18

It wasn't often that Jasper had witnessed an unsettled Esme. The woman was always on guard, ready with a rapier-like quip,

batting away any inconvenience as if it were nothing more than an irksome fly. So it gave him great pleasure to watch her

deep crimson lips part on a strangled noise and the glass slip from her hand, bounce off the plush rug, and slosh gin over

the tips of her satin shoes.

She didn't notice. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

He strolled farther into the room. "Not delighted to see your husband? I admit I dreamed of you throwing your arms around

me with a welcoming kiss, but you seem rather shocked." The kiss he could fend off, but having her close enough to bind and

gag would be a welcome prospect. A taste of her own coldhearted medicine that he would gladly ladle down her throat.

"Husband?" The woman on the chaise, her mother if he had to guess, popped up from her lounging position. A long cigarette

holder dangled limply from her ringed fingers. "Esme, why didn't you tell me you were married?"

Esme kept her knifelike stare pointed at Jasper as she answered. "I'm not. I mean, we were— are —but not for much longer. We're divorcing as soon as possible."

"Divorce or not, aren't you going to introduce me?" The mother wiggled her shoulders back in a move he wasn't accustomed to

seeing off a dance floor.

"No." Esme threw her own shoulders back, but this move was made in defiance, not flirtation. She marched toward him. "He's

leaving."

"Don't be testy, darling." Jasper dodged her as she came to shove him out the door and made for the mother. This would be

easier than he'd thought. Taking her hand, he brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Jasper Truitt, a pleasure."

"How utterly charming. Maud Fox," the woman tittered. Her legs were not quite as long as Esme's, but she had the same black

hair and striking bone structure. "Esme, how dare you go on about the right man not ten minutes ago and here he stands. Whyever

have you kept him hidden?"

Thunder rolling in her eyes, Esme crossed her arms. "Because we had one too many on Armistice Day and thought the only thing

grander than ending a war was a wedding. It didn't take long to realize we were better off going our separate ways."

"That was before we crossed paths in France not long ago," Jasper added, smooth as acid. Drip by drip he would get her to

crack.

"And now you've come to win her back," Maud gushed.

Esme aimed her knives at her mother. "Was it not you ten minutes ago going on about being as free as birds?"

Maud trailed her hand down Jasper's sleeve. "That was before this tall, cool drink of fizzer waltzed through the door."

"He can waltz right back out it."

Heaving a dramatic sigh that rolled with exasperation, Maud crossed her legs, flashing a glimpse of her rhinestone garter.

"Mr. Truitt, you must forgive her. She's not quite herself today."

Jasper smiled, though he felt anything but humorous. "It's quite all right, Mrs. Fox. I've become accustomed to Esme's cool

shifts in mood."

"You must call me Maud. ‘Mrs. Fox' sounds so ancient and attached. Neither which aptly describe me, wouldn't you agree?"

"My dear Maud, there are no words that can truly describe you."

She tittered again as if he'd given her the greatest compliment, although he had done nothing of the sort except to increase

the steam shooting from Esme's ears. Maud noticed and rolled her eyes.

"How and why you plan to win this one back is beyond me. She has her own spot of troubles at the moment, and she'll do nothing

more than drag you down. I've always told her commitment isn't her strong suit, and wouldn't you know it, as soon as times

get tough, here she comes with her tail tucked between her legs like always."

"Mimsy!" Esme's cheeks blazed red.

"Don't deny it, pet." Flicking off a used cigarette stub, Maud tucked a new fag into the holder. "Of course, I can't say I

had no influence in that. Women not graced with a social position must learn to find their own way, but the difference between

us is that she hides while I brazenly display it out in the open. A true thespian of the grand stage knows how to smile through

it all." Flashing this infamous smile, she angled the unlit cigarette up at him.

Taking his cue, he struck a match and lit her cigarette.

"As for my plan, Maud, I prefer to keep those cards close to my chest. But there are a few things Esme and I need to settle between ourselves. How that goes will instruct which hand I play next." After blowing out the fire licking its way toward his fingers, he dropped the spent match in the ashtray, then turned his attention to the true purpose at hand.

"Is there somewhere we might speak in private?"

Esme stormed toward the door, flung it open, and marched out without a word. He took it as indication for him to follow.

"Do come back, Jasper!" Maud called through a cloud of smoke. "We have so much to talk about."

Halfway down the hall, Esme opened an unmarked door, entered, then kicked the door shut after Jasper had followed her in.

She yanked on a cord, and a lightbulb flickered on overhead.

She squared off like a gladiator in the arena. A very cramped, dim arena with hundreds of costumes crammed onto racks hanging

on each side of them.

"Drop the charisma act. How did you find me?"

He squared off right back. She may have had displeasure on her side, but he was outright narked.

"My job is hunting down elusive objects. Don't think you're anything special."

"You should've taken the hint back in France that I didn't want to see you again."

He shoved aside a feather boa dangling in his face. "Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I'm not here for you. Now where is

it?"

"As if I would tell you." A sequined sleeve fell over her shoulder. She smacked it away.

He stepped forward. She stepped back.

"I know about Pirazzo. I know you came here because you have nowhere else to run. I know that by crossing the countess and not giving her the tiara—which clearly you have no intention of doing, otherwise you wouldn't be here—she wants you removed for good." He took another step, crowding her against a petticoat wall. She wasn't fleeing until he got what he came for. "Hard to tell anyone anything when you're dead."

A series of emotions flashed across her face, like one of those nickelodeons where the silver images moved so quickly the

watcher marveled at the speed. But watch he did. Disbelief, panic, fear, confusion, resolution, and finally his personal favorite,

haughtiness. Her prized armor.

A warrioress ready for battle with her crimson smirk and crinoline frothing all around her.

"What a dreary future you've painted. Here's something you should know about me, sweetheart . I always find a way out of a predicament. This is no different."

"You have a hit man after you." Reaching out, he lifted the string of pearls away from her throat. A thin red line circled

her neck. "From the looks of it, I'd say he was nearly successful."

She jerked away, repositioning the pearls to cover the faint scar. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

So sure of herself. Outwardly at least. A defensive tactic he knew intimately, one that served to distract from the soft underbelly

they were both so desperate to hide.

"One day there will be something you can't handle."

"Is that concern peeking through? Here I thought you were only interested in the Valkyrie and how well its sale is going to

line your pockets."

His own pockets, ha! The Valkyrie meant little to him beyond earning a respectable name and place among his blood fam ily, but such a confession would invite a swift kick to his own soft underbelly. She'd kicked him down in France, a pain he'd managed with the copious help of whisky, and he wasn't about to set himself up for a second go-round with her. This time he knew to stay well out of kicking range.

"You're right. My only interest is the Valkyrie, and it will be much easier to find if you're alive to give it to me."

Tilting her head, she blinked those thick black eyelashes at him. "You're a clever man. I assume you can sort out my response

to that."

"I will have it, Esme. If you think to run, I have people watching every door of this theater. You won't get far." Newsboys

and prostitutes made the best lookouts as long as you greased their palms, and Jasper was a considerate tipper. "Why did you

decide not to give the tiara to the countess?"

"She planned to kill me all along. Imminent death seemed as good a reason as any for a double cross."

"What sort of plan do you think will get you out of this double-crossing mess? Especially now that your name is mud."

"That is my own business."

"Ah, so you have no plan. I thought as much. You're more of a figure-it-out-on-the-run kind of girl."

The coquettish tilt of her head straightened with a snap. "Why don't you mind your own bloody business for once?"

"That is precisely what I am trying to do, but you keep getting in the way." He hissed through clenched teeth. "Being done

with the Valkyrie cannot come soon enough for me because we can finally wash our hands of each other. The only thing I'll

ever need from you is a signature on the divorce papers."

She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "Oh no you won't because I'll sign them first. In fact, finding a solicitor is

the first item on my to-do list tomorrow."

"I'll have my pen ready." Wheeling on his heel, he yanked open the door and stalked out of the closet.

"See that you do!"

He slammed the door shut behind him.

***

"Blackheathe-492, please." Jasper adjusted the telephone's earpiece as the operator made the connection all the way to Surrey.

The newfangled contraptions for communicating had yet to gain in popularity in the East End, but he'd managed to find a hotel

with one only a block from The Scarlet Crown. It wasn't the nicest or cleanest of accommodations, considering its clientele

were late-night theater folks and sailors on leave, but everyone minded their own business and that was good enough for him.

Laughter and clinking glasses echoed from the hotel's dining room across the hall. He pulled the privacy screen tighter around

him to cut off the noise, but all it managed to do was amplify another problem. Without the scent of lemon cleaner, beer,

and cigarette smoke, the orange-blossom perfume wafted freely to antagonize him. It had nearly overwhelmed his senses in that

costume closet an hour before, teasing him, digging into his brain, undermining his nerve. Much like the woman who wore it.

Yanking the handkerchief from his tuxedo pocket, he blew his nose to dislodge the lingering scent. He needed a clear mind

for this conversation.

The line crackled with static. A voice stumped through. "Linton Hall." Corby.

"I need to speak with the duke. It's urgent."

"I am afraid His Grace is unavailable at this time—"

"This is Jasper Truitt."

A miffed pause. "One moment please." More static.

Tired, agitated, and not looking forward to the conversation to come, Jasper wished he'd taken time for a pint first, if only

to shave off the edge of at least one of his competing problems. He unbuttoned his top shirt button and tugged at his bow

tie. Exhaustion clung to his bones—miles and miles of train travel and a boat ride did that to a man—but rest would not be

easily gained. Not until that cursed tiara was handed over. After that, he planned to book a luxury hotel room somewhere warm,

Rio or Valencia, and not leave his room for a month except to refill the ice bucket.

The line crackled. "Where is it? I'm in the middle of arranging the last details for my birthday celebration in three days

and I don't have time for more of your excuses." Duke's voice barreled into his ear.

"Good evening," Jasper said dryly. "I'm quite well, thank you for inquiring, as long as you don't take into account being

thwarted at every turn, outfoxed by a chicken, and sidestepping an Italian hit man."

"What is this about a chicken?" Leave it to Duke to skip over the danger and focus on the absurd. "Never mind. Where is it?"

"I don't have it."

"What do you mean you don't have it? You've had two months. More than enough time to track down a silly crown and return it

to Surrey."

Jasper ground his teeth. If it was so silly, why bother at all? "There have been unexpected complications."

"Yes, your man Mond has been fobbing me off with excuses."

"Mond has not been fobbing you off." Well, he sort of was at Jasper's request. "The tiara is quite the collector's item, and

you're not the only one in want of it."

"Who else?" Duke snapped. Patience was low on his list of key virtues.

"Half the treasure collectors in Europe. Greedy aristocrats." Jasper steeled himself. "My ex-wife."

"Ex-wife?" The squawk trumpeted in Jasper's ear. "You've never mentioned matrimonial entanglements before. I thought I taught

you better than to allow yourself to become embroiled in affairs of the heart. A wife is only for the legitimacy of heirs.

Otherwise, keep mistresses. They're more expensive but infinitely more entertaining."

"What can I say? Esme Fox caught me when my defenses were lowered." He didn't want to bring her up, but Esme had a way of

forcing herself in against his better judgment. "Turns out she's a jewel thief as well and after the Valkyrie. She led me

on a wild-goose chase all over Europe, then double-crossed me and snuck off with it." Orange blossoms tickled his nose. "I've

tracked her to The Scarlet Crown theater in London."

"Snuck off, did she? Am I to understand that your defenses were lowered again at the time?"

Silky black hair against his pillow. Her fingers tangled with his. Her warm breath across his neck.

"I'd rather not discuss that." Jasper snorted into his handkerchief.

"My boy, let me tell you something about— What is all that honking racket? Are you ill?"

"In a manner of speaking." He tucked away his handkerchief. "Please continue."

"One thing about women. Not a one can be trusted." A pause stretched.

Jasper waited. "Is that all?"

"Learn from my experience, boy. When I was your age I met a beautiful Italian girl, an opera singer. Rossalina was the most alive, divine thing I had ever seen. All the men clamored for her, but it was me she chose. For her debut as lead soprano, I had a one-of-a-kind piece crafted from the Roxburgh jewels to symbolize her titular role in Die Walküre . She was glorious with it shining atop her red hair, but all good things must come to an end. When I told her I was taking

a bride and needed the tiara returned, it holding family jewels and all, she went quite mad."

Rossalina Accardi. The very countess Esme was employed by, and consequently, the same one trying to bump her off. He'd had

an inkling all along that she was Duke's infamous mistress from long ago, and it turned out his instincts were correct.

Putting aside that wrinkle, he focused on the other pressing issue. The tiara wasn't just some long-lost pretty trinket. It

was part of Duke's legacy. And legacy was about the only thing the old man took seriously.

"So you want the Valkyrie not because of sentimental value over your deceased wife but because it has the Roxburgh jewels?"

"Of course," Duke said. "Its value is beyond monetary. I've lavished enough money on mistresses over the years. Furs, pearls,

necklaces, furnished apartments. Never meant a thing, but this crown is the only one I want returned. That I need returned."

"Why was a second one made?"

A disgruntled intake of breath.

Jasper forced his voice to remain calm. He didn't like going into a job and being made to look the fool when he could have

been forewarned.

"Duke? Why was a fake made of the Valkyrie if it was intended to be one-of-a-kind?"

"Blame my wife for that." A few inappropriate words may have been muttered but the miles muffled them. "It was Clarice's twenty-seventh birthday. I threw a large party for her here at Linton Hall, but instead of the entertainment I hired, my operatic ex-mistress showed up. Caused quite the scene for which my wife never forgave me, so she had a jeweler create a replica tiara and sold the real one to spite me.

"She had the gall to look me in the eye and say I would never see the Roxburgh jewels again, and each time she wore the Valkyrie

I would know it was fake just like our marriage. I spent years passing off the replica as the real one, all the while searching

for it. After Clarice died, I sold the fake. It wasn't worth much, but there were a few real stones mixed in with the glass

ones, and they got me by for a time."

Jasper didn't bother controlling the sharpness in his voice. "That information might have been useful to me two months ago."

"You hardly needed the sordid details of the past to track down an item." There wasn't an ounce of regret or apology in the

old man's rambling. He enjoyed holding all the strings while those tied to the ends of the strings were left to clack about

to his tune. "I have used every tool, curator, and thief at my disposal, but all have come up empty-handed. Until two months

ago when I got wind that the jeweler Clarice hired to create the fake died and the real tiara had slipped back into existence

along with several other items of value he'd been hoarding. That was when I pulled you out of jail and sent you on the trail."

"A last-ditch effort, I seemed to be."

"Though no different from the ones before you. Failures. And you, allowing yourself to become entangled with some woman who

swiped it out from under your nose."

"I hardly think you're one to judge on that account."

"Yes, well, perhaps we have more in common than originally conceded, but the point of the matter is that you were to succeed

where the others failed. The Phantom, they call you. The best in the game. If you truly were the best, you wouldn't be scrambling

all over the Continent and phoning me with excuses." Duke scoffed. "I've a mind to let the police throw you back in that cell."

Temper rising, Jasper scoffed right back. "If I'm back in that cell, then good luck getting your diamonds. Or better yet.

Go find new ones and forget about that cursed Valkyrie."

"The Roxburgh diamonds cannot simply be replaced. Not even if I had a mind to, which I do not."

"Why, Duke. I didn't take you for the sentimental kind. Especially over a pair of cold rocks."

"Those cold rocks are the only hope of saving this family's fortune." Each word was chopped with precision. Jasper imagined

the old man's jaw tight with each one spoken because his own, regrettably, did the same thing when he was on the edge of blowing

a gasket.

"The war cost us everything, like all the noble families. At first I wanted them returned as a matter of family honor, but

now they're crucial to keeping us afloat. It would bring in a handsome fortune on the auction block, well enough to keep the

Loxhill title in comfort for some time."

Tied to Duke's strings indeed. Jasper was tired of clacking about to his tune. He'd thought if he went along, his grandfather might finally recognize his worth, but Duke recognized only accomplishment. And Jasper had not lived up to his mark. How could he have been so desperate to believe Duke might actually have welcomed him into the family proper if he'd succeeded in retrieving the Valkyrie? More fool him.

"You say ‘this family' and ‘us' as if your fortunes are in any way tied to mine."

"You're my blood. Retrieving the Roxburgh jewels should mean something to you."

"Why? I'm not a Roxburgh. You've made that very clear over the years."

"Here I thought might be the opportunity to prove yourself more than a common by-blow."

There it was. Truth straight to the gut. "Once a bastard, always a bastard. Something else we have in common."

"Now you listen to me, that tiara—"

"What was that?" Jasper blew into the mouthpiece. "I'm sorry. I can't hear you. There must be something wrong with the connection."

He hung up.

Flinging back the privacy screen, he crossed the hall into the dining room and sidled up to the bar. He didn't know how many

pints awaited him before the night was out, nor did he know how he was going to find the Valkyrie, and Esme... Well, he'd

be an even greater fool to claim he knew anything about her. But one thing was certain.

He was not giving the Valkyrie to Duke.