Chapter 7

"Quiet night?" Beck asked at breakfast the following morning. Fitz had had the footmen who usually manned the dining room wait outside until more guests came down to breakfast. This allowed them to be alone in the dining room. Most of the gentlemen had stayed up late into the night drinking and smoking, but Fitz was used to rising early and couldn't break himself of the habit.

"Yes. I waited all night. No one even tried the hallway, according to my servants. I think we may have to send the footman away from the door during the night."

"I agree," Beck said. "It's not as though the real jewel is at stake."

They kept their conversation to a low murmur so as not to be overheard by anyone outside the dining room.

"I'll take tonight's watch," Beck offered.

"Actually, I believe I should go again this evening. Given that I'm meant to be the target, the thief likely won't open up to me. You and Evan will be less suspicious. I want you to work your way through the gentlemen guests and see what you can learn through conversation."

"So we interrogate them without letting them know they're being interrogated."

"Precisely."

Fitz finished his breakfast and gazed at the cornflowers on the table, which had been arranged in a lovely bouquet, along with other flowers from the hothouse. He smiled a little as he remembered delivering a bouquet much like it last night to Tabitha's bedchamber while she was having a hot bath. Her lady's maid had taken it from him and assured him she would see it in the morning.

He couldn't wait to see her, to ask if she liked them. He nearly laughed at his own childlike foolishness to be so excited over a woman's reaction to a bouquet.

Evan slipped into the dining room and joined them at the table. "Good Lord..."

"What?" Fitz glanced away from the bouquet to look at Evan.

"You've got a look about you," Evan replied.

"A look?" Fitz snapped. "What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

Beck and Evan exchanged a worried glance.

"He's right. You have got the look," Beck agreed.

"You're both acting like I've come down with consumption," Fitz said with a glower. "What is this look you speak of?"

Evan relaxed. "And just like that, it's gone. For a moment there, I was worried. You looked as though you were thinking about something wonderfully pleasant... like a woman. And this isn't the time to dally with anyone. I thought you were here to catch a thief, not a bride. This entire plan was your idea, if you remember," Evan said.

Fitz arched a brow. "And if I was thinking of a woman?" he asked.

"You are by far the least romantic of us. If you fall into the pit of matrimony, then Beck and I are surely doomed," Evan huffed. "I don't want to fall in love again. Having my heart obliterated once was quite enough, thank you." He reached for a plate of scones on the table.

Beck hid a chuckle as he sipped his coffee. "I have no qualms about love with the right woman, but that's rather a challenge, isn't it? Women are far too predictable these days. I require someone exciting who won't mind me being who I am and all the scandal that I bring."

For the first time in years, Fitz saw a hint of the old Beck from before his father had died and left his family penniless.

Beck had kept his dire straits a secret as long as he could, until creditors had swarmed their townhouse, taking everything of value. Then he had shown up at Fitz's door just after midnight, his mother and little sister in tow, and begged for a pair of rooms to sleep in for a few days while he tried to make other arrangements.

Fitz had eagerly provided three rooms and insisted they stay a few months rather than a few days. Beck had argued, but once his mother and sister had settled into their rooms, he'd reluctantly accepted the offer. Fitz had never told Beck that having his family under his roof had been wonderful. He'd felt like he had a family again for the first time in years.

Within a few months, Beck had become an infamous burglar, one the press had dubbed the Merry Rogue, and soon he had been able to afford lodging for his family again. He'd even been clever and began investing half of the money he stole, while gambling the other half to win more. No one but Fitz and Evan had ever known the truth of Beck's rapidly rising wealth.

Being with Tabitha in the hothouse the previous evening had reminded him of when Beck and his family had lived with him. He'd felt... complete somehow, having someone he cared about near him. The way she made him feel, that dizzy, delightful fullness in his chest made him excited and yet deeply serene all at once.

"Dare we ask what has you looking so dreamy this morning?" Evan asked.

Fitz snorted. "I'm not dreamy, nor will I ever be."

"But you are, old boy. That Sherborne girl has you all twisted up. Stealing kisses and courtly walks to the hothouse under cover of darkness..." Evan chuckled. "You'd best be careful. Such things would have had our ancestors married with babes on the way by now."

"She's fascinating, I admit that. I can't help but want to put together the pieces of her mystery." He toyed with his teacup and then leaned a little toward his friend. "I blame you, Evan."

"Me?"

"You are certain she isn't related to Hannah? Even by a distant marriage?"

Evan shook his head. "I learned everything about Hannah, including her family tree. I traced her lineage back to William the Conqueror and I know all her cousins and even second and third cousins. Not once did I see any Tabitha or any Sherbornes. Even the female relatives who married and took different names did not escape my search."

"You don't suppose that this mysterious Miss Sherborne is..." Beck began thoughtfully.

"The thief?" Evan completed Beck's thought, and then they both burst into laughter.

Fitz didn't laugh.

Women were more than capable of such activities, and to be fair, the possibility had occurred to him. After all, Tabitha had admitted the desperate life she'd once led. Was it not possible that these thefts were the reason she was able to afford her current lifestyle? Beck was proof that such things were possible.

However, he had his reasons for dismissing her as a suspect, namely because of her companions, Miss Starling and Mrs. Winslow. They were well-born daughters of aristocrats and were the farthest thing from thieves that could be imagined. They also clearly trusted Tabitha, so much so that they had concocted a story about her being Hannah's cousin. The three were clearly good friends, and as gentle-born ladies, Hannah and Julia would not be given to such petty actions as theft. What would be so important about Tabitha that Hannah and Julia would lie to society for her?

Suddenly, the truth struck like lightning. He knew of one very important reason that two gentle-born ladies would lie about another woman's background and introduce her into society as they had.

"Miss Sherborne is not after any jewel. She's after a husband," he murmured to himself, catching the attention of his friends.

"Miss Sherborne wants a husband?" Beck asked.

"Of course! That must be why Mrs. Winslow and Miss Starling have concocted this cousin story. Miss Sherborne told me things in confidence that would give me reason to believe that her spending time on the marriage mart would be unsuccessful." He did not tell his friends all of the private things Tabitha had shared in confidence with him. Those were not his secrets to share. It did not bother him, but it would sour most men toward her. And assuming she managed to keep her situation a secret, most men would want proof on the wedding night that she was a virgin. It was a silly, medieval notion, but men were often medieval in their thinking when it came to a great many things, women included.

"So, she's after you," Evan said. "I wonder at her courage to come after a duke. Bravo for her, but I daresay she won't catch you. She'd have to win over your grandmother as well."

"She's already captured my grandmother's interest," Fitz admitted. "I overheard her ordering Mr. Tracy to push the two of us together whenever possible during this house party. She's set on me marrying, and she seems to like Miss Sherborne very well."

"Good God, man," Evan declared. "You'd best watch your back or you'll be married by Christmas."

Married by Christmas...Why did the thought strike both terror and excitement through him at the same time? The vast dining room suddenly felt small and stifling. He tugged at his collar, trying to escape the strangling feeling of his ascot.

"I think I need some air." Fitz pushed his chair back and stood. "I'll see you both later, shall I?"

"Indeed. I heard croquet is the game of the day." Evan grinned. "I always enjoy whacking the hell out of that ball."

Beck rolled his eyes. "And when you do, it takes half a dozen men to go find it in the underbrush. Meanwhile, you flirt with every pretty woman in attendance."

Evan lounged back in his chair with a gleeful look. "I never claimed to aim for the wickets. Besides, once the rest of the gents chase after the ball, I have the ladies all to myself."

Beck snorted. "You're a bounder, you know that, don't you?"

"I happily own up to it." Evan grinned.

Fitz left his companions to bicker in the dining room while he headed to the back terrace. Once outside, he sighed in relief as the chilly autumnal breeze tousled his hair and invigorated his senses.

His thoughts were a mad jumble as he left the terrace behind and cut through a garden path that led him to a dirt road. The road passed through the woods that bordered his lands and bisected the side of a steep meadowy hill that was covered with sheep in springtime. He moved fast, stretching his legs and watching the rain clouds gather on the horizon. The faint rumble of thunder was only a minor distraction as he focused on the problem of what to do about Tabitha.

Was she here for a husband? And did she want him in that regard? More importantly, if she was secretly looking to find a husband, was she putting on a performance or was she presenting herself truthfully? Women sometimes tailored their performances to men when attempting to win a husband or even a protector. Was Tabitha the kind of woman who would do that? Or was she being herself with him? And if she was being herself... what did he think of the idea of marriage to her? Because they were certainly moving in that direction if she was indeed husband hunting.

He had never liked being reminded of the fact that he would have to marry someday. He didn't like being told what to do, ever. Naturally, he avoided any matters that might lead him to a wedding . But when he thought of Tabitha walking toward the altar to meet another man, it created a strange buzzing in his ears and made his fists clench.

Tabitha's face, half-hidden beneath a wedding veil, flashed across his mind. She would look exquisite in a creamy satin gown, orange blossoms adorning her hair and...

He cursed as he lengthened his strides. Since when was he the sort of man to daydream about a bride? Since when was he the sort of man who fell in love with a woman in the dark while listening to music? Apparently, when a man met a woman like Tabitha, he became a romantic fool with a longing for kisses and speaking the language of flowers.

* * *

Tabitha quickenedher pace to a brisk trot the moment she heard the rumble of the storm behind her. She was dead tired, as she'd not been able to sleep much the night before. The flowers that Fitz had left for her had sent her mind spinning. She also harbored quite a bit of guilt at not telling Hannah and Julia about her growing feelings for Fitz. She'd just kissed a man they both despised, a man who'd ruined the engagement and life of their friend, which had resulted in the veritable exile of the poor woman to America.

And if that wasn't bad enough, she'd failed to steal the diamond last night. Technically, she hadn't even tried, and that was somehow infinitely worse.

With all of those thoughts pounding at the inside of her head, she hadn't been able to go back to sleep so she'd decided to go for a walk. The early morning exercise across the fields had the added benefit of helping her avoid Julia and Hannah, at least for a while. She couldn't afford to talk to them yet, not until she had worked out how she was going to excuse herself for not retrieving the diamond.

She heard the rain coming long before she felt it. The dull roar of heavy drops swept across the meadow and the path she was on. She broke into a desperate sprint as the deluge chased her. She didn't want to return to the house dripping like a drowned rat.

When the rain inevitably overtook her, she was stunned by the sheer force of it. She tried to keep to the path, but the mud soon made it impossible. Even the thickening foliage above her did little to stop the torrential downpour. She felt like she was running through an endless waterfall.

Blast!This was not what she needed. There was nothing more irritating than getting soaked through to the bone. At least now she could return to the house, change her clothes, and request a hot bath. Before she'd met Hannah and Julia, she would've been wet the rest of the day, with an empty belly and a chill that likely would have resulted in a cold, or worse. Thank heavens she no longer had to face such conditions. She resolved in that moment to hug Hannah and Julia when she returned. The other women had truly saved her from the miseries of her old life.

But even thinking about that raised the deep fear that she would only ever have one purpose in life: to steal. Was she nothing more than a petty thief in a pretty dress? For so many years, she'd been a pickpocket, nothing more. Was she worth being anything, or mattering to anyone beyond her special skill set? It was probably silly to even worry about any of that, but she did.

Tabitha took a path up a small wooded hill trying to steer clear of the thick mud forming on the path, only to slip on the slick meadow grasses. She cried out more from alarm than pain as her ankle gave beneath her and she tumbled to the ground and began to slide and roll down the steep hill, hissing out in pain each time she rolled.

With a thud, she collided with a boulder, stunning her for a moment. But this boulder had grunted and rolled with her.

When she finally stopped, she bumped up against the boulder again. Only it wasn't a boulder. It was a man. When she blinked away the rain from her eyes, she was staring into the face of Fitz, his eyes as stormy as the clouds above them. His wet golden hair was hanging in damp tendrils over his eyes like burnished gold. He was staring back at her while lying on his side. He blinked slowly, as if trying to decide whether he was seeing her or if she was a dream.

"Your Grace," she gasped.

He slowly sat up and winced. "Tabitha?" He had a gash across his forehead. It wasn't deep, but blood was trickling down his face.

"Oh God, you're bleeding." She dug into her drenched skirt pocket and pulled out the token handkerchief he'd let her keep that bore his initials. She lifted up the damp handkerchief to wipe his cut. He winced.

"Hold still," she said and held his chin firmly as she wiped it. "I think the cloth is too wet. We need to get somewhere dry before I can tend to it properly."

Fitz smiled softly. "Are you a nurse, then?"

"Well, no, but I've handled my fair share of scrapes. Any cut must be taken seriously, especially in the city. What on earth were you doing out here?" she asked as she gingerly touched her left ankle.

"I was walking." He squinted up at the rain that fell in soft sheets around them. "Then this storm came out of nowhere. What about you?"

"I was out walking as well until I saw the clouds. I thought I could make it back to the house, but I was wrong."

"I'd be amazed if you had managed. We're a mile from the house. How did you get so far?" Fitz asked.

She blushed and glanced away. "I like being active. I walk often. I even run when no one is around to see. It feels good to stretch my legs. I don't believe those silly doctors who say it wrecks female fertility. Women have been walking and working long before those stuffy old men came along. Fresh air and movement are better than standing still."

The duke chuckled. "On that we agree. I can't stand to sit still for too long." As he said this he tried to stand, but he wavered on his feet unsteadily.

"Lord... I..." He slumped back to the ground. "I feel quite dizzy."

"That must be my fault. I hit you when I fell. Do you think you could walk if you leaned against me?"

"I might," he said uncertainly. His eyes had grown rather glassy, and she feared he may be concussed. She had hit him quite hard.

"All right, I'll try to lift you up. Then you lean on me." She stood and held back a whimper as her ankle twinged sharply. She could walk though, and had survived far worse. She held out her hands, which he accepted, and he stood. He wavered again, but she was quick to put one of his arms around her shoulders.

"Hold on and let's move up the path. We have to be careful of the mud."

Their progress was slow, but in time they reached the path higher on the hill and started the long walk home. They had gone perhaps a hundred yards when a dark-bearded middled-aged man emerged from the woods with a shotgun resting loosely in the crook of one arm. He had two dead pheasants tied to a line that was slung over his shoulder. He tipped his floppy hat back at the sight of them.

"Your Grace?" the man asked. "Are you ill?"

Fitz sighed with open relief. "This is John Cress, a tenant of mine," he said to her in introduction, and then he spoke to the man. "John, thank God we've crossed paths. We need a place to warm up. Might we avail ourselves of your home until the rain stops?"

"Of course, Your Grace." John nodded and squared his shoulders with pride. "The missus will have some soup on the stove, I imagine." John came over and took stock of their bedraggled state and Tabitha's limping movements.

"Here, lass, hold this. We'll be faster if I take care of him. You shouldn't be putting weight on that foot of yours." John passed Tabitha his shotgun and then took Fitz's arm and put it around his shoulders, easing the burden from her.

"Follow me," John said. They turned down the path toward a deep wooded area that flattened out to reveal a small paddock with a tiny barn. Goats, a few pigs, a dozen chickens, and one cantankerous-looking milk cow were all feeding at a trough in the shelter of the barn. Beyond the enclosure was a cozy little stone house. It was a welcome sight, and Tabitha found herself smiling despite the pain she still felt. She turned to Fitz and found him watching her with soft eyes. Perhaps it was only the concussion, but the look made her blush, nonetheless.

"Oy! Maddie!" John shouted across the clearing. The cottage door flew open, and a middle-aged woman stared back at them.

"What is it, John? Oh heavens! Your Grace!" She bobbed a quick curtsy as they approached.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Cress. But Miss Sherborne and I had a little accident up on the hill."

"I can see that, Your Grace. Come on in." She stepped back and let the sodden trio into the house. John took Fitz to a chair by the fire and then gently pried the shotgun from Tabitha's frozen hands.

"Go on and sit by the fire, lass." John gave her a nudge toward the other chair beside Fitz, and she collapsed into it gratefully.

Mrs. Cress tutted fretfully as she came over to them. "Miss Sherborne, is it? Are you hurt?"

"My ankle was turned a little, but I can walk. I am more concerned for Lord Helston..." She nodded at Fitz's still bleeding forehead, but the blood seemed to have clotted enough to slow the bleeding. "He seems to still be a bit dazed."

"I'll fetch a poultice. We'll get him right as rain—well, maybe not rain." The woman chuckled nervously. "Lord, there's a duke in my house, John. Can you believe it?" She whispered this loudly to her husband, who winked at Tabitha as if amused at his wife's excitement. Mrs. Cress retrieved her medicinal supplies from a cabinet by the coal stove.

She tended to the cut on Fitz's forehead and then poured them both some tea.

"We'd better get you changed out of those clothes. You don't want to catch your death. You first, Miss Sherborne." She escorted Tabitha to a small bedroom at the back of the cottage.

"It's not much, but it'll keep you warm," Mrs. Cress said as she removed clean undergarments, underskirts, a walking jacket, and a blouse from the drawer of a cabinet. Tabitha shivered as the other woman helped her pry her soaked walking gown off and put on the borrowed garments.

When they returned to the main room, Fitz was nursing a cup of tea, staring at the fire. He glanced up when she approached, and she blushed at him seeing her in simple homespun clothes. They were far more comfortable than the fine gowns he'd seen her in, and she feared for a moment he might be able to tell that this was what she was more accustomed to wearing. He simply smiled at her, his face weary, but his expression soft and full of a heat that only deepened her blush. Had they been alone in this little cottage, just the fire in the hearth and the rain outside... she knew that her clothing would have been the farthest thing from her mind.

"All right, Your Grace, you're next." John helped him stand, and the two men went back to the bedroom.

While the men were gone, Tabitha assisted Mrs. Cress in spooning a hearty wild hare stew into bowls for everyone.

"It's a good thing my John found you before the rain worsened," Mrs. Cress said.

"It is indeed. Helston and I are deeply grateful." The thought of walking all the way to the manor house in the cold rain made her shiver.

Mrs. Cress handed her a bowl and a spoon for herself. "Are you and his lordship... er... courting?"

Tabitha would have been surprised by the woman's honest question had she been a gentle-born woman, but she'd grown up not much richer than this woman, and in that part of society, frankness was valued above other social graces.

"No... no, we aren't."

"Oh." The woman spoke the single syllable with such meaning that Tabitha stared down at her soup rather than meet the woman's gaze.

"He is... above me in station, Mrs. Cress. So much so that..." She didn't have the right words to finish, but the other woman nodded solemnly.

"Ah, don't fret, love. I understand. I was a mere rag seller, if you can imagine. But John came into London one day and saw me on a street corner, trying to purchase any bit of old cloth from fine folk I could get. If I got decent cloth, I could resell it for a little bit above what I paid and fill my belly every other night. John saw me and offered to sell the shirt off his back. He was so charming, so sweet, you see, but honest. I told him I had nothing to my name, and he didn't care. He just wanted me."

Tabitha smiled at the other woman. "You're very lucky to have found him."

Mrs. Cress shrugged. "Funny thing is, he says he is the lucky one to have found me. I think sometimes we women forget that titles and fancy dresses aren't what truly matters, not to good men. It's our hearts they cherish, not our riches." She nudged Tabitha. "Eat up before the men come back."

She'd no sooner cleaned her bowl than the men returned.

"Feel better in some dry clothes, Your Grace?" Mrs. Cress planted Fitz in the chair by the fire once again, and once more Fitz sought Tabitha's gaze. Something electric and powerful shot between them in that simple shared look. It was a look that dared to give her foolish heart hope for a future she couldn't have.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cress. We appreciate your generosity," he said.

Tabitha took in the short trousers and the short shirt and the boots Fitz now wore. He looked like a giant in John's simple clothing. Despite him looking terribly silly, or perhaps because of it, Tabitha found herself smiling at him. Fitz smiled back, toying with the too-short sleeves of the borrowed shirt as if he could somehow make them longer.

"Once the rain stops, I'll take you both back in my wagon. I don't want to risk the roads until it has a chance to dry up a bit," John explained.

"Until then, you can warm up here, and if you want to rest, the bed is clean with fresh washed sheets."

"Oh, we couldn't," Fitz protested.

"Nonsense, Your Grace," Tabitha argued. "You've had quite a day, and you took hard a hit today when I knocked into you. You need to rest your head."

Fitz said nothing as he ate his soup, and he finally nodded after a few moments. "It is true, I do feel a bit dizzy still," he admitted with a frown.

"I'll help him to bed," Mrs. Cress said.

"Please, Mrs. Cress. I'll see to him. You've done so much for us already." Surely Mrs. Cress had much to do, and Tabitha didn't want her or Fitz to be the source of any additional strain.

"Come along, Your Grace." She helped Fitz up and escorted him to the bedroom, easing him down onto the small bed, the mattress sagging beneath his weight, and he let out a weary sigh.

"I feel quite wretched," he confessed. "We're putting out one of my tenants, and I can't even go home because of the rain. Nor can I properly take care of you. You are injured." He nodded at her ankle.

"Your Grace, really I'm fine now?—"

"Fitz," he corrected with a boyish smile.

"Fitz. This is all my fault. I was the one who slipped on the hill and struck you."

Still grimly looking at her, he held out a hand. "A gentleman always takes responsibility, but I could have my injuries alleviated with a kiss or two."

The irresistible charmer,she thought. Tabitha put her hand in his, and he pulled her toward him. This was likely going to be a mistake, but she owed him a kiss, and more importantly, she wanted to kiss him. She reached up with her hands and threaded her fingers through the wet strands of his hair. His eyes half closed in pleasure.

"Come here," he said and pulled her closer. She fell onto his lap and his mouth slanted over hers in a hot, languid kiss.

Tabitha was lost. All that existed was the feel of his body, the heat of his mouth, and the dizziness that she felt. She struggled to get closer to him and pulled on his hair, needing to grasp him harder as she let him consume her very soul with that kiss. Their warm breaths mingled in the dim little room while thunder rumbled outside. The sound was low and deep, vibrating the air and the very earth around them.

If only we never had to leave this room,she thought with an aching longing. Let us stay here forever, just like this.