22

Linton Hall was a grand old estate built sometime during the seventeenth century and home to the dukes of Loxhill for just

as long. It rose majestically out of the Surrey countryside, all sharp corners, towering columns, and grand stairs. An architect

could better describe the feats of such a structure, but to Jasper it was like a museum. A place he politely entered from

time to time, but was never allowed to touch or linger, its holdings far too valuable for the likes of him.

When his telephone calls had gone unanswered, Jasper had no choice but to race north on the soonest available train.

Upon his unexpected arrival the day before, a distracted Duke had seen fit to offer him a small guest room in the farthest

corner of the house. Next to the servants' stairs. It was a step up in accommodations considering his previous overnight stays

had been relegated to the tiny room over the stables.

"Did you bring something suitable to wear?" Duke eyed him in the dressing room mirror as his valet finished tying the white bow tie. He was the perfect picture of an old-world gentleman with his silver hair and towering height. "This is a party and we require appropriate dress here in the country. Despite the fashions in London or Europe."

Arms crossed, Jasper leaned against one of the three wardrobes packed into the mahogany-paneled room.

"Apologies. I didn't have time to pack my top and tails. I was rather preoccupied with getting here to warn you because you

couldn't pick up a simple telephone." He waved his hand in annoyance.

"The contraption rings too much. Barkley, have a jacket and tie laid out for Mr. Truitt. Can't have him spoiling the evening

looking straight off the boat."

"Yes, Your Grace." Barkley bowed stiffly and retreated from the room without straightening.

Grabbing an ivory-topped cane that was purely for aesthetics, Duke strode out of the dressing room and into the main corridor.

Jasper followed. The walls were papered in red damask with gilded frames of Roxburgh generations looking down their long noses

at those daring to pass beneath them.

"Have you not listened to anything I've said?" Jasper asked as they descended the sweeping staircase to the ground level of

the house. Servants bustled all around carrying fresh flowers, trays of drinks, and cloaks and hats from the guests starting

to arrive.

"If I tucked tail and pulled down the window shade on every spurned lover I've had trying to confront me, I would have been

a shut-in at two and twenty years of age." Duke paused on the bottom step and looked back at him. "That first one came at

me with a sharpened chandelier pendant. She married a year later, some railroad baron in America."

"This particular lover most likely won't be coming for you with a light fixture."

"Very well. A sheet of music for a nasty paper cut. Rossalina and I were over years ago. She may still hold a grudge, but

your gasping is a lot to do about nothing."

They crossed the polished floor of the grand hall, took several more turns through a number of fancy rooms, and exited through

a set of double doors that had been thrown wide open to the summer evening. The back terrace and garden glowed with thousands

of lanterns while the air was perfumed with jasmine and roses. A small orchestra plucked out a gentle tune that hummed beneath

the laughter and chatter of a dozen guests. In an hour the space would be packed with little room to move.

"Gasping am I?" Jasper maneuvered around a long table laden with crisp fruit, sugar-dusted pastries, intricately rolled charcuterie,

cheese wedges, and enough liquor to fill a lake. An ice sculpture of a swan perched in the center of it all.

"When this little paper cut sets into infection, don't come crying to me. In fact, don't bother coming to me ever again. I've

done everything I can to make something of myself, to have a name I can be proud of. At one time I had hoped it would be your

name, but I don't need that approval any longer. Nor do I need you muddling up my private affairs."

"If you are referring to that woman again—"

"Esme."

"I have already apologized for the misunderstanding. How was I to know that police sergeant would assume I was you when I

called to have her arrested?" Duke smoothed the table's linen cloth with the tip of his cane.

"She believes I'm the one who had her arrested."

"Another case proving my point that women leap to dramatic conclusions. I'm confident in your ability to whisper a few honeyed words into her ear and all will be forgiven and forgotten."

"Goodbye, Duke." Jasper turned on his heel.

"Wait! You can't leave."

"Difficult to accept when the tables are turned, is it?"

"I had hoped we could discuss my announcement this evening. As gentlemen. It's rather important, involving you."

"‘Gentleman' is a title that has never been afforded to men like me and is too honorable for men like you. Don't start appropriating

it now. Say hello to Rossalina for me."

Jasper bounded up to his room and swept the few items he had unpacked back into his suitcase. From the bed, the freshly pressed

evening clothes mocked him. A fine cut from Saville Row with a white silk waistcoat and bow tie. The garb of a gentleman.

He'd worn the like before, either while traveling with Duke or blending into the rich crowds he intended to swipe from, but

it never fit him correctly. He was nothing more than an impostor playing the role. All this finery around him and the swells

gathered downstairs—he didn't belong here and he would never be accepted because of the manner in which he'd been born. On

the wrong side of the blanket.

Heading downstairs, he took the back halls to avoid the crush of people spilling in through the front doors and made his way

outside to the garage. Duke's chauffeur could take him to the train station. With any luck he could make the nine o'clock

train for London, and from there... He'd figure it out on the way.

Rounding a hedge, he collided into a woman. His suitcase popped open and spilled its contents.

"Ow!" the woman cried.

Jasper lunged to grab her as she tottered on her heels. "I'm terribly sorry. Forgive me, I wasn't paying atten— Esme?"

One slender penciled eyebrow notched upward. "First imprisonment. Now assault. My, you enjoy keeping me guessing about which

horror I'm to be subjected to next."

For a moment Jasper felt as if he were the one tottering about. Of all the surprises he might have encountered, her showing

up dressed in the same clothes she'd worn when she was arrested was the last one he would've placed odds on.

Releasing her, he stepped back. "What are you doing here?"

"Something I never thought to do. Help you."

Correction. That was the most unexpected surprise. "You came here to help me?"

"What can I say? Prison changed me." She shrugged a shoulder as if she couldn't believe the odds either.

Kneeling, he gathered up his spilled belongings and stuffed them back in the suitcase. "How did you get out? That came out

wrong. Mond told me it could take him several days to file the paperwork."

"I suppose paperwork is unnecessary when the Duke of Loxhill personally requests your release." She scooped up a pair of his

underpants and dangled them out to him on her forefinger.

He snatched them off and shoved them into the case. "So Duke managed one good deed."

"Yes, you had your chance to lock me away for good and you blew it."

He slammed the lid closed and stood. "I never wanted that and you know it. Locked in a closet for a few hours, perhaps, but

not in that awful place. The food is terrible and the service leaves much to be desired. Especially when I was not the one to put you there."

"I know you didn't."

"So now you believe me?"

Her gaze dropped to her scuffed shoes. "I was too angry at the jail. Too betrayed."

His hand curled tight around the suitcase handle. "Hurts like hell, doesn't it? Betrayal."

"Only until I remembered you're not like me. You don't turn on people, and I've never had reason not to trust your word."

"Despite my being a thief?"

"You are the most honorable thief— man —I've ever met." At last she met his gaze. No mockery. No sly wink. Merely sincerity. "Truly, Jasper."

They stared at each other with a thousand what-ifs passing between them. Not one could he put into words, but he felt them

all. With no clue about what to do with them. Until one corner of her red lips curled up, followed by the other corner. And

just like that he was smiling back. The perfect response as talking had never been their best means of communication.

Music playing in the garden floated around the side of the house. A lovely piece heavy with strings.

"Is this what the high set considers party music?" Esme cocked her ear toward it. "I know that piece. It's from the first

act of Coppélia . Mimsy played one of the villagers when the theater tried to turn it into a play. The East End doesn't really go for ballet.

The show didn't last long because there wasn't enough skirt hiking." Grinning, she scampered to the side of the house, beckoning

him. "Come on. I want to see the toffs in action."

Jasper tucked his suitcase in a bush. No use encouraging a drunk guest to trip over it and spill his unmentionables again. He joined her peering through a vine-clinging trellis at the party scene behind where the people had tripled since his departure.

Esme's finger curled over the twisting plants. "Oh my. This is how you grew up?"

Gazing upon the scene, he realized what it must look like to her. The amount of wealth swirling about in diamonds and black

jackets, the dozens of servers with their silver platters, the pops of champagne bottle corks. To all the world it was the

epitome of grace and luxury, but Jasper knew it for the hollowness it was.

"I told you," he said. "The life of a bastard is not nearly so glamorous. I can act the part, but this isn't my world."

"We seem to do a lot of that. Acting. Though I must say we pull it off rather well."

"Acting has lost its sparkle for me."

Esme pulled a face. "Much like this music, I'd wager. Heavens, can't they cut a rug to something from this century? This is

going to put everyone to sleep."

"There is nothing new or exciting about this place. It's maintained as a mausoleum to the past and that's where it intends

to stay. For how much longer I don't know. I don't even know how Duke is footing this bill."

The Roxburghs' pockets had always been deep, but Duke's spending had cut them severely short. It had taken a long while for

Jasper to look behind the reverence he'd once held for this style of life he'd been cut out of. A family name to belong to,

a history to give him roots. He now saw the cracks, and cobwebs, and tarnishing.

"The man is entertaining with empty pockets. A common occurrence among the rich."

"Could have fooled me."

"It's why he tasked me with retrieving the Valkyrie. He needs the Roxburgh diamonds to pay off his debts."

Esme gave a low whistle that summed up the ridiculousness of the situation. "Good luck wrestling it out of the countess's

clutches. Better yet, let Duke wrestle it away from her. We can sit back and enjoy the spectacle for once."

Shaking his head, Jasper turned his back on the soiree and leaned against the side of the house. The cool stone pressed through

his jacket, offering relief to his overwarmed skin.

"I've no intention of watching anything. Duke can go hang for all I care. Him and that tiara."

"This from the man who chased that tiara all over Europe?"

"My priorities were misplaced. I've since seen the light."

The orchestra switched to a new tune, this one slower than the last and to which Esme offered another disappointed frown as

she muttered about King Oliver and the Original Dixieland Jazz Band.

"What priorities were those?"

Priorities. What a laughable notion now. He'd acted like a child begging for handouts of acceptance or acknowledgment, a hope

that he had become a man worthy beyond the confines of his low birth. All nothing more than achievements to impress someone

else. He was done with that.

The shame of his eagerness to please would linger in judgment, but somehow he didn't believe it would cross Esme's mind. Altruism

and compassion were not her top strengths, yet she was never one to thump another on the nose for making bad decisions. She

understood what it was like to twist yourself into what was needed to get by in the world. For that reason he didn't hold

back his crushing embarrassment.

"Thinking I might have a place here among the illustrious Roxburghs if I returned as the triumphal savior to the dynasty."

If he was waiting for judgment, she didn't offer it. Merely twitched her eyebrows in amusement while continuing to watch the

spectacle through the trellis.

"Ah, you thought bringing back the tiara might put you in Duke's good graces and he would name you as his heir."

"Heir to a crumbling kingdom."

"You could make something magnificent of it."

She spoke of the future as if it glittered within his reach. As if it were one he dreamed of to go with the loving family

and happy home he had so longed for. Dreams that were all but dust grinding beneath the heel of life. Wasn't that where they

had left their relationship? Another speck thrown beneath the tread of humanity. What was she doing sweeping it all up again?

"What are you doing here, Esme?"

Sighing, she relinquished her fascination with the party and turned to him. In the rising moonlight the smudges under her

eyes darkened to purple. Jail had the rather unrefined habit of robbing one of sleep, though she managed to carry it off with

aplomb.

"I told you. I'm helping. Although, after hearing this new information I'm quite at a loss as to what we should do once we

steal the tiara back. Neither of them deserves it."

"There's that ‘we' that has been so distasteful to you in the past." He waited for a rebuttal but surprisingly got none. "I

have no intention of stealing anything. I'm leaving on the nine o'clock train. You shouldn't be here either. If the countess

is coming for her revenge, it's too dangerous. I'll alert the authorities—"

"Well, I am here."

"And your plan is to what?"

"Prevent a murder? Spare the cream of British society the atrocity of having their ears bled dry by a geriatric diva past

her prime?" She shrugged. A nonchalant motion to the untrained eye. To his eye, however, it was one of her tells. A cover-up

to the tenseness she was loath to display.

"Honestly, as soon as I was released I came straight here. I didn't even stop to pack my toothbrush. Whatever happens tonight,

I don't have a plan for it. I just knew that of all the places to be, I needed to be here. With you."

The words tumbled around, settling slowly in his mind as if they weren't quite sure it was safe to sink in. "With me."

Her shoulders dropped, taking with them the coy flutter of lashes and the smirk of full lips to expose a raw vulnerability.

"You told me this isn't what you wanted for us. I had a great deal of time to think behind those bars—the real ones and the

ones I built around myself. What if it isn't what I want either?"

His heart may have lurched. Traitor. Did it fail to understand they intended to boycott her?

"Then what do you want?" His pulse decided to commit treason as well and sped up.

Her lovely eyes poured into his as she took a tiny step toward him, brushing her fingers against his knuckles.

"I think I might have fallen in love— Pirazzo?"

That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. "You love Pirazzo?"

"No, look!" Those lovely eyes that had been all his seconds before had narrowed as she pointed through the vines to the oily

man creeping though the crowd. He had spiffed himself up into a tuxedo that looked ready to burst at the seams like an overstuffed

Italian sausage. His head twisted this way and that.

"The countess must be here," she whispered.

An ill-boding sign. And one he couldn't ignore no matter how loudly his instincts shouted for him to leave this mess for someone

else to clean up. Then there was that other persistent factor damning him to stay. Bloody code of gentleman's honor.

Shouldering that unprecedented mantle, he strode to the side gate hidden between the vines that opened to the back garden.

"Find Corby. Tell him to alert the authorities."

"I don't know who Corby is."

"The butler. Look for the man who eats starch for breakfast. Hurry!"

She marched over to him. "You tell him. Pirazzo and the countess began as my problem. I'm the one who will see this through."

"Now isn't the time to put on the sackcloth and ashes."

"As if I would wear such a hideous ensemble on purpose." She slipped around him and through the gate.

Given no choice but to follow, he hurried after her. Partygoers gave them quizzical looks as they were clearly the most underdressed

guests in attendance. Esme in her wrinkled day dress, and him in a regular tie. The scandal!

Esme stopped near the edge of the dance space where the orchestra began trilling out another dusty old tune.

"Do you see him? I can't see past all the feathered headpieces."

Jasper craned his neck, but it did little good as there was no greased-back head to spot. He grabbed a passing server who

doubled as one of Duke's footmen.

"Find Corby. Tell him to alert the authorities at once to suspicious activity here on the estate."

The footman's face creased with concern. "But, Mr. Truitt, I'm not supposed to leave my post."

"Would you rather be here to witness a possible disaster?"

The food tray wobbled in the boy's gloved hand. "Wh-what disaster?"

"Find Corby. At once. And do not breathe a word of this to anyone. If you do and cause a widespread panic among His Grace's

guests, I guarantee the only position you'll have references for will be washing tankards at a roadside inn."

"Y-yes sir." The footman gave a little bow and scurried off.

"So authoritative." Esme brushed her shoulder against his. "A divinely attractive quality in a man."

"Don't swoon yet because you're about to see recklessness. Look." He nudged his chin toward the platform where the orchestra

was situated. Pirazzo was motioning to the conductor to bend down.

"I don't think he's a qualified musician," Esme said as Pirazzo shoved what looked to be a payoff into the conductor's hand.

"Likely he's setting up the diva's entrance." Jasper faced her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Stay here. I'm going to—"

A silver tray loaded with filled crystal glasses wedged between them. "Champagne?"

"Not now!" Jasper shouldered the overzealous waiter out of the way. Quite a feat considering the little man's head barely

reached Jasper's shoulder and was completely blocked from sight by the large tray.

"You are going to what?" Esme said, ignoring the intrusion. "Confront him on your own? Not bloody likely. I'd wager you don't

even have a weapon."

"Gave them up after the war. Too much of an invitation for someone to shoot back."

"Overcome your moral quandary for the evening and take mine." Bending down as if to check the seam in her stockings, she dipped

her hand under her skirt and fished out a derringer.

He took it, weighing the toy in his hand. "What do you expect me to do with this? Hunt mice?"

She sniffed indignantly. "Beggars do not have the luxury of choosing. I'll shimmy up front and create a distraction. Surely

dancing the Charleston will stop everyone in their tracks, including that greaseball. You sneak around behind him and whack

him on the back of the head. Or shoot him, because if you don't hit him hard enough, he'll likely pull his own gun and shoot

you dead."

"Your confidence in me is astounding. Unlike your ridiculous assumption that he won't shoot you dead first."

"My dancing is hardly offensive. Besides, do you have a better plan?"

"No, but the last thing I need is a dead wife who didn't have enough common sense to stay out of the way."

"Why, darling, you do care." She tweaked him on the chin. "If I get killed, it'll be your fault for not whacking him in the

back of the head quick enough and you will be forced into the sackcloth for the shame of it all."

Applause erupted around them. The orchestra blared a jingling to gather the party's attention to the platform. Duke, grinning

broadly and waving benevolently to the plebs before him, swept up the short flight of stairs to stand next to the conductor.

Pirazzo had disappeared.

Duke held out his hands for silence. "Welcome, my lords and ladies, my friends. Welcome and thank you for my wonderful birthday

celebration."

"Huzzah!" The crowd cheered. Plied with spirits they would cheer anything.

The orchestra suddenly jumped into a rousing rendition of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" to which the crowd joined with enthusiasm. Duke blushed and grinned through it all, soaking up the glorious celebration of himself.

"Thank you all!" he said when the song ended. "How unexpected to be serenaded so well by my dearest friends." He droned on.

The audience listened with rapt attention. Another blessing of title riches. People would listen to whatever nonsense a titled

person gasped about for fear of offending them and being cut from the "in" crowd.

Jasper shuffled through the sycophants, inching to where he had last spotted Pirazzo near the platform.

"Stay back there!" he hissed at Esme.

She rolled her eyes. "I have yet to listen to you and will not break my record by starting now."

"How am I supposed to concentrate while having to worry about you at the same time?"

"Easy. Don't."

"Esme, I swear—"

"Which is why I am proud to announce that Jasper Truitt—where are you, dear boy?" Duke's voice cut through their argument.

He squinted out at the audience, his gaze roving over heads until landing on Jasper's. "There you are!"

The crowed peeled away, leaving Jasper and Esme standing alone in the center of the dance floor, their noses inches apart

in heated debate.

"I am proud to announce my grandson, Jasper Truitt, as my heir and the next Duke of Loxhill."