Chapter Three

M alcolm stood in the corner of the ballroom, nursing a glass of much-too-sweet punch. It was a taste he found most unpleasant. The drink should be reserved for children, not given to grown adults trying to escape the boredom of what their life had become. What he really wanted was a dram of whisky. Mayhap two.

He scanned the attendees and was almost certain that the coin the viscount had paid Malcolm for his “security expertise” was a wasted investment.

The ball was a drab affair, but he was thankful to be staying on the outskirts of the party and not be the focus of the mamas pushing their daughters of marrying age upon every eligible man in the room. Being unavailable to sign the lasses’ dance cards was a welcome happenstance. The men being ambushed on the floor looked flustered at the best and miserable at worst.

His mission to remain undetected from the focused search of the women had so far been successful.

No one in attendance had caught his curiosity. Most were too loud and wanting to be the center of attention to be capable of slinking about unnoticed to pilfer the host’s jewels.

Then he saw the raven-haired lass with wide brown eyes and he suddenly had a person of interest. But not because she looked suspicious. Nay, not at all. When their eyes collided, a jolt of heat surged through him before he quickly looked away. It had been too long since he’d lost himself in the soft curves of a lass. His body’s sudden reaction was an unfriendly reminder of just exactly how long it had been.

A bonnie lass was not the reason he was here, though. Even if he doubted that the Phantom Prowler would make an appearance, making Malcolm’s presence unnecessary, it didn’t mean that he could turn his attentions elsewhere. His work ethic would not allow it.

Unable to ignore the pull, he slid his gaze over to the lass once again. Her full bosom tested the bodice of her rose-colored gown. White gloves covered her hands to her slim, upper arms. Her fair skin reminded him of the finest porcelain. Her soft curves beckoned him.

He cleared his throat, dragging his stare away from her and cursed his wandering thoughts as they began to wonder what was hidden behind the silky material she wore.

Before temptation overcame him and he found himself once again focusing on the lass, he turned in the opposite direction and moved to the other side of the room, putting distance between them.

Standing in a corner, he squared his shoulders, and turned to the crowd gathered on the dance floor, the heels of the dancing couples’ shoes creating a steady staccato that echoed throughout the room. A servant carrying a tray of champagne passed and Malcolm reached out, trading his punch for something slightly more palatable.

At least he knew the champagne wouldn’t dull his senses.

A strong hand clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to jolt and the champagne to splash on his hand. He turned to see Gunn smiling broadly.

The spilled champagne forgotten, he grinned. “Brother,” Malcolm greeted his close friend, and they shook hands enthusiastically, clapping each other on the back. “’Tis been too long since I’ve last seen ye.”

Gunn nodded, his brow furrowing. “Aye. Business has kept me close to home.”

“All is well, I hope?”

Gunn’s eyes darkened, his smile faltering for a moment before he replaced it with a grin. “Ne’er better.”

Malcolm kenned his friend lied. But if Gunn wanted him to ken all the details, he would have disclosed them, so he didn’t push. Instead, he quickly changed the subject.

“Are ye ready to be bombarded by all the mamas? They seem to be particularly honed in on eligible bachelors this eve.”

Just as Gunn opened his mouth to answer, the shrill call of one of the aforementioned mamas rang out, piercing the air. Malcolm blanched at the most uncomely sound and discreetly backed away, ignoring Gunn’s silent plea for help.

“My lord,” a woman called to Gunn, pushing her daughter toward him. “I would like to introduce ye to my daughter…”

Malcolm didn’t stay within earshot any longer, instead opting to walk around the outer perimeter of the ballroom once again. His eyes studied every male in attendance, but didn’t notice anyone acting out of sorts or suspicious in any way.

He scanned the room, looking for the raven-haired lass to no avail. Mayhap she also deemed the party a bore and took an early leave. He’d be lying if he said he was surprised. Deciding there was naught in the ballroom to see, he slipped out into the corridor. The air in the hall was slightly cooler and the area much quieter. He took a deep breath and enjoyed a brief respite.

Walking the length of the hall, he checked to ensure doors to rooms that were off-limits remained shut. As expected, everything was as it should be.

He passed the stairway that led to the upper rooms and the viscount and viscountess’s chambers. That was when he heard it. The slightest creak of a door upstairs.

So quiet, if he hadn’t been paying careful attention he would have missed it. Looking back toward the ballroom doors, he noted the hall was empty.

Mayhap he was wrong about the prowler. Mayhap the fool was daft enough to attempt a theft kenning that Malcolm was here to prevent that very thing.

He slipped up the stairs, careful to not make any noise as he kept to the carpeted center. On the second floor, he paused, ears straining for any additional noise.

Another creak and his head snapped to the area of the sound. The viscountess’s chamber. He knew for a fact the viscountess was downstairs playing hostess alongside her husband. She would not be in her bedchamber.

But someone was.

Creeping down the hall, he stayed close to the wall. As he neared the room, he could hear rustling of things being moved about as if someone was rifling through something.

He paused outside the door and waited. The rustling continued so whoever was inside didn’t hear his approach.

It appeared the viscount’s investment was well-spent this eve after all. The door was slightly ajar, but the dark room didn’t allow him to deduce who was inside—other than it was someone who shouldn’t be there.

Carefully, he nudged the door slightly wider so he could slip through, thankful that the hinges were well-oiled and remained silent, not alerting the thief to his presence. His pistol was strapped into a holster hidden under his jacket.

Pulling it out, he pointed it at the figure hunched over the viscountess’s jewelry chest and cocked the hammer. “I suggest ye back away from the jewels,” he said quietly, his voice a dire warning.

The figure jumped back with a yelp, and clenched a handful of jewels to…

…her chest.

Hell’s teeth. It was the lass from earlier.

“Please,” she whispered, her hands up in defense. “Ye dinna understand.”

He holstered his pistol. He wasn’t going to shoot the lass.

This was an interesting turn of events. He’d never expected the prowler to be a lass. No one did. All the papers spoke of the thief being a man. And she was most definitely no man.

“These are mine.” She dangled what appeared to be a necklace in front of her. “Well, no’ mine, exactly,” she stammered.

“Exactly, indeed. They belong to the viscountess.” He shook his head with an unbelievable laugh and wagged a finger at the lass. “Ye are good. I will give ye that. Ye had all of us fooled thinking ye were a man.”

Moonlight filtered in through the window and he could see her expression change from despair to dawning.

“I am no thief.”

“Those items in your hand say otherwise.”

“These are mine.” She raised her fist to him, which he found comical, but he hid his laughter. She was a thief after all.

“Just a moment ago, ye said they werena yours.” He crossed his arms. “What say ye to that?”

“They belong to my grandmother.” A frown creased her forehead. “Belonged. She has passed on.”

His heart tugged in his chest, and he tamped the unexpected feeling down. This was no time for sentiments. The lass was a thief. Though with how much noise she made, he hadn’t the faintest idea how she hadn’t been caught before now.

“I will call for the viscount. ’Tis up to him to decide what he would like to do with ye.”

The lass rushed forward and grasped his sleeve.

“Nay, please dinna do that. I speak the truth. Do I look like a thief to ye?”

She did not, but he wasn’t going to confess that to her.

“I can prove it to ye,” she blurted out, nodding her head. “Aye. There is a portrait in my family’s home of my grandmother wearing these very pieces.”

He lifted a brow at the lass as he studied her. Her stance seemed to lend truth to her statement, though she could just be a prolific deceiver along with being a prolific thief.

“It has taken me months to track these down. I wasna e’en certain they would be here until I actually found them.”

What were the chances of there being two thief’s stealing from party hosts? Nil, he concluded.

“The viscount could have your hand for such an offense. And that is no’ taking into consideration any of the other burglaries ye have committed.”

“I did no such thing!” she exclaimed, her voice a loud whisper. “Fine, ye want to call me a thief? Fine. But the only thing I have done is retrieve what is rightfully mine after having it stolen from me in the first place.”

“Why would your supposedly stolen jewels be here?”

She shifted nervously, rolling her lips inward, clearly uncomfortable with the question.

“I willna answer that question,” she said, stubbornly jutting her chin up to him. “Please, let me prove what I am saying to ye,” she pleaded.

Something in her voice had him questioning his accusation of her. But he couldn’t deny what he had seen with his own eyes.

But yet, she had his curiosity piqued. “Just how do ye expect to do that?”

“Follow me to Tolton Hall. I can prove it to ye there.”

His brows lifted in surprise. If she truly were the prowler would she put forward such a request?

Aye, if she was conniving enough.

He couldn’t help himself. “I’m unfamiliar with that residence. Where is it?”

“Stonehaven.”

*

The man Lizzie had seen earlier stared at her as his jaw dropped. She had to make him believe her. The direness of her situation was not lost on her. He truly could turn her in to the viscount, who would have her prosecuted no doubt.

There would be no question of her guilt. He quite literally caught her with her hands in the viscountess’s chest of jewels. Her family would be ruined.

She was thinking that she was starting to win him over, but then his gaze hardened and she wasn’t so sure.

“Ye canna hand me over to the viscount,” she pleaded as she clenched her fists, her grandmother’s jewelry encased tightly in her fingers. She had searched far and wide. Diligently paid attention to who the thief could be.

She supposed she should be flattered the man standing before her thought her capable of pulling off such heists. But, really, now that she finally had what she’d came for, she just wanted to go back home.

“Ye are from Stonehaven?” His voice was quiet. Deep.

“Aye. I live there with my parents.”

“Are they in attendance?”

She shook her head. Nay. All the more reason to wish that he didn’t bring her to the viscount.

“Why no’?”

She threw her hands up in frustration. They needed to get out of this room. But instead, he wanted to engage in small talk. “They had other plans when the invitation arrived.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do they ken ye are here?”

Worrying her lip with her teeth, she contemplated on whether or not she should tell him the truth. In the short time she’d spoken to him, she got the sense that the truth meant a lot to him. It did to her as well, but these circumstances were out of the norm.

He sighed and pushed a hand through his honey-colored hair. “Your hesitation to answer says more than your words e’er could.”

“Please, sir. I promise ye, I am being truthful about the jewels. Truly, look in the chest. There are far more items of value there for the taking. If I was the thief dinna ye think I would take one of those or several of them? But I didna. Why? Because I got what I came for. I really can prove they belong to my family.”

The man shook his head and snorted. “What’s your name, Miss?”

“Lizzie,” she answered without hesitation. She needed to earn his trust. She thought of Mary waiting outside. She would be most upset at the predicament she currently found herself in.

“Surname?”

“Barclay,” she huffed. “And yours?” What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. If she had to tell him who she was, he should have to do the same.

“Malcolm Kennedy, Earl of Cassilis.”

Her eyes rounded. Of course he would be titled. She immediately dropped into a curtsy. “My lord.”

He cocked his head to the side as he looked at her, and her skin heated from his scrutiny. The rays of the moonlight filtering in through the large windows, highlighted the planes of his face. His strong jaw and deep-set eyes. He was most handsome, and if circumstances were different, she might find herself trying to gain the earl’s attention.

But right now she had his attention for all the wrong reasons.

He held his hand out, and she looked at it questioningly.

“The jewelry,” he prompted, wiggling his fingers.

“’Tis mine,” she stated stubbornly.

“So ye’ve said.” He looked toward the door. “It willna be long afore my absence is noticed. If we are caught in here, both of us will pay the price.”

“Ye believe me?” she asked hope blooming in her stomach.

“I am no’ yet ready to say. However, I willna bring ye to the viscount’s attention. But I will hold the pieces until I can be sure ye speak the truth.”

She was grateful that he wasn’t dragging her to the viscount and announcing to all that he’d caught the thief. But she didn’t want to let go of her grandmother’s jewelry. She’d worked so hard to track it down.

“This is what we will do. You will exit this room and ensure the staircase is clear before descending and then will wait in the foyer for me. I need to speak to the viscount.”

“Nay!”

He stopped her with his hand in the air. “I will speak to the viscount to tell him that he has no worries this night and I will take my leave. The party will be ending shortly so it willna seem odd.”

She waited for him to continue. All things considering, he was being much more kind than he needed to be.

“Fix the jewel chest so ’tis in the same condition ye found it,” he ordered.

She scrambled to do just that. When she finished and he held out his hand, she sighed in defeat and dropped the jewelry in his large palm.

He pocketed the pieces and moved to the door, looking outside and then motioned for her to step forward.

“Remember, wait in the foyer. I will be there as soon as I can.”

She nodded and stepped out of the room. His holding her jewelry ensured that she would be waiting for him whenever he returned. She couldn’t very well leave without it. Not after coming all this way.

Descending the stairs quickly, she breathed a sigh of relief when the entryway was empty.

This night had not gone at all as she planned. She watched the earl come down the stairs and enter the ballroom, not sparing her a glance. She rolled her eyes. The earl was most businesslike.

He stopped to talk to a man, but it wasn’t the viscount. They spoke in hushed tones, as if in serious conversation. Was he telling the man he’d caught the Phantom Prowler? Was he going to send him out to drag her to the authorities?

Her heart raced as she wrung her hands together and paced the floor. She was in trouble. Mary had been right. Why, oh why hadn’t she listened to her maid? But Mary was more than that, she was also her friend.

The man the earl was talking to looked out the doors and glanced her way. Bile rose in her throat. The man was big and burly. He looked like he could be a boxer. Was he a jailer? Was he going to come and take her away?

Her breath quickened and she tried to ease them as she began to see black specks dance in her vision. It was suddenly so very hot. Between the heat and her racing heart, she could no longer keep herself standing.

And when the black specks became her whole vision and her world spun, her last thoughts were that she was a failure.