of this theft.” She looked searchingly at Carson, then Desmond.

“Of course,” Carson replied. “I won’t say a word. If I can be of any further help to you, I hope you will not hesitate to call me.”

“Thank you. I will remember.”

“Good day, then.” Carson nodded in farewell. “Harrison? I’m headed for the laboratory. You?”

“No. I believe I’ll go home.” With Carson hanging there, waiting for him, Desmond could do little other than depart. The man was a complete hindrance. Desmond glanced at Thisbe and could read nothing in her face.

“Good day, then.” Thisbe settled the matter by taking her leave of the men and getting into her carriage.

The two men walked off. For once, Carson provided none of his usual light chatter, and Desmond was too sunken in gloom to say anything. He had intended to remain with Thisbe, but Carson had neatly blocked him there. He should have come up with something more clever to separate Carson from the group.

At the cross street, Desmond parted from his colleague, setting off in the general direction of his home. At the next corner he glanced back and, seeing that Carson was no longer in sight, he turned again. If he wanted to talk to Thisbe, he would have to call at Thisbe’s house and hope she would admit him, though it seemed unlikely.

A carriage rumbled up the street and came to a stop beside him. Desmond glanced over. It was the Moreland coach, and Thisbe was opening the door. A happiness far greater than was reasonable flooded him. Perhaps there was still hope for him after all.

“I THOUGHT WE could walk—Broughton House isn’t far,” Thisbe said, stepping out of the carriage. Desmond looked faintly surprised, and she realized that a stroll was not something one would typically do with a person she disliked. She quickly explained, “We need to talk. We’ll have more time if we walk.” She felt herself blushing and broke off to tell the coachmen to return to Broughton House.

“Good. I wanted to talk without Carson about,” Desmond agreed as they started down the street.

“I did, as well. I was about to suggest stopping myself. Carson was helpful, but I didn’t want to admit him to our plans.”

“Do we have plans?” Desmond’s mouth quirked up on one side.

“No,” Thisbe admitted, quelling the flutter in her abdomen that his half smile always brought. “I don’t know where else to go or what to do.”