11

Bedlam ensued, complete with the Mad Hatter, the Queen of Hearts, and Jasper himself playing the begrudging role of the hedgehog

bounced about by flamingo mallets during a curious game of croquet.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think our host was toying with us."

Esme gazed up at a longcase clock with a tiny golden coach galloping around the face as it struck the late hour. A prize that

had once stood in the private chamber of King William III of England built by the legendary Thomas Tompion.

"Whenever did you get that impression?"

"Sometime after his ludicrous claim of besting the best and before he sealed us into this asylum."

After announcing the Valkyrie as the grand prize, Lamb had disappeared and events happened rather quickly. Jasper and Esme

were ushered by a white-gloved servant into a room off the main hall and left alone. For nearly half an hour.

The room was small with dark-paneled walls and heavy red damask drapes drawn closely over the windows. Mounted sconces flickered with yellow candlelight, scattering dancing shadows about the darkened room. Tribal masks and animal heads stared down from their perches on the walls as if seeking their hunters among the potted plants towering in each of the four corners.

"Where do you think he's put it?" Esme poked into one of the potted plants.

"My guess is he's tucked it away for safekeeping unlike all his other trinkets. Less of a temptation for our sticky fingers.

Barking he may be, but stupid he is not. This game has been thought out for some time. He and that chicken have it all planned."

"I hate that chicken or goose or whatever he wants to call it. Did you see the way it was staring at me? Calculating how best

to claw my eyes out."

"Don't allow her to ruffle your feathers."

Raising a hand to her mouth, she tittered with fake laughter. "A real rib-clutcher you are. A second banana from the top leaf."

"I try." Hands in pockets, Jasper wandered slowly around the room as Esme riffled through plants and peered behind animal

heads. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for a trapdoor. Any kind of escape should the need arise. Always best to have two routes should the first become

blocked. Or locked. Which I wouldn't put past our bizarre host." She pulled apart a pair of drapes for the third time to expose

a wood-paneled wall. "Who covers a wall with curtains? This is becoming rather tedious."

"If you're so bored, why not leave? Claim a headache or indigestion. I'm happy enough with the Valkyrie on my own."

"Because he's locked us in here. Did you not hear the key click after the butler shuffled us in here? There's only one possible reason a man with a killer chicken locks people in a room with no escape." Her gaze leveled on him. "He plans to murder us."

"Lamb is many things, but a murderer he is not. He's more likely to fake his own murder and then howl with laughter at the

panic he induced."

She scowled at his blasé response to their possible deaths and tugged the drapes closed. "Did you hear that?"

Jasper listened but detected nothing. "Hear what?"

"Talking? Music? I can't tell through these thick walls." She crossed the room and pressed her ear to the door.

"Why not simply pick the lock with the toolkit strapped to your garter and be on your way?"

"What makes you assume I have a kit with me?"

"Because a good thief never leaves home without one." He patted his jacket pocket where his own kit was safely tucked, then

grazed his attention across the small bulge resting against her thigh beneath her skirt. "Are you never worried about it falling

out?"

"First of all, nothing slips from my garter belt unless I intend for it to. Second, my kit is secured in an empty lipstick

tube tucked safely in my bag." Dangling her beaded purse by its silver strap, she swung it back and forth like pendulum. "Coppers

never resist the excuse to frisk a woman, but for some chivalric notion deem her purse sacrosanct."

"Then might I ask what is pinned in your garter?"

"Wicked man." She inched the fabric of her skirt over her knee and flashed the top of her silky stocking where a thin length

of rope was coiled into her garter straps. "Should the need arise to shimmy out of a second-story window, lasso a tiara, or

tie up the competition." She dropped her skirt and smoothed out the fabric.

"Preparation. And here I thought you lived on the ecstasy of winging it."

Shrugging, she moved to peer at a zebra's head. "In most situations, yes. However, this game has been dragging on and I should

like to draw it to a close as soon as possible. Wouldn't you?"

Would he? The answer was more complicated than he cared to admit. He'd gotten into this line of work because he was good at

it, and he'd stayed because of the thrill. The adventure, the adrenaline-spiking danger of possibly being caught, the shimmer

of a prize just out of reach, the consuming satisfaction of holding it for the first time. Indeed, it was the same rush as

that of pursuing an intoxicating woman.

When it came to the Valkyrie, he'd sobered up somewhere crossing the Rhine River out of Germany. And when it came to Esme,

he was a man drowning in drink with a desperation for sobriety, yet once dried out he longed to bend the elbow for one more

heady drop. She was worse than any amount of hair of the dog. Her perfume more scintillating than a finely aged whisky. Her

smile more illuminating than a full moon. Her intelligence more cunning than that of a jungle cat, and her actions more lethal

than a German howitzer.

She could blast straight through him with a single shot, leaving nothing but a singed, gaping hole. He already carried scars

from her first barrage, and though he'd shored up his defenses he would be a fool to think he could survive her full arsenal

attack. So his armor remained in place, dented and heavy, to withstand the assault on his heart.

As for the Valkyrie, the prize was his no matter what his wayward wife lobbed at him.

"Ending this as swiftly as possible is best for all involved for a myriad of reasons." Restless from his thoughts and the awaiting task, he plucked a dead leaf from one of the plants and twirled it between his fingers.

"I'm beginning to think you don't enjoy my company."

"If you recall, you were the first to break ties with my company while I was still abed."

A maddening, all-too-pleased smile settled on her deep red lips. "I enjoyed the departing scenery if that salves the wound."

And she called him wicked.

He strolled up to her and tapped the leaf against the string of pearls dangling over her ear. They swung back and forth with

a soft swish . "Think of what else you might have enjoyed had you not departed."

He was in control when he was the one launching the attacks, but a simple parting of her lips for a quick inhale had his shored-up

defenses shuttering. The space between them sizzled as a thousand thoughts, questions, and wonderings sparked from her eyes

straight into his where they plunged down his throat to burn in his chest.

The muscles in her throat twitched as her mouth formed itself around a word. What word? A flirtation? A confession? A cracking

retort? He did not have a preference which, but knowing her, it was sure to send the burning in his chest to an all-out firestorm.

Gwooong !

The metallic groan of a gong reverberated through the air as a hidden door clicked open, knocking the sparks right out of

him. The leaf fluttered from his fingers and drifted to the floor.

Relieved to have escaped another too-close-for-comfort interlude, Jasper turned toward the noise—but not before he noticed the smoke taking a moment longer to clear from Esme's eyes. That proved more satisfying than whatever she had been about to say, but important matters being what they were, he forced aside his smugness and turned his attention to where their host had breezed into the room with the chicken at his heels. He had changed from his fez and purple velvet into a blue silk cape with gold stars and a gold turban perched atop his head with a single peacock plume attached.

"I trust I have not kept you waiting," Lamb said.

"On the contrary, your hospitality is a luxury to be savored," Jasper smoothly replied.

Lamb was a prime example of money and status luring a person's common sense to eccentricities simply because the concept of

no was foreign to them. Rich whims were never put into check, instead left to swell to gargantuan proportions, twisting with

temptations and never satiated.

Positively revolting. Jasper had learned to swallow his disgust and smile as they handed over their precious coins in payment

for an absurd bracelet or painting. No good could come from confronting an eccentric moneybag. They were liable to take his

head off with a stolen Napoleonic sword, or worse, refuse payment. Neither option was agreeable to Jasper, so he kept his

mouth shut and his smile wide.

Lamb's eyes swiveled to Esme. "And you, mon chou ?"

"Ready to place that tiara upon my head." Esme tossed him a wink. The more jittery she was, the more flirtatious she became.

" Superbe !" Lamb swished his cape in dramatic circles. "Then we may begin. Lettie and I have drafted a checklist for each of you. The game is simple. The first to complete their checklist wins." From a pocket in his cape, he pulled out two envelopes stamped with green wax and handed one to Jasper and the other to Esme. "No, no, Miss Fox. You must wait until the timer begins before opening your envelope."

Esme flattened the envelope where she had bent it to crack the wax seal. "My apologies. The intrigue has me breathless with

impatience."

"As it should. Please do not disclose the contents to anyone, especially not to each other—this is a competition after all.

When you have collected your items, return them to this room so each may be ticked off the master list."

"That doesn't seem too difficult," Esme said.

"Indeed, it is not." Lamb smirked. "However, the most important rule is not to be caught. This is a game of thievery, after

all, and a marvelous opportunity to showcase your skills."

The chicken eyed them with contempt. " Bock. Bock. "

"Lettie says to prepare yourselves. She is swift at spotting shenanigans."

"I beg your pardon?" Esme said.

"Lettie will be watching at all times. I would advise you not to draw her attention." Lamb cooed to Lettie in encouraging

tones. Esme took the moment of distraction to turn wide, disbelieving eyes to Jasper.

Jasper leaned close to her and whispered, "Ready to duck out, are you?"

"Darling," she whispered back, "that little egg has no idea who he is up against. It's time to scramble him."

Lamb waddled to the room's main door, the chicken marching behind him. "Questions? No? Good." Swirling the cape over his shoulder,

he threw open the door to reveal a party in full swing. "The timer begins now. You have one hour. Je vous souhaite bonne chance. " Waving his fat fingers, he sallied out into the throng and disappeared.

A cacophony of blaring music, tinkling glasses, and raucous laughter clamored into the room. Esme smugly tossed her hair.

"Told you I heard something."

"That's not something. That's a full-blown diversion." Jasper crossed and stood in the doorway. A sea of people dressed in

white-tie and glittering jewels filled every available space. "How did they arrive so quickly?"

"Most likely he keeps them stuffed in the dungeon and only trots them out to intimidate unsuspecting guests. Shall we join

them?"

"We shall indeed. Best of luck to you, Fox." He sketched a bow.

She curtsied in reply. "And to you, Phantom." With a wink she slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

Jasper wasted no more time, ripping open his envelope and pulling out the thick cream paper. He scanned the items listed in

a scratchy hand. Expensive champagne, artwork, jewelry. A rather mundane selection, but then again, there was nothing mundane

about his old compatriot. The pieces were likely wired to explode with confetti.

Right. Jasper smoothed his lapels into place. Rule number one on the job: always keep it entertaining. Summoning his best

party smile, he moved into the hall in search of the first item on the list. A bottle of vintage Veuve Clicquot. Following

the steady stream of sauce was easy enough; the closer to the dining hall he got, the fuller the glasses became.

What had been an intimate space a mere hour before as the three of them dined among candlelight had been transformed into a rollicking feast of alcohol. Every possible bottle of whisky, gin, bourbon, vodka, wine, and champagne lined the entire length of the dining table. Amber, golden, and clear liquids shimmered under the chandelier as they flowed from bottle to awaiting glasses to parched throats, all poured at the guests' discretion with no waitstaff in sight to assist.

Circling the length of the table, he spotted near the far end the iconic green bottle with its elegant gold label. Most collectors

stored the precious bottles safely in a cellar, bringing them out only for the most special occasions. Yet here it was, snug

between Beefeater Gin and a bottom-shelf merlot. Not that anyone here would notice the difference in quality, judging by their

glassy eyes and ruddy cheeks.

Jasper frowned. The lift was too easy, nearly an insult. Threading his way through the drinkers, he reached for the bottle.

Before he could touch it, the bottle slid away from his fingertips and into the arms of a gentleman in top hat with his collar

button undone, leaving the starched collar ends to slap open like wings.

"My good sir," Jasper said. "Allow me to pour you a glass of that drink."

"Noo. Jush wants to hooold it."

There were three types of drunks. The kind whose spirits soared in happiness with each sip. The kind whose spirits sank into

tears of sadness. And the belligerent sort. From Jasper's ample experience in pubs and with rich people not getting their

way, this man could easily resort to quarrelsome if provoked.

Clasping his hands behind his back so he didn't appear as a threat, Jasper nodded conversationally at the champagne that could

pay off the debt of a small country.

"A very handsome bottle, don't you agree?"

"S'good dance partner." The man bounced unsteadily on his feet. They were in trouble if he attempted the shimmy.

"I spy a lovely lady in pink just over there who would make an excellent dance partner." Jasper pointed far across the room.

"Shall I hold your bottle for you while you twirl her about the floor?"

"No ladies. Jush this." The drunk cradled it to his chest, tucking his chin over the gold-foiled neck like it was a baby.

"S'all I need."

Very well. So much for pleasantries and finesse. The only skill required here was a bit of sleight of hand. Reaching behind

the man's back, Jasper tapped him on the opposite shoulder. The man's head swiveled away. Jasper slid the bottle from his

arm and quickly replaced it with the cheap merlot.

The man's head wobbled back to Jasper, confusion lining his brow. "D'you see who's tapping me?"

Jasper slipped the Veuve Clicquot behind his back. "I'm afraid I didn't. If you'll excuse me."

"Certainly." The drunk attempted a bow. His top hat tumbled off his head. Straightening, he kicked it away and happily rocked

back and forth with his merlot.

Jasper hurried back to the paneled room and placed the champagne on a table. He spotted a medieval sword propped against a

chair. Esme had gotten here first. Best not to think about her. He needed to remain focused on the task at hand, and the task

facing him next was... He consulted the list. A crossbow bolt. Now it was getting interesting.

He ducked his head into several rooms until he came to one where swords, shields, maces, Lochaber axes, tomahawks, and katanas shared the walls with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The air was quiet and soft, filled with the scent of ink and paper. Red plush couches and chairs were scattered about in the dim lighting, beckoning to the dozen or so couples who found themselves canoodling upon the cushions with roaming lips and hands.

The memory of sitting in a dimly lit pub booth with Esme swayed before his eyes. Not an inch of space between them, her fingers

curling through his hair, his knee pressed against hers. Neither interested in coming up for air.

He blinked the image away. No time for distractions.

Circling the room, he passed a number of first editions, armor that belonged in a museum, and a tribal spear twice his height.

There, along the left wall behind a desk stacked with stationery and a blotting mat, was a wooden plaque with a mounted bolt

the length of his forearm. An inscription on the plaque read, "The bolt to fell King Richard the Lionheart 99."

After a quick glance to ensure the room's occupants were, well, occupied, Jasper grasped the bottom of the plaque and lifted.

It was screwed to the wall. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out his toolkit. It had started as a hodgepodge

collection of hooks and rakes jammed in an oilskin cloth he'd snagged off a fisherman. Now he boasted the finest toolkit specifically

made for him in a kit of Italian leather and paid for.

He selected the slim flattop screwdriver and twisted the four screws until they retreated from their holes and the plaque

pulled clean away from the wall. Prize in hand, he returned to the paneled room and dropped off his latest item. Esme had

yet to leave a new addition.

"Not so crafty as we thought, are we?" After arranging his items with smug satisfaction so she would see them first upon entering,

he set off to finish his list.

Half an hour later he had collected a ruby bracelet from an older lady who'd been whispering to a plant on the stairwell, a miniature sculpture of Athena from the garden, gold tongs with ancient Roman inscriptions on the handles, and a fourteenth-century Ming vase from the study. Check. Check. Check and check. Down to the last item on the list with ten minutes to spare. Frank Dicksee's painting Romeo and Juliet .

Lamb, that little scoundrel, knew just where to twist the knife for his wicked little game. Of all the paintings in the house,

he had to choose the one of star-crossed lovers.

This game was nudging Jasper closer and closer to breaking one of his own rules. Don't make it personal. Then again, everything

was more personal with Esme involved.

Nine minutes. The clock was ticking.

He moved to the rear of the house where the entire length was divided into a solarium and music room. Having already searched

the solarium earlier for a Mesopotamian scroll, he followed the sound of a jangling piano and accordion to the music room.

It was a beautiful space, constructed for the enjoyment of refined instruments with its pale-blue walls and gold-rococo trim.

There was nothing refined about the swell of men and women jammed cheek to cheek as they bopped around the parquet floor in

rhythm to the bouncing tune.

Keeping close to the wall, he skirted the perimeter, quickly passing artwork painted by masterful hands until at last he came

to the far wall, and there it hung, waiting for him. Shakespeare's doomed couple kissing in final farewell.

Longing stirred in his chest. For what precisely, he wasn't quite certain, but he couldn't help admiring the star-crossed

lovers' intensity for each other.

"I've always loved that painting." Appearing from the crowd, Esme stepped up next to him. "Incredibly romantic, yet ignorant

of the coming tragedy. If that's not passion, I don't know what is."

"Perhaps they would have been better off never having met. No pain, no tragedy."

"And an empty life. Better to burn bright and hot for a moment than to live cold all your days."

He looked at her and the longing stirred once more in his chest. How brightly they had burned for a moment. If he had known

from the beginning that they would come crashing down, would he have done it anyway?

She met his direct stare with a flirting tilt of her eyebrow. "Are you assessing the value?"

Jasper blinked. "I'm certainly assessing something." Tearing his attention from her, he pressed his face against the wall

to look behind the painting. Hung on wire and nails. An easy lift. And with the dancers in a complete state of zozzled revelry,

no one would notice him pinching it off the wall and carting it away.

On the other side of the painting, Esme lifted the frame.

Jasper tugged it down. "What are you doing?"

"This is the last item on my list," she said. "I intend to win. Now if you don't mind moving out of the way so I can—"

"This is my last item."

She looked over Romeo's shoulder and Juliet's sweeping arm, desperate to keep him close, straight to Jasper, and grinned.

"That cheeky devil."

Jasper grinned right back. "Devil indeed."

"You realize this painting won't split two ways." She gripped the frame.

"Oh, I have no intention of splitting it." She could grip all she liked, but she'd need a step stool to lift the wire off

the nails. A predicament his extra few inches provided an advantage for.

"You there! What are you doing?" A young woman in a silver beaded dress and smeared red lipstick stared at them. Her dance partner didn't seem to notice she'd stopped, and continued with his steps.

"Checking for hidden safes," Jasper said. Best to always appear to know precisely what one was doing and with great authority.

People tended not to question confidence.

The woman blinked her unfocused eyes. Mascara flaked her rouged cheeks. "The kind with"— hiccup —"money?"

Esme laughed. "I bet there are diamonds hidden behind more than one of these paintings. Merely a question of looking for the

right one. So far we've only found the wrong ones, but between you and me, I think this would look better in one of the bedrooms

upstairs. Much more romantic for necking with your man." She winked over at Jasper.

"Good luck to you, sister!" The woman tipped her glass to her mouth, found it empty, and with no convenient place to put it

down, stuffed it into her dance partner's pocket and carried on dancing.

For all his life, Jasper would never cease to be amazed at the gullibility induced by drink. "With everyone as boiled as an

owl, I'm feeling slightly insulted that this is the supreme test of our skills. Like asking Achilles to win a footrace against

a blindfolded primary school student."

"At least we're not competing against that chicken." Esme tugged again on the frame. "Now, returning to business—"

The piano jingled. The accordion droned to a halt, and the couples stumbled to stops. The piano player climbed atop his bench

and clapped for attention.

"Honored guests, you have been enjoying his refreshments and hospitality, and now it is my greatest pleasure to present to

you our generous host, Monsieur Boisseau!"

High above them on the west wall the curtains drew back on a minstrel's gallery, and there stood Lamb in his turban and cape like a conductor presiding over the play he'd set into motion. Lettie was tucked under his arm.

"I hope you have all had a pleasant evening so far."

The crowd cheered and clinked glasses, spilling golden drink all over the floor. No one noticed.

"We continue our festivities with a little game of jeu de cache-cache , and the first to catch me wins the grand prize." He plucked away the feathered turban to reveal the Valkyrie sparkling atop

his domed head. Mouth cracking into a wide smile, he looked straight down at Jasper and Esme. "To make things even more interesting,

this game is played in the dark."

The lights went out. A woman screamed. Voices collided in a rush of excitement. Glasses shattered to the floor and were trampled

beneath heels as the crowd swarmed to the door—or tried to with a great deal of bumping into one another with each man and

woman claiming the prize was theirs.

"That double-crossing, low-life, bottom-dwelling, twisted soul of a motherless trickster." Jasper kicked the wall. Or what

he thought was the wall. It was too dark to distinguish furnishing from a leg. "Now he's got the whole bloody chateau playing

hide-and-seek for the tiara."

"Are you quite finished?" Esme's voice came from somewhere to his right.

"I can always think of more insults."

"Very well. You stand here with your insults. I have work to do."

"Esme. Esme!"

"Good heavens, what is it?" Her voice was several feet away. She was on the move.

Rooting around in his toolkit, he found and extracted a lighter and flicked it open. A spark flared to life, blooming in a soft orange glow around him.

Esme, who had been feeling her way along the wall, stopped and looked back at him. "A lighter. How clever."

"Came in handy in the trenches as long as you kept it below the sight line. You'd be accused of trying to get yourself a Blighty."

He strode toward her, grabbed her hand, and pulled her across the room. Others in the crowd were still groping about in search

of the door. "Come on."

"Partnering, are we?"

"It's pathetic watching you grope the wall. Besides, if you think I'm going to allow one of these chowderheads to seize the

tiara right out from under me, then I'm no longer worthy of calling myself a decent thief. If I have to knock a competitor

out of the way, I'd prefer it to be you."

"How you sweet-talk a girl." Her fingers tapped playfully against his. "But just so you know, Jasper, as soon as my eyes adjust

to this pea soup of darkness, it's every thief for themself."

"I expect nothing less."

The entire house crawled with antlike seekers roaming hallways to explore every nook and cranny. Women shrieked as they collided

with one another. Jasper quickly put out his lighter before a passing sleeve caught fire.

"This is insane," he said.

"Because he's insane," Esme replied.

Something wet soaked through Jasper's sleeve. Whisky by the smell of it. He would get nowhere like this—shuffling about in

corridors waiting to be mowed down by well-heeled partygoers.

Lamb was taunting him and Esme. He would loathe having the final showdown in a pantry with hordes of other guests milling about. Most likely, he would go somewhere private so all the attention might be focused on him and how he outsmarted a great pair of thieves.

Away from others milling about...

Jasper dropped Esme's hand. "Sorry, love. Duty calls."

As if pushing himself through a can of wriggling sardines, Jasper stumbled his way upstairs where windows offered the advantage

of blue moonlight. On the first floor he found half a dozen guest chambers with the furniture covered by protective white

sheets. From the scent of them, guests had not been in attendance for some time, minus the few couples who had found a quiet

corner to paw at each other.

Moving on, Jasper discovered Lamb's best-kept collections. There was a private library chock-full of books on every subject

from taxidermy to world religions. Another room housed priceless porcelain, while another displayed carved busts of Genghis

Khan, Julius Caesar, Empress Suiko, Edward Teach, and Esther Lachman, a ruthless Russian-born courtesan nicknamed the Glamorous

Monster for the way she tossed men aside after using them up.

And of course, no true collector's roster could be complete without jewels. Lamb's jewel room was impressive to say the least.

Diadems of diamonds the size of quail eggs. Garnet necklaces dripping like blood. Emeralds surrounded by pearls. All cushioned

on pillows of velvet and made to twinkle when the massive crystal chandeliers overhead were lit. Any one of the precious stones

would be enough to set Jasper up for a life of luxury.

But they were no Valkyrie.

It would be dishonest to say he wasn't tempted. That their siren songs didn't call to him, telling him they were ripe for

plucking. The rubies with their sultry promises, the diamonds with their elegant boldness, the amethysts with their secret

allure. However, he had learned long ago the price of distraction and carelessness—a fellow soldier shot or an arrest—and

pushed away the glittering pleas, moving out into the corridor.

At the far end a small, plain door stood ajar. He crept down and peered in. A wooden flight of stairs spiraled upward. Likely

servants' quarters. It was bad form to go snooping through the servants' privacy as they had no control over being swept into

the games their master played, but just as he was about to turn away, a step creaked.

Someone was up there.

Taking the stairs, he struck his lighter. Orange light danced against the stone walls and shimmered off cobwebs.

Above him, the creaking stopped. A face flashed over the rail. "Stop following me," Esme hissed.

"Stop going where I'm going." He hurried up, brushed straight past her, and burst into the room at the top seconds before

her.

It was a small garret with dusty floors, bare walls, and a small round window that allowed a sliver of moonlight to shine

in upon a single chair placed in the center of the room.

In the chair sat the shape of a man, and upon his head rested a circle with two wings.

The Valkyrie.

Jasper's senses tingled in warning. Something wasn't right. It couldn't be this easy—to simply walk in and pluck it off Lamb's

head.

Yet even as his gut told him no, his feet moved of their own accord, his arms reaching. Esme's fingers stretched out next to his. They grabbed the tiara at the same time.

Feathers floated up and tickled his nose. He snorted them away.

"Chicken feathers! Glued together into wings."

Esme squinted at the circle to which the feathers were attached. "And a bandeau with glass stones. Costume jewelry."

The "man" upon whose head it perched slumped over and broke apart into two stuffed pillows.

A laugh erupted from behind them. "Ha! Caught you!"

A lantern blazed to life, illuminating Lamb's delighted expression. The Valkyrie, the real one, sparkled atop his head. Lettie

pecked at the turban dropped between his feet.

"The game is over, and I won! You were not to be caught, but it seems you could not help yourselves in being seen in order

to win." He clapped like a child on Christmas morning and did a jig, holding the tiara in place with one hand.

"It's mine! It's mine! I win!"

Esme scowled. "That was a dirty trick to cheat."

"Do not tell me you believe in that old adage of honor among thieves?" Lamb waggled a finger at her.

"Not anymore." She huffed and crossed her arms.

Lamb had proved himself a man willing to sink to the lowest of lows to obtain what he desired. Antagonizing him would do no

good. The little egg would have to be cracked another way.

As Lamb flipped the edges of his cape, the moonlight outlined an unmistakable bulge on his hip. It was time to say goodbye.

"Ashamed though I am, I must admit defeat." Jasper inclined his head as any gentleman loser would do.

Lamb cackled with glee and swooped Lettie into his arms, placing a wet kiss on top of her pom-pom head. "Oh, mon ami . How delightful it is to revel with you once again in what we do best. Not to mention bringing this lovely addition to my

attention. There aren't enough beautiful women in the world for my taste, but you surpass them all, Miss Fox. Beauty, brains,

and a beguiling skill of thieving." He pulled out a whistle that hung on a chain about his neck and blew a shrill note.

Lights flickered up the stairs. Whoops of surprise echoed up from the main floor.

"Let us return downstairs for refreshments. Tea, coffee, and brandy. And a tray of petit fours and madeleines. We deserve

it after such an exhilarating chase."

"Who was chasing who after all," Esme muttered.

Jasper unclenched her hand from its strangled fist and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "Patience," he murmured.

In a louder voice, he addressed Lamb. "Don't trouble yourself on our account. Miss Fox and I must take our leave if we have

any hope of catching the morning train to Paris." A lie, but one Lamb needed to believe if Jasper had any hope of salvaging

this mess. Not to mention he couldn't stand spending one minute more than necessary in this asylum.

The grin fell from Lamb's face. "No! No! No! Giving up is not how the game is played!"

Jasper squeezed Esme's fingers. She'd better not blow the lie.

"My dearest Lamb," Esme crooned, smoothing her expression into pleasantries as she squeezed Jasper's fingers. A little too

hard. "The game is over. You have won and will keep the tiara."

Lamb's thin lips pressed into a white line as steam practically rolled from his nostrils. Grabbing his turban from Lettie's beak, he jammed it atop his head, covering the tiara. "You agreed to play the game. Not quit before it was over. That was only the first round."

Jasper shook his head. "I'm quitting before I cause myself more embarrassment. Logic that has saved my neck more than once

while pulling a job."

Lamb jumped up and down, stomping his feet. The peacock feather quivered with agitation. "No! No! No!" Lettie squawked and

flapped, but Lamb pinned her to his side. "This is not how the game ends. We will continue with the next part I have planned.

It is not over—"

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. The butler rushed in and over to his employer, bending down to whisper in his ear.

"I do not care if there is glass all over the floors!" Spittle flew from Lamb's lips. "The game is not finished. Inform the

staff that if they do not outfit themselves for the next part of the game, it will be their heads on the chopping block as

sure as Marie Antoinette's!"

Holy horse feathers. Surely he doesn't have Louis XVI's guillotine in the back garden.

"Come now, Lamb. There is no need for such threats," Esme cooed in her put-on honeyed voice. The one she utilized to disarm

wasp nests. If the amount of buzzing coming from Lamb was any indication, he was ready to sting.

"Mr. Truitt and I have sallied forth our most valiant efforts to no avail and now concede defeat. We beg your humble graciousness

in accepting victory for the Valkyrie. Perhaps another time we may once again vie for the crowning glory of superb thief,

but allow us now to retreat and lick our wounds in repose."

The off-tilt spark in Lamb's eyes dimmed. He wiped the spittle from his chin with the cords tying his cape and neatly tucked

them below where a chin should have been.

"Quite right. Your graciousness scolds my impatience into submission, my dear lady." He turned to speak to the butler.

"Over-egging the pudding, aren't you?" Jasper leaned close and whispered.

"I've witnessed many groveling scenes enacted on the stage, and it never fails to win over the audience," she whispered back

with a sweet smile aimed at Lamb.

Groveling or pleading may work its magic on a theater audience, but Jasper was certain it was simply her charm that did the

trick here. Of all men, he knew its power of persuasion.

Lamb shooed away the butler. "Stand down your men for the evening and have my guests' cars brought around."

After a quick toast to their health and assurances of no hard feelings, Lamb personally ushered them to their waiting car

and held open the back door. He kissed Esme's hand and bowed his head in chivalric acknowledgment to Jasper.

"I do hope to meet again one day," he said, shutting the door and leaning down to speak through the open window. "We can discuss

old times and what valuable prizes there are left to take in the world."

Esme leaned forward to speak around Jasper. "How lovely that would be. Not as competitors but as friends."

"When we do meet, I will keep the Valkyrie well out of hand so there will be no temptation of reclaiming her. Au revoir, mes amis ! " Lamb offered them a salute with Bonaparte flair, then snapped his fingers. A flurry of feathers exploded from the front

seat of the car as Lettie rocketed out of the window and crashed to the ground at Lamb's feet. Scooping her up, he marched

back inside the chateau.

Jasper rolled up the window and settled back against the leather seat as the car glided down the drive. Leftover raindrops speckled the glass and tree leaves beyond as a sliver of moon cut out from behind the shifting clouds.

"He cheated."

"Certainly he did. That's why I told him so." Esme huffed. "Do you care to tell me why you were pinching my fingers to keep

quiet? If you hadn't had such a vise grip, I could have snatched it off his round head and been halfway to Paris by now."

"In your eagerness for justice at having been made a fool, I take it you failed to notice the gun concealed beneath his cape."

She grew still. "The absolute nerve. Shooting us at a party. I've never heard of such bad manners." She slapped at the wrinkles

on her skirt, her profile knife sharp in the confining darkness. "And now?"

"Now we steal it back," Jasper whispered.

"There's that we again." Sighing, she sank into the seat next to him. "When do we start?"

Jasper smiled as he caught a downy chicken feather floating between them.

"Soon. I've got a plan."