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“Thank you, Deo,” she said, and her eyes glistened.

Alarmed, he said, “Don’t cry, Em. I can’t bear it when you cry!”

She sniffed. “I’m not, really!” She buried her face in his jacket and did cry, which had him patting and stroking her back and murmuring helpless words of comfort. Fortunately for his equilibrium, the tears were short-lived. He didn’t think he would ever get accustomed to female tears, certainly not Em’s anyway, especially if he was the cause.

He remembered vividly from his childhood an instance of his mother in tears and his feelings of helplessness to comfort her. Not that she had wanted his comfort. She had told him to leave the room. Why that scene came back to him now he didn’t know. He seldom thought of his mother, and that particular memory wasn’t one he’d entertained in a long time. But it went some way toward explaining why he found feminine tears so very hard to cope with. At least Em did want and accept his comfort, as inadequate as it might be.

Em nestled her head into his shoulder and said, “Annis found me crying and she was so sweet, Deo. She said I should count her as a sister, because you and Emrys were as brothers. I’ve never had a female friend, let alone a sister. It was so kind of her. She is the loveliest person.”

“Yes, she and Emrys are well matched, for he’s the kindest man I know. I’m glad she did that.” He squeezed her. “Emrys, Rob, and Jerome are like brothers to me. The four of us would do anything for each other. It’s been like that since school. You wouldn’t think on the surface that we had anything in common beyond the fact that we’re all gentlemen. We don’t talk about it much; it’s taken as read. All for one, and one for all.”

“All for love?” quipped Em with a smile.

“Yes, all for love.” He kissed her again, she was irresistible.

A little while later, he said, “We need to do some work, Em.”

“I know,” she said, flushed and slightly breathless.

He reluctantly let her go and climbed to his feet. Turning away, he rearranged his breeches and headed toward the desk.

The rest of the afternoon passed in companionable accord.

Bidenden was back for dinner, and inevitably the topic of the Arthurian connection came up again, much to Deo’s annoyance. He recognized it was like trying to stem the tide, however. The topic was too enticing for people to leave it alone.

*

Bryson retired to his room early, claiming fatigue after his day in town, his mind buzzing with the dinner conversation. He wished he had known about the Arthurian connection when he sent the letter to his broker. He could send an addendum tomorrow. But given the potential value of the items, it became imperative that he secure them tonight. By his calculations, Emily’s parents should arrive tomorrow, which would bring everything to a head.

His actions would be dictated by the outcome of that confrontation. If he was lucky, his long shot would come off. If not, he had this very nice cache of valuable items to fall back on, and the notion of wresting the money for them from his sire, all unbeknownst to the man himself, was a highly satisfying prospect.

He waited until the household was asleep before venturing downstairs to the library, bringing a pillowcase to place the items in for transporting them to the hiding place he had decided to use. He left the boxes, taking only the wrapping. If he took the boxes, it would be immediately obvious the items were missing. It would buy more time if the thefts were not discovered immediately, he reasoned. He had arranged with Kenrick for the two of them to go shooting first thing, and they wouldn’t be back until midday or thereabouts, which with any luck, should coincide with the arrival of Emily’s parents.

Confident of the hiding place not being discovered, he put into place his last piece of insurance. He had taken the belt buckle also, which was the least valuable of the showy items, but still looked valuable, particularly to the uninitiated, as it gleamed like gold even though it was only bronze.

His target for deflection was the gardener, Smiggens. His conscience gave him a slight twinge over that. The man had bandaged his ribs for him initially. But needs must. It was his father’s fault. If he hadn’t cut him off without a penny, all for a trifling debt of five thousand pounds and a bit of trouble over a lightskirt, he wouldn’t be forced to take such drastic steps. But what was a fellow to do? He had to live on something.

He made his way to the storage shed that had a small cottage attached, that housed Smiggens and his grandsons. The shed was padlocked, so he turned his attention to the cottage. All was dark inside. He approached the door and found that it opened easily and, fortunately, quietly.

The first room was a quasi-kitchen cum sitting room. Presumably, the rear room was the bedroom. Sufficient light came through the window to illuminate the space, and the slight glow of coals from the banked fire gave off a faint glow and some warmth. He listened for any sounds of the occupants stirring and heard nothing.

A table and three chairs dominated the kitchen space, and beyond it were a sofa and a storage chest that seemed to be doing double duty as a table. He trod over to it and found that the lid lifted easily. Inside were piles of linen. He slipped the buckle between the folds of the linen, closed the lid carefully, and with a fast-thudding heart, beat a hasty retreat out the door.

Returning to his room, he penned a further note to his broker and retired to bed, once again well satisfied with his night’s work.