9

Reims, France

Another country. Another party. Jasper knew them by heart—the crush of wealthy snobs elbowing one another as they clung to

the social ladder. Jewels and white bow ties. Hundreds of frosted drinking glasses. Mediocre food. Boring opinions, forced

laughter, and mindless entertainment for the rich at play.

For once he was delighted to be proved wrong.

As he stepped out of the taxi into the warm night air, a ball of fire billowed before his face. Heat scorched his cheeks as red flamed in his eyes. A man bare-chested wearing satin harem pants crouched in front of him holding a long fiery stick to his mouth. With one puff on the stick another blaze shot in front of Jasper. The fire thrower jumped back as the man across from him spit his own blaze. Then another and another, forming a burning pathway to guide guests through the vineyard to the cave entrance where thick double oak doors inlaid with metal scrollwork swung outward with a red silk canopy draped over them. A man dressed in a vintage harlequin comic suit of black-and-silver diamonds with white cream smeared all over his face stood at one side of the entrance handing out masks. A woman in a matching harlequin dress stood opposite with more masks.

Dutifully taking an offered mask, Jasper then slipped it over the top portion of his face and followed the other guests down

a long series of stairs deep into the earth as music strains beckoned them onward. Torches lit the way, warming the white

chalky walls to cream. Chalk was a unique ground component in which to grow grapes, but it was what made Reims champagne famous.

He'd learned a great deal about the substance during his tour with Duke and was still fascinated by it.

The Romans had dug a series of caves like this one in which to mine salt and chalk. Champagne makers later discovered that

the caves were ideal for their own purposes because the chalk acted as a sponge to soak up humidity, keep the temperature

steady, and protect against vibrations. Jasper ran his hand along the rough-hewn walls. Grooves from picks and chisels lingered

as reminders of those whose marks upon the earth lasted far longer than their mortal bodies.

Much like the bones and metal guns that sank in the mud of the Somme, forever calcified in a history of lives spent and wasted.

At the bottom of the stairs, the earth split open into an enormous cavern that had been transformed into a fantasy of magic.

Red silk strips hung suspended from the cathedral-style ceiling like a circus tent that looped and draped down the walls.

Raised braziers in large golden bowls rose from the flagstone floor and threw their light high into the air where it was caught

in the prisms of thousands of crystals dangling from chandeliers before showering rainbows of color upon the wildly dressed

performers mingling among the crowd.

Contortionists in leotards, men in top hats standing upright on large balls as their feet moved quickly to keep the ball rolling, a woman in a bright pink tutu swinging from a trapeze, a tightrope act balanced on chairs on a thin rope strung from one wall to the other. Right in the center of the chamber was a ringmaster dressed in sparkling gold with a whip made of feathers that he lashed through the air, driving the entertainment ever onward.

Jasper ducked under the feather whip as it reached out to tickle his ear and made his way to the back of the chamber where

a fountain bubbled away. Not just any fountain. A fountain frothing with golden splendor.

"So this is where they keep the good stuff." Plucking a crystal glass from one of the tables on each side of the fountain,

he held it under a golden spout. Bubbles splashed onto his white shirt cuffs peeking out from his black jacket sleeve in expensive

excess.

"Glamorous, is it not?" A petite woman with light brown hair and oxblood lips draped herself against the fountain's ledge

next to him. The chandelier's rainbows danced off her sequin dress. "Why keep it in bottles stored away when you can flaunt

it like this?" She waggled her empty fingers, the tips painted the same oxblood color, at his glass.

He offered it to her, and she didn't hesitate in trailing her fingers over his as she accepted the glass. She sipped and a

smile curved her lips over the rim.

"Mmm, dreamy." Dark eyes rimmed with kohl liner blinked up at him from behind her mask. "Will you not join me?"

His intended drink now in her possession, he filled a second glass, but before he could take a sip the woman clinked hers

to his.

"To life, hopeful lovers, and a night of revelry," she crooned, leaning her bare shoulder into him.

"To life," he conceded. Lovers were far too dangerous, and revelry was the last thing on his mind for the night.

"I have not seen you at out soirees before." Her shoulder pressed more intimately into him. Any second her head would fall

onto his chest.

Pretending to adjust his jacket lapel, he angled away from her persistent leaning. "I was in Bavaria when the comte and comtesse

de Laval traveled through and had the great pleasure of making their acquaintance. They were very kind to invite me on a tour

of the vineyard. By chance I've only just arrived to this spectacle."

The woman flicked a bored glance around. Not one blackened eyelash batted at a trio of dogs jumping through a fire-laced hoop

six feet off the ground. "It is enchanting. Then again, everything Barbette does is enchanting."

Her bored expression narrowed to their hostess, who floated among her guests on the arm of her husband. He was dressed from

head to toe in gold with a long purple cape trimmed in ermine, a scepter, and a crown studded with gemstones. The comtesse

glided in a swath of white tulle with delicate white feathered wings sprouting from her back. Her arms, fingers, and neck

were encircled with diamonds, but only one piece drew Jasper's eye.

The Valkyrie perched atop that bleached puff of hair.

Patience was key in the heist line of work. One wrong step, one overeager reach, and it could all be lost. One didn't become king by striking at first encounter. No, Jasper retained his crown because he knew to bide his time for the opportune moment, yet at each failed turn on this particular wild-goose chase, he felt the crown slip. Just enough to scratch his confidence, and that was enough to break his third golden rule of thievery. Never let a job get personal. Allow it to become personal and the fun disappears, which would break rule number one. Keep it entertaining. Not a difficulty on almost all other jobs, but there was something about the Valkyrie...

The woman at Jasper's side breathed champagne vapors into his ear. "See how she enchants Henri?"

Tearing his eyes from the tiara, he watched as the comtesse tugged her husband's arm and pulled him to watch a long-legged

man balanced on a unicycle while juggling. She clapped and laughed at the antics as the comte smiled indulgently at her.

The woman next to Jasper rolled her eyes and tossed back her drink. "Henri was once enchanted with me. Until he saw Barbette.

She is the second richest heiress in the country while I am only the sixth. All I managed to snag was a dying war veteran.

He'd better be dying. He's old enough to be Methuselah's school chum, but that's why I picked him. As a wealthy widow I will

be beholden to no man and can pick and choose my companions based on what suits me best." She refilled her glass, then sidled

up to Jasper, running her hand under his lapel. "I adore this new decade of freedom, don't you? No more of the stuffy old

rules. Men and women doing as they please with whomever pleases them."

"The war certainly changed things," he said absently as a crowd formed around the comtesse. The Valkyrie bobbed in regal splendor

above the heads.

How could he remove it in such a crush? One: a simple distraction. The cons: in a place this large not all attention would be diverted. He could easily be caught. Two: kill the lights. The con: impossible to douse every brazier in a timely manner. Three: seduction. The con: a jealous husband. He'd dealt with jealous husbands before and never once suffered a slapped face from the lady. More often than not they were quite happy to be whisked away to a dark corner, never once imagining that the fingers at the back of their neck were unclasping valuable necklaces.

He tipped the champagne down his throat. Number three it was.

Placing his empty glass on the nearest table, he held his hand out to the woman. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

Like a cat lapping up the cream, she nodded and placed her hand in his. Her other hand held tight to the champagne glass.

Jasper whisked her into the midst of the other dancers as they spun around the costumed orchestra, propped upon large wine

barrels all stamped with the Mortemart Champagne emblem of an arrow piercing an oak tree.

"Forgive my rudeness in not asking your name before," Jasper said over the crooning of a clarinet.

"Marie de Bourbon from the royal House of Bourbon."

"Aren't I the lucky man to have a princess in my arms tonight."

She shrugged and brought the glass to her lips for a sip as they spun under the tightrope walker. "A princess once, perhaps,

had the rabble not guillotined most of my family during the Reign of Terror."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Why? I did not know them." Overhead, the tightrope walker popped open an umbrella and began to do backflips.

"Magnifique!" Marie raised her glass to toast the acrobatics and spilled golden liquid on Jasper's arm. She giggled and swiped away the

drops, brushing her fingers up his bicep. "Pardon. How clumsy I become, but then excitement happens, and I cannot control

myself. Do you ever feel that way, monsieur? Monsieur. I do not even know your name."

"Jasper."

"Jasper...?"

"I prefer the mystery of simply Jasper."

"A more delectable mystery I cannot imagine. Jasper." Her French rolled the syllables of his name like a fine wine over the

tongue, but unfortunately for Madame de Bourbon the champagne slurred them into a mesh of soured grapes. "Do you ever feel

the control slipping from your grasp, Jasper? Do you ever feel the barrier giving way and you tumble into the exhilaration

of it all?"

He'd lost track of a coherent line of innuendo—if there was one to begin with—but she made more than clear her intentions

as she pressed firmly against him. Her warm alcohol-soaked breath fanned over him in a suffocating cloud as her toes stepped

all over his as they tried to find the musical beat.

"As long as I am with a beautiful woman, I care not which way I tumble."

Turning his head away for a quick intake of fresh air, he spotted the Valkyrie bobbing near the edge of the dancers. The comte

had moved away to talk to a group of new arrivals. Time to make his move.

"Do not tell me she has you under her spell too?" Marie tapped her glass against his cheek as the crowd shifted to reveal

a sliver of Barbette. "The cherub cheeks and fair coloring. Those angelic looks can be deceiving."

The crowd shifted again and the comtesse was gone, her only beacon the tips of the Valkyrie wings floating above heads. A dancing couple passed in front of him, blocking his target. The man was short, giving the perfect view of his tall partner with slender long limbs, sleek bobbed black hair, and berry-red lips that tilted up higher on the left side. Only one pair of lips he knew did that. And right then they were smirking at him from beneath a mask as his wife waltzed by.

Esme was a sublime dancer. He remembered that much from their whirlwind courtship. She had a way of moving as if on water,

with her steps effortless and in perfect harmony to the beat. She made her partner feel as if he were the only man who knew

how to guide her across the floor, and she in return made him feel as if he could fly to the moon. At least she once had.

Her current partner barely came up to her chin. He couldn't fly even if he got a running start.

Jasper had known she would be at the party and steeled himself accordingly. No more flirting. No more following after. No

more trusting. He had a job to do and past sentiments were a quicksand he could not afford. No matter how much the scent of

orange blossoms tempted him. He'd end up with nothing more than sand in his teeth for the trouble because he was on the verge

of breaking one of his rules by allowing their interactions to veer dangerously toward personal.

He cut his attention back to where it belonged. Two sparkling diamond wing tips. "I've always been drawn to the dark-haired

beauties. My curse it seems."

"I can prove to you it's anything but a curse, Jasper." Marie pushed herself to the tips of her toes and grazed her lips across

his ear. "Meet me in the—ooh!"

Whirling her through the throng, he smacked straight into his intended target. The little blonde squealed in surprise as she

teetered on her heels.

Dropping Marie's hand, Jasper reached out to steady the comtesse. "How terribly clumsy of me. I beg your forgiveness— Why, Comtesse! I doubly beg your pardon for stumbling into our illustrious hostess." He sketched a humble bow.

Her eyes widened as he straightened, and she took him in from head to toe. It was a reaction he'd grown accustomed to from

women since he was a young man. Not that his vanity anticipated it, nor his ego required it, but neither was he going to undermine

his own looks by pretending they were anything less than they were. They were a gift just as some men were blessed with brawn

and others with a keen mind, and Jasper had no intention of letting his gift go to waste. He flashed a debonair smile.

It worked like a charm. The comtesse's eyelashes batted in unabashed delight. "Oh my." She poked at the tiara tipping sideways

on her head, then wriggled her bejeweled fingers at him. "Accidents do happen, Monsieur...?"

His attention begged for the Valkyrie, but he kept it trained on the target. "Jasper." Taking her hand, he brushed a kiss

over her knuckles.

She giggled and tapped her fingertips against his palm before drawing her hand back. "Well, Mr. Jasper, before I offer forgiveness,

I require three things of you."

So the innocent cherub knew how to play the game as well. Jasper smiled. "I am at your command, madame."

"First, I require a drink. And second, I must know why we have not met before."

Marie pushed herself between them and shoved her half-empty glass of champagne into the comtesse's hand. "Here's one. As to

the other"—she latched on to Jasper's arm like a grappling hook—"you have met before. In Bavaria. Isn't that right, Jasper?"

Ah, women and their power struggles for possession. "Indeed. At Neuschwanstein Castle a few days ago when they displayed items of cultural relevance to the arts. We were briefly introduced in the grotto." A brazen lie. The only time he had seen the silly twit was when her husband hauled her off in the carriage. "Where the tiara was being displayed, though I must say that its current presentation is far more fetching."

The well-turned lie earned a pretty flush of pink on the comtesse's face and a digging of the nails from Marie.

"Of course!" the comtesse said. "Now I remember you—at least I suppose I do. There was a great deal of alcohol that evening

and so many people, but I should enjoy making amends for our initial brief encounter."

"I look forward to it, madame." He slid her another smile, almost wishing she would make this more of a challenge. "A moment

ago you required three things of me. As the first two have been satisfied, I should like to know the last that I may earn

your forgiveness."

"A dance."

"No." Marie fumed, stamping her little foot. "You always do this, Barbette. Take and take. For once you will not take what

is mine. Go back to your rich husband. Do you not remember him, the one you snared with tricks?"

The comtesse smirked. Marie had been right. Those angelic looks were deceiving. "The only trick I have was Henri falling more

in love with me than you."

"Jasper is promised to me this evening."

"I doubt your husband would appreciate such claims on his wife from another gentleman." Smile gleaming, the comtesse glanced

over Marie's shoulder to a man whose next step seemed fit only for the grave as he wheezed into a handkerchief. "Shall we

call him over and ask him?"

Marie bared her pretty white teeth. "I despise you."

"I know."

Good heavens. He'd had women paw over him before, but these two in a ring would sell out a stadium.

As Marie stormed off in the direction of her doddering husband, the comtesse waved goodbye, then turned to Jasper with giggling

excitement. "I'm ready to bestow my forgiveness on the dance floor."

"At your service, madame."

It was like dancing with a bird who was testing her wings. The comtesse hopped and wiggled, kicked and swung with complete

disregard for Jasper's attempts to lead. Halfway through the song he gave up and simply held his arm up to let her twirl beneath.

More than once the Valkyrie's wing tips caught on his jacket sleeve, and he was forced to fight the temptation of ripping

it off her silly head and making a break for it right then and there.

The song eased into a slow tune and the comtesse turned eagerly into his arms. Uncertain where those dainty flapping hands

might try to roam on him, Jasper bent to whisper in her ear. "Might we find someplace quieter to talk?"

A gleam twinkled in her eye just before she snapped it in a wink. "I know the perfect place."

Offering her his arm, Jasper looked across the dance floor to find Esme watching him. Despite the mask concealing the upper

half of her face, there was no disguising the flat set of her mouth. She was displeased, which couldn't have pleased him more.

He offered her a scout's salute, which she took with all the grace of spinning on her heel and melting into the crowd. He

had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Events were firmly back to entertaining.

The comtesse led him out of the main chamber and into a dimly lit antechamber. Without the heat of bodies and blazing braziers, the temperature cooled under a single lantern that hung from a peg in the wall to illuminate the dark green bottles stacked floor to ceiling.

"Our 114 vintage," she said, trailing her hands over the bottles. "The last batch we made before Germany invaded."

"Astounding that these remained in such pristine condition when the Hun marched right overhead." And well worth a fortune.

If any client came to him with an expensive thirst, he knew precisely where to quench it.

"They stole a great deal of our stock, but this we kept hidden deep in the tunnels. There are nearly eight kilometers of tunnels

buried under here."

"The Romans were an efficient lot."

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Romans?"

"The original builders of the chalk caves."

Her brow smoothed as she waved a dismissive hand. "My father mentioned something like that years ago. He was always one for

the history of business and how he could turn it into a profit. Something he and the comte share."

Leaning against an empty rack, Jasper slipped his hands into his pockets. A man unhurried with his impending victory. Of course,

if anyone were to peek in his pockets, they would spy hands twitching with anticipation. He could practically smell the diamonds

from there. "And you, Comtesse? What are you always one for?"

"Barbette, s'il vous pla?t."

She was beautiful, rich, and the fun kind of distraction needed for a night or two out. Precisely the sort of woman he would go after if it gave him any kind of thrill at all. But it didn't. Women like her made themselves too easy to chase, and there was nothing a man loved more than a challenge he couldn't conquer. Trouble was, the only woman he enjoyed flirting with was the one woman he'd vowed to stay away from.

But a job was a job, so he matched the flirtatious tone, bore that it was. "Barbette."

"Hmm, what am I always one for?" Moving slowly around the room, she tapped a long, tapered nail against the bottles as she

mused over his question. "Fun. Extravagance. And beautiful things." Completing her circle, she stopped in front of him and

looked up expectantly.

She sought a compliment, a smooth line rolled out with honey meant to entice her until there was little more between them

than thrumming desire.

But there was only one thing he desired this night.

His gaze drifted over her upturned face and parted lips to the crowning jewel atop her head. "It seems you have been crowned

with the most beautiful of all. How fitting for such a queen."

She blinked in momentary confusion as to why he wasn't sweeping her into his arms for a stolen, passionate kiss among the

dusty bottles. "A queen? How funny. I imagined they were angel wings, hence my costume." She fluffed her frilly white skirt.

"They can be whatever your heart wishes. You are the one who wears them."

"I am, aren't I?" She poked at the tiara. The wings fluttered in agitation. "Though honestly, it's beginning to give me quite

a headache. And the wings insist on bouncing around and catching on things whenever I walk. I've already told Henri to find

me something less of a hassle to wear for my next gift."

"Tired of a tiara already?"

"Not a tiara, only this one. I never wear a piece of jewelry more than once. It incites favoritism. Drat this thing! It keeps

snagging my curls." She fussed and tugged. The Valkyrie wobbled precariously. Hard as diamonds it may be, but one good crash

on a stone floor and those tiny jewels would pop out and scatter. He'd have a devil of a time collecting them all.

"Allow me."

As he reached up to disengage a bleached curl wrapped around the tiara's band, the sound of angry heels stomped into the chamber.

Esme stormed toward him. Pock. Pock. Pock.

"How dare you do this to me again? You cad!" Rearing back her hand, she slapped him across the face. The band on his mask

snapped. It fluttered to the ground.

Esme snatched off her own mask and threw it on top of his, then ground them beneath the toe of her shoe.

"‘Never again,' you said. Lies!" She turned to Barbette with tears sparkling on her lashes. "You can't believe a word he says.

He'll break your heart just like he's broken mine."

"No one said anything about involving hearts." Barbette looked uncertainly between Jasper and Esme. "A seduction, yes."

A perfectly timed tear slid down Esme's cheek. "That's how he starts. With a seduction of charming smiles and sweet words.

The next thing you know, he's hooked your heart for his own amusement. Now I know I was nothing more than a trifle to string

along with the others he's captured. Don't let him do the same to you."

The woman had no shame. Jasper shook his head in warning.

"Men like him should be ashamed." She sniffed and dropped her voice to a stage whisper. "Passing around the Neapolitan disease

so freely."

Now she'd gone too far. He took a step toward her. "Why you brazen—"

" Goujat !" Horrified disgust wrinkled Barbette's face. She spat at his feet, then gathered Esme to her side and escorted her away. "Let

us see about blotting that mascara from your cheeks. There is no point in crying over a man, ma choupette ."

"You are too kind. Oui ." Esme sniffed. "The ladies retiring room sounds heavenly."

Heavenly enough for privacy in which to clobber the comtesse over the head with her shoe and make off with the tiara.

Jasper followed discreetly behind them to the main chamber ready to whack them both over the head should necessity call for

it—which was becoming more the case with each passing second—when the braziers suddenly whooshed out. The red flickering of

doused coals splayed against the walls in hypnotic waves.

The ringmaster stood upon his pedestal and spun his feathered whip around his head, gathering the attention of the room. "Mesdames

et messieurs! Welcome to a spectacular evening of magic!" Glittering confetti erupted from his whip.

"Mystery!" Fire-eaters blew fiery plumes into the air, the reds and oranges gleaming off the chandeliers.

"And fantasy!"

Spotlights collided midair where a trapeze pair swung on two silver hoops high over the crowd's heads. The woman, clad in

tight pink and silver, stood within one of the hoops smiling and waving at the crowd. In quick motion she looped herself over

the hoop to hang only by her legs. Her partner in dashing green and gold hung by one arm then two from his hoop, then balanced

with both legs shooting like arrows toward the cave ceiling.

The crowd oohed and aahed, encouraging the hoops to swing faster and faster until all of a sudden the woman let go, flipped through the air, and grabbed her partner's wrists for a stunning display of acrobatics and idiocy. Who lacked the common sense to fling themselves through the air with no safety net? The audience, not giving a single thought beyond being entertained, exploded with applause.

Edging through the distracted guests, he spied where the Valkyrie had stopped in the middle of the chamber to tilt upward

at the exhibition. Esme staked her claim next to it, swiveling her head like an owl to assess the best possible escape route.

She tugged on the comtesse's arm to get her moving again but was promptly ignored when the flying pair began to flip back

and forth on their hoops.

Jasper stalked closer, his fingers flexing and eager for the grab. With all attention captivated by the acrobats, it would

take a mere flick of the wrist to loosen the tiara from its perch with no one the wiser until it was too late. He slipped

to the right to catch Esme's attention. A second was all he needed to have her spot him before he slipped back into the crowd.

Then, while she scanned the area for him, he would come in for the tiara from the opposite side.

Classic misdirection. That was where the dime novels got thieving all wrong. They made the art of a lift all about disguises,

moonless country roads, derring-do, and sacks full of rubies, when it almost always came down to the simplest of techniques.

A sly hand and a pocketful of gumption was all one truly needed.

Moving into her eyeline, he waited for Esme's head to turn his way. Three. Two—

A new hoop swung into view.

The woman acrobat gave a startled cry as her partner twisted his hoop sideways to avoid crashing into the newcomer who apparently was not part of the act.

A round egg of a man swung gently back and forth in his disruptive hoop. Jasper frowned. There was something oddly familiar

about those thin legs kicking for momentum.

The man was costumed all in black with a black ruffle around his neck, giving his head the appearance of a floating marble

in the darkness. A strip of black satin with slitted peepholes was tied around his eyes.

"Forgive my interruption, but I simply could not stay away from such a splendid party. Not when you have brought out the greatest

of temptations." He rolled around to dangle by his legs, surprisingly agile for a man of his shape.

"You see, gentle audience, I am like a magpie who must gather shiny objects. I simply cannot help myself." He swung right

over Esme.

And the Valkyrie.

Stretching out spindly arms, he plucked the tiara from the comtesse's head.

She screamed. "My crown! He has my crown!" She jumped up and down as if to snatch it back, but the egg laughed as he swung

out of reach.

"Our meeting has been short but sweet and now I must bid you all adieu." Streamers exploded from his ruffle, snaking and twisting

through the air. The crowd screamed and ducked for cover as if they were spraying bullets.

When the last of the shiny detritus cleared, only Jasper and Esme remained unmoving and staring into the void where the little

egg had disappeared along with the Valkyrie.

Once again.

Esme turned to look at him. She crossed her arms and tapped her toe with impatience. "Well, I didn't expect that."

"Neither did I." He ruffled his hand through his hair as a sudden weariness stretched along his bones. He needed a stiff drink.

"Guess the party is over."

"Good. I didn't know how much longer I could continue with that crying bit." She swiped at the mascara flakes under her eyes,

all pretense of wilting and sniffling gone.

"Did you really need to proclaim I had syphilis?"

"Would you have preferred the clap?"

"I would prefer neither, considering I'm free of venereal diseases."

"I had to think of something to get her away from you. Her moony face was becoming too much."

Stepping closer, he crooked an eyebrow. "Jealous of my attentions to another woman?"

"You are an egotist."

"I'm simply aware that I'm rather difficult to resist."

She matched his imperious eyebrow quirk with one of her own. "As if I would squander myself on the puerile misgivings of jealousy."

"That slap said otherwise."

"Acting, my dear fellow." She lazily raised her hand to his cheek. "Care to see what another one says?"

He caught her wrist, circling his fingers around the delicate bones and brushing his thumb over her pulse. "Only if you're

prepared for the consequences."

Her face didn't so much as twitch, but the tick in her pulse told him everything he wished to know. Her cool nonchalance was as unsteady as his own. For all his resolutions in the name of better judgment, why did he have to be drawn to this maddening woman?

"Monsieur. Mademoiselle." With impeccable timing to break up the unwise temptation unfurling, a man dressed in the ridiculous

de Laval livery of powder blue and curled wig wedged between the excited crowd and stopped in front of Jasper and Esme. Sweat

mixed with powder from the wig streaked down his face. "Pardon, but this was left for you." He held out a folded paper sealed

with black wax.

Dropping Esme's hand like a hot poker, Jasper took the note and cracked the wax. The letter unfolded into a square of parchment

with elegant script penned across the surface.

"That sly little bastard." Jasper dug into his pocket and fished out two francs. "Here. Go buy yourself a pair of full-length

trousers."

As the man retreated with coins in hand, Esme snatched the letter from Jasper. After reading it, her eyes snapped to his.

"That cheeky monkey."

"That's one name for him. I can think of a few others."

"You know him?"

"I have the misfortune to say I do. Lamb, his name is, but he goes by Magpie for his love of all things shiny."

"Enemy of yours?"

"I make it a point to avoid having enemies. Competitors are preferable."

She tapped a fingernail against the hand-drawn magpie carrying a tiara in its beak. "He's playing a game with us."

"A game we have no recourse but to join." His gaze fell to the words again.

For the great admiration I have for your esteemed selves, please allow me the pleasure of your company tomorrow evening at my home where I may express my veneration in person. A car will be sent for you at the Orlean L'Hotel in Montgonne. Please do not consider coming one without the other, for I would loathe to miss the opportunity of having you both at my disposal.

I must also express my regret at taking the Valkyrie tiara from your grasping reach this evening, but as previously stated

I do so adore shiny things. Perhaps if you both are very good, you may hope to see it again.

Until next we meet,

Admiringly yours

Esme huffed and crossed her arms. "Should have pushed Humpty-Dumpty over the wall in Bavaria when I had the chance."

"You've met?"

"Briefly. When the de Lavals made their grand exit from the castle. He was probably there to case the tiara before he made

his big move." Her expression turned livid. "Your friend was casing us at the same time!"

"Hardly my friend. More of a jovial opponent I prefer to keep clear of lest he pick my pockets dry."

"When I get my hands on him, I'll wring that fat neck... Well, he doesn't have a neck, but I'll find something to wring."

"Save your ire. We may yet have the opportunity to crack him apart."

"‘We'? One stunt and suddenly we're a team?"

"Like it or not, we're in this one together." He plucked the letter from her hand.

"When it comes down to the wire, the Valkyrie won't split two ways."

"That would be too easy, wouldn't it? If there's anything we've learned in recent days, it's that you and I never do things

the easy way." He wadded up the letter and tossed it into one of the glowing braziers, then offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She considered him a moment, her long, dark lashes sweeping lazily up and down, but behind the polished pose spun a wicked-sharp

mind, calculating. And reaching the same resolution as his own.

At last her mouth curved to the side and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Shall we indeed."