20

Jasper jumped to block the police officers, but they shoved past him and grabbed Esme, wrenching her arms behind her back.

She cried out in pain.

"What is going on here?" He reached for her, but they wrestled her away. "By what authority do you take this woman into custody?"

A cocksure grin widened across the sergeant's face. His billy club swung around in lazy circles. "She's a known thief who's

been running us in circles for years. A tip-off finally came through, and she'll be going away for a long time."

"I've never even heard of these Roxburgh diamonds," Esme protested. "If you're looking for a thief, arrest him!" She pointed

and glared at Stockton. "He's been conning people for years."

"So long, lady light fingers," Stockton crowed from his safe place behind the counter. "And don't worry. I've taken good care

of your merchandise. Its owner is delighted to have it returned."

The police hustled Esme out of the shop despite her shouts of outrage.

Jasper charged after her. Two black autos waited on the street. The sergeant opened the back door of the second auto and waved at his men to put Esme inside.

"Where are you taking her?" Jasper demanded.

"To the precinct where she'll be charged with a laundry list of items stolen." The sergeant puffed out his chest as if he'd

just nabbed Jack the Ripper himself. "I might even get myself a promotion off this one. Yes, sir. The prosecution'll throw

the book at her."

Esme's panicked eyes latched onto Jasper. "Jasper?"

"Esme! Don't say anything until I can get you a solicitor."

"Jasper? Jasper Truitt? Eh, you're the man I should be thanking for this roundup," the sergeant continued as he rocked on

his heels. "Without the tip we might never have caught this one. Slippery, she is."

Jasper could have slugged him in his fat mouth. But the anger at being outed was nothing compared to the gut-wrenching look

of betrayal morphing across Esme's face.

" You did this to me?"

"No!" Her strangled voice nearly broke him. "Esme, I swear I had nothing to do with this."

The officers shoved her in the auto and slammed the door shut. She collapsed against the back seat like a limp fish, the backbone

ripped out of her. A ripping she blamed him for.

"Good job, Romeo." The sergeant slapped him on the back and ambled toward the first auto.

The engines revved and off they zoomed. Everything in him propelled him down the street, chasing their bumpers, but his feet

pivoted back to the shop.

He needed to hit something. Hard.

Inside the shop, he leapt over the counter and shoved Stockton up against the wall.

"Who did you sell the tiara to?"

"Its owner." The old man didn't even wheeze. Probably not his first time being knocked against a wall.

"There's only one owner, and I know for a fact he doesn't have it."

"The Valkyrie's whereabouts no longer concern you, signor." The back curtain parted. Out came a pistol and a black-gloved

hand, followed by a man in a black suit with oily hair.

"Pirazzo." Jasper cursed and backed away from the gun pointed at his chest. "I might have known your harpy mistress had you

on the trail. Tell me. How did you escape France? Last I heard you were found unconscious by the gendarme with a goose egg

on your forehead and taken into custody."

"Countess Accardi has her connections."

"Do her connections reach all the way to a swindler's shop in Whitechapel?" Jasper's glare cut to Stockton.

The old man shrugged and patted down the creases Jasper's fists had formed in his shirtfront.

"She toured London many years ago. We struck up a correspondence for collecting the unattainable. Her man here traveled all

night to get here after I wired her yesterday. Of all the shops"—he cackled—"her prized possession dropped into mine."

"You son of a—"

"It is time for you to leave, signor." Pirazzo waved his gun at the door.

"This isn't over." Jasper backed toward the exit.

" Sì . And you have lost," Pirazzo said. "Do not let me see your face again. Or Miss Fox's. It will not end well for you."

Jasper trembled with rage as he stepped out on the street. Rage at being caught out, exposed, and falsely accused. Mostly he raged against himself. If the Valkyrie was to be his downfall, he would gladly take the consequences of his actions. Esme had her own consequences to deal with, but she didn't deserve his.

They'd done a great many underhanded things to each other. That was the game of their profession, but there was an undercurrent

of honor among thieves, and she had leveled him flat with the perception of him violating that code.

No, not just a code. That was too impersonal.

The way she'd looked at him struck to the core of what existed between them... stabbing it apart like a white-hot knife

that speared straight into his gut.

He couldn't let them end that way.

***

The precinct in Westminster was fine enough as far as jails went, and Jasper had seen his fair share. Still, stepping inside

was enough to make his blood run cold, no matter which side of the bars he stood on.

He'd taken a taxi straight from Stockton's only to learn from the Whitechapel police station that Esme had been taken to the

station in Westminster. Ordinarily it could take up to an hour to cross town, but he'd paid the taxi driver double and arrived

in half the time, only to be shown to the waiting room to sit for two hours while they processed her.

Processed. Like a common criminal.

A female guard in a starched uniform and a severe bun walked into the room. "Mr. Truitt. You can see the prisoner now."

She led Jasper down a cement-block corridor to a room with a single, high window and a small table with a chair on each side of it. A door with bars stood on the opposite wall. The guard unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Get in here," she barked.

Chains rattled as Esme shuffled into view. She'd been stripped of her fine dress and shoes and shoved into a gray sackcloth

with oversize brown brogues fit for a granny's feet and shackles around her wrists.

"Five minutes," the guard grunted, then slammed the door shut and stood glaring at them from the corner. Clearly privacy was

not to be had.

Silence ticked.

Jasper grasped at the first words that came to mind. "One thing's for certain. You make that drab uniform fashionable."

Esme's expression remained deadpan. "Hello, traitor. I'm surprised to see you here. Thought you'd be out celebrating a victory.

That is what you do, isn't it, when you reel in and hand over one of your own?"

"I swear to you I had nothing to do with your arrest."

"Odd. That rotund sergeant gave the impression that you're quite chummy with them. Thieves aren't typically considered high

class, but that was a low move even for you." She cocked her head to the side. Her black hair fell away to reveal that even

her earrings had been confiscated.

"You and your Romeo charms. Boy, what a sap I was to fall for it."

"I have never used— Wait a tick. You found my charms worth falling for?"

"Don't play coy. That's my bit."

"Four minutes," barked the guard.

Esme's comment sparked a nagging need to know more, but Jasper pushed it aside. He was no better than an addict when it came

to her. Swearing her off yet craving the next moment with her. If he couldn't uphold his own word to stay away from her, what

kind of man was he?

"We'll come back to that charm point later—"

"Charm of a snake," Esme said with a huff.

"Believe me or don't, but it wasn't me who informed the police."

"Who then? Countess Accardi? She's never mentioned anything about Roxburgh diamonds."

Pieces clicked together. Pieces so glaringly obvious he felt the fool for not seeing the whole picture sooner.

"The countess has the tiara. Stockton tipped her off, but she wasn't the one who turned you in. It was Duke. He must have

told the police you were trying to take the tiara from me, and they most likely confused the whole bit, thinking I gave the

tip-off. Which I did not."

Integrity was not one of the old man's shining virtues, but neither was allowing credit to go to others for his own doings.

"Who is Duke?"

"The Duke of Loxhill. My grandfather."

She blinked slowly several times as if he'd announced he was flying to the moon.

"You're a lord?"

"No. I'm the illegitimate son of his illegitimate son, remember? I'll draw the family tree for you later."

"Why does your grandfather want me arrested? How does he even know about me?" Her eyes narrowed and she took a step toward him, chains rattling. "Jasper, how does this duke, your never-before-mentioned grandfather, know about me?"

Here it came. The shameful truth he was none too pleased to divulge, but a man in his predicament couldn't afford to scrimp

now.

"Because he's the one who tasked me to retrieve the tiara and return it to the family. It should have been a simple job, only

I was thwarted by a Valkyrie with gossamer wings who had designs on it herself." He gave her a pointed look she ignored. "Duke

isn't known for his patience and has been breathing down my neck this entire time. Then last night..."

She crossed her arms, her face summoning the same challenging expression from their chat in the costume closet. "Last night

what?"

If his confession from moments before was shameful, this was about to be downright despicably sordid. "I updated him on the

turn of events and my being in London. One thing led to another, and I may have mentioned you, and a marriage, and you running

out on me, and you being a competitive jewel thief."

"Oh no. You didn't." Esme clutched at her chains.

"Two minutes," the guard said.

Jasper backed up a step, putting the table between them lest Esme think to lasso her chains around his neck.

"We can have a row over all this later. I need you to listen. The countess is Duke's old mistress. He gave the tiara to her

for her performance on the stage thirty years ago, but when it came time to marry a proper wife, he took the tiara back and

gave it to his new duchess.

"Only, the duchess found out about his trysts and sold the tiara out of spite. Now you and I are here thirty years later caught

in the middle of an old lovers' tug-of-war for diamonds."

"Your grandfather is the double-crosser? Oh, the irony." Esme turned toward the window. It was too high up to offer a view of any kind, but weak sunlight filtered in and rested atop her head.

"The countess considered it hers all this time. And now she has it just in time for her big return to the stage celebration

where she plans to recreate her performance from Wagner's Die Walküre ." She spun around. "If your grandfather is the double-crosser... Jasper, she's planning to kill him."

A chill crashed over him. "How do you know?"

"She told me the night I swiped the fake tiara. A violent ending worthy of a Valkyrie's kill, she claimed. If your grandsire

is her intended target, what celebration is she planning all of this around?"

"Duke's birthday is the day after tomorrow. Fireworks, dancing, food. Music." Just when Jasper had decided to wash his hands

clean of all this tiara business, Duke, and whatever announcement he kept threading Jasper along with—the whole tangle caught

him by the ankles and yanked him back into the fray. Cutting off one's ill-reputed relative was one thing, but allowing them

to swagger straight to their death was another.

"So her plan all along has been to crash his birthday party." Esme shook her head, tutting. "A real revenge stunt—showing

up to her former lover's home wearing the jewels he's been searching for. Not that I feel sorry for your grandfather. You

don't give a woman diamonds and then snatch them back."

"Duke has never been one to struggle over ethics."

The guard jangled the keys. "One minute."

"Then they make the perfect pair." Lines creased Esme's forehead. "But no one deserves what she's planning. You must warn

Duke."

"I'll ring him straightaway. Though with a party looming he has the bad habit of leaving the telephone off the hook due to so many caterers and well-wishers calling." Which would leave Jasper no choice but to travel to Linton Hall in person. The very thought set his gut to roiling, but this wasn't the time for personal feelings to hold sway.

"When you speak to him, be sure to tell him how much I appreciate my new accommodations."

"I'll get you out. I promise."

"Time!" The guard jammed the key into the barred door and swung it open.

"Why bother?" Esme flicked him a sad smile. "This could be a fun party story when you tell everyone how your ex-wife got locked

away as a jailbird. I'm sure many men wish their wives were so easily disposed of."

"Time to go," the guard growled as she reached for Esme's arm.

"No, wait!" Jasper pulled out his wallet and grabbed a tenner, then shoved it in the guard's scabby hand. "Two minutes more.

Please."

The guard frowned, then pocketed the money. "Two minutes." She waited outside the cell, tapping her baton against the wall

as a warning against the time ticking away.

"This isn't what I wanted for us," he rushed out. If he didn't say it now, he would never summon the guts again. "We started

out with so much promise. How did we end up here?"

Esme slowly shook her head. "We started out with a dream of champagne. In the morning the bubbles were all dried up."

"You didn't stick around long enough to discover if we could have faced it together."

"Because if I had, I wouldn't have been able to leave." She crossed her arms. A defensive move as if protecting herself. "You were entirely too tempting, and giving in to a man's arms means nothing more than entanglement."

"I've watched you waltz in other men's arms. You did mine once. Why not now?"

"Because you are the one man who could trap me." Wetness glossed her eyes.

"I don't want to trap you. I wanted to love you." His own insides felt watery.

"That's what all those men told my mother. ‘Come on, honey. I'll take care of you.' ‘My wife means nothing. You're the one

I want.'" She wiped her lower lashes. "Or my personal favorite, ‘You'll never want for anything ever again.'"

"I'm not those men."

"No. You're simply the kind to have me arrested."

"We can keep doing this same old dance, Esme. Pushing each other back and forth, and this is how we will end, with you and

me bent."

"I'm already bent."

"So am I." It was like fighting a brick wall. One he kept throwing himself against. Bruised, scratched, and defeated. He felt

it all.

"You, my darling, float through life like a scarf on a trace of perfume. Beautiful and captivating but directionless. Only

now you've floated behind the bars of a jail, but you've been in a cage your whole life. One you built yourself, terrified

of what it might mean to break free and take chances. Real chances with broken hearts and unseen tomorrows. Here..." He

reached into his jacket's inner breast pocket and pulled out a folded handkerchief. He shook the fabric over the table and

out fell a ring.

Her ring.

It bounced on the dull wooden surface, spiraling lazily until falling flat on its side. He'd intended on leaving it behind in that whisky glass, but Mond had fished it out. "Worth more pawning off than leaving for a drunk to find later," he'd said, handing it back to Jasper.

"I've been carrying that around for four years. I don't want it anymore."

Tucking away the handkerchief, he turned and left.