23

"Darling, smile. They're all watching you." Thank the stars above, Mimsy's lessons kicked in right as the proverbial spotlight

hit them in the middle of the dance floor, shoving Esme's shock and disbelief deep down and conjuring a smile of pure delight.

Jasper, the future duke and her estranged husband, wasn't quite so quick on the uptake. He continued to stare at her, his

expression at war with itself, his eyebrows drawn into a sharp V still punctuating their argument while his delicious mouth

flopped open rather stupidly. She resisted the urge to press her finger under his chin and close it before some undukelike

noise came forth. Hardly the best way to accept his new title.

"Come up here, my boy." Beaming like a puffed-up rooster, Duke beckoned at Jasper. "Come so I may properly introduce you as

the new Earl of Westcott, a title that has gone unused for far too long."

"Close your mouth, pet." Esme smiled brightly and gave him a little push. "Go on before he sends a footman to collect you."

Gathering himself, Jasper pressed his lips into a somewhat pleasant line that belied the anger beginning to snap in his eyes. Mimsy would have declared him a star pupil. The crowd parted for him as he made his way to the platform and stood next to Duke. To the crowd it was the most astonishing of spectacles. An unheard-of heir emerging from the woodwork to claim one of the land's most coveted titles. Who was this man?

They picked apart his grubby day suit while cooing at the curl over his forehead, missing the flash of annoyance in his eyes.

They noted the casual way Duke slung his arm across Jasper's shoulders. They did not notice the way Jasper stiffened. They

saw two strapping men with power and prestige laid at their feet. They did not see the rejected little boy who had craved

acceptance and fought to make his name one of worth.

But Esme saw. She saw the man who had nothing to prove to anyone. And for that her heart swelled and her hands clapped. Not

because of some title, but because of who he was without all that fuss. She should have kissed him when she'd had the chance.

In the four years of their separation she had never felt more distanced than she did now with this earldom stretching between

them.

Duke patted Jasper on the shoulder, presenting him like a boy who had just won his first ribbon at a pony race.

"Do you wish to say a few words, my boy?"

Jasper's gaze locked on her. "To say this was unexpected is an understatement."

"Quite so, quite so!" Duke laughed. "Come, let me introduce you." He hustled Jasper off the platform and he was lost to Esme,

swallowed up in the purring and cooing of the other aristocrats more than willing to welcome one of their own into the flock.

Esme was elbowed out of the way until she found herself once more at the edge of the dance space. She nearly laughed at the

irony. One minute, the center of it all with Jasper at her side, and the next, tossed out like yesterday's newspaper. If that

was the case, it was up to her to make a new headline. Something she was rather good at.

"In honor of His Grace's birthday celebration we have a special guest here tonight," the conductor announced.

An icy finger zinged down Esme's spine. As if she needed the warning.

"A world-renowned sensation and star of the stage, she has performed Puccini's ‘O mio babbino caro,' Mozart's ‘Der H?lle Rache,'

and Bellini's ‘Casta Diva.' Tonight she graces us for one night only for an enchanting remembrance of her center-stage debut

in Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen . Please welcome Countess Rossalina Accardi!"

Applause exploded. Countess Accardi swept onstage in a fanfare of glitter and feathers. Dressed in black-and-purple velvet

with draping sleeves that dragged the ground, a purple turban wrapped around her head with three long, black feathers curling

over the top, and black sequined slippers, she looked like a fortune teller escaped from the caravan. A very expensive caravan,

but a sideshow nonetheless.

Reaching the center of the stage, she gazed upon her audience with adoration shining from her kohl-lined eyes. She placed

a veiny hand over where a heart might have beaten had one ever had the misfortune of being there and dipped low into a curtsy.

The applause continued but thinned. Ever the consummate performer sensitive to her art, the countess stood, raising her arms

over her head in a plea for silence. Her sleeves rolled back and the bangles circling her wrists clacked together.

" Grazie ! Grazie !" She smiled widely. Her dark red lipstick looked nearly purple in the evening light, a color bruising her mouth.

"How welcome you have made me feel tonight after such a long departure from the stage, and how wonderful it is to return on

this most auspicious occasion. My dream was to go on performing forever, but alas, time decreed my voice had finished its

song and it was time to step aside for newer voices to arise."

A murmur rippled through the white hairs in the crowd. Doubtful any of them considered relinquishing power and stepping aside

once their time had passed.

"Do not weep for me, i miei amici . For while a younger ingenue may rise to take my place, it is I who owned the part first. That is something that can never

be taken away." Her eyes glittered as she stared straight down at Duke, who, for his part, looked positively gobsmacked.

His arrogance countenanced no warnings or threats, preferring to believe his rank kept him untouchable. The countess flashed

a gleaming row of teeth and opened her mouth. Out soared Brünnhilde's battle cry solo from Die Walküre .

Subtle, the woman was not.

Esme snorted. She had seen the opera once before in Copenhagen while pricing the Johannes Vermeer collection and didn't recall

the lead soprano's voice cracking nor sagging skin flapping about under her chin as it did with the countess. Some gifts did

not age well, but the diva sought to overcome that disagreeable obstacle by singing louder, forcing the notes out no matter

their reluctance. The audience didn't appear to mind as they burst into applause when the last note shot from her mouth like

a discharged cannon.

Peering between heads, Esme searched for Pirazzo or any ill indication of what was to come but saw nothing. Until a stout waiter rolled close to the stage. The same one with the champagne tray that had blocked his head. Esme squinted. How tall all the other servants were. This one's shape could only be described as... egg-like.

The little ball turned his head and winked at her. Lamb!

That sneaky devil. Of course he was here to throw a new wrench into the debacle. She scowled. He gave her a sharp grin and

wiggled his fingers at her, melting into the crowd.

Wonderful. Three against two. The odds were not in her and Jasper's favor. Still, she had been in worse predicaments, though

considering a hit man and deranged killer were involved perhaps this was the worse.

Jasper, where are you?

Sweeping her ringed hand to her heart, the countess curtsied again. She gave nothing away of her true intent. And that was

when she was at her most dangerous.

" Grazie ." She straightened and reached up to her turban, then one by one plucked out the feathers and blew them into the audience.

People scrambled over one another to grab them, which delighted the diva all the more.

Then she began to slowly unwind her turban.

"Most of you will be unaware of the special connection I have to our host. A lifetime ago we were well acquainted. You might

say our, ah, destinies were entwined for a time." She winked and the audience roared with laughter.

Evil and deranged, but brilliantly captivating.

Esme inched toward the stage. She'd given away her gun, but a shoe would do in a pinch.

"I was his queen, his inspiration, his angel of stars and wings." The countess gave one last tug on her turban and the bindings fell away to reveal the Valkyrie perched atop her henna-red hair. The diamonds glittered like a thousand stars under the glow of candles and moonlight, like a living being breathing in its adoration from a stage once more.

On a strangled cry, Duke pushed to the front of the crowd. He seethed with horrified anger. "My Valkyrie! How dare—"

She flicked her wrist, and the orchestra kicked in, blaring the epic charging force of "The Ride of the Valkyries."

Duke shouted, but the music drowned out his rage.

Acid shot from Countess Accardi's eyes as she stared him down, daring him to speak again.

He dared.

She silenced him momentarily with another of Brünnhilde's battle cries.

"You thieving raptor!" Duke's insults rang out as the music hit a low bar.

"You lying reptile!" screeched the countess.

"That tiara belongs to my family!"

" Mortacci tua ! You had it made for me and then you snatched it back and gave it to that puttana ."

"Clarice was not a whore! She was my wife!"

The crowd gasped. The orchestra skipped a measure.

"It is same thing." The countess trembled with rage. "You gave to her what was mine. What is mine."

Duke's face reddened. "I don't know what delusions you've fed on for thirty years to think you have any claim, but the Valkyrie

belongs to me. Hand it here. At once!"

Sensing the musical moment had soured, the orchestra petered out.

"No, but I will give you what you truly deserve. Bastardo ." From one of her long sleeves, she pulled out a gun.

Women screamed. Men shoved one another out of the way. Instruments honked and chairs tipped over as the musicians scrambled off the platform.

Duke threw up his hands and backed away. "Now, Rossalina. Put that away before you hurt someone. You don't really want to

kill me."

"Sì, I do. I have taken tokens from each of my lovers over the years, but nothing from you because you stole it from me. I

have been searching for this token for thirty years and at last it's mine."

Esme slipped behind the stage and peered through the overturned music stands. Where was Jasper? The icy finger that had trailed

down her spine wrapped around her throat. What if Pirazzo had found him first? What if he was lying face down in a pool of

blood and she never got the chance to tell him what she'd come here to confess? That she loved him. Wildly and unexplainedly.

If he died before she told him those three little words that she should have told him from their first meeting, she would

never forgive his rudeness in leaving her.

"I gave you pearls, diamonds, villas." Duke's coloring darkened to a sickly purple.

The countess shrugged. "I wanted this. Just as I want to shoot you."

"Where did you even get a gun? A stage prop? Put it away before you hurt yourself."

Hoisting herself onto the stage, Esme ducked between the overturned chairs. A plan might have been helpful before she threw

herself headlong into certain danger, but then, she was better at off the cuff.

"Forgive my paraphrasing of L'incoronazione di Poppea when I say, ‘Go to exile in bitter grief.'" The countess leveled the gun at Duke.

Duke's gaze locked on the barrel. The purple drained from his face to an ashy color. "That farewell was for Rome."

"And like Rome, you are doomed for downfall." She pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

" Cavolo! I never should have trusted my father's gun from his war." She smacked the gun against her thigh. Pulled the trigger again.

Nothing. She tossed it aside and rummaged through her other sleeve, extracting another gun.

Esme lunged through the last row of chairs. She knocked into the old woman and down they tumbled.

The gun skittered from the countess's hand, fell off the stage, and was neatly caught by Duke.

The countess screeched, clawing after it with her bony hands.

Esme sat on top of her. "Cease with the tantrum, you old crone."

"You stupid, stupid girl!" The countess wriggled like a caught fish. Small as she was, she had a good amount of fight in her

dusty bones. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Then we never would have had this thrilling reunion."

A string of Italian cursing burned Esme's ears. "You have ruined everything!"

"If you had slipped in quiet like and knifed the duke while he was sleeping, you wouldn't be in this predicament." Duke made

a strangled noise at this suggestion. Esme shot him an apologetic look and continued. "But no, you had to take center stage

and act out the greatest revenge scene since Hamlet ."

"A fellow craver of limelight, how magnifique ." Lamb, still clad in his waiter attire, popped up on the stage. "Though any good performance should have only one star, and I'm afraid that will always be me, in which case, I'll take that." He swooped down and plucked the tiara from the countess's head.

Or tried to. The countess clamped onto the wings with all her scrawny might.

"It's mine!" she hissed. "After all these decades I will not allow some snub-nosed amateur to take it from me."

"Give it to me!" Lamb pulled harder.

The countess held on for dear life, veins straining in her neck and eyes bulging. "Unhand it!"

A tug-of-war ensued, each opponent equally matched in determination. It wasn't going to end well.

Esme leaned in, reaching to swat their hands away. "Enough! It's over. Neither of you—ow!" She jerked her hand back. Teeth

marks dented the back of her hand. "You bit me!"

Lamb latched his teeth next into the countess's hand. She screamed but held on. He bit again, this time clamping down on her

thumb. The tiara tumbled free.

Snatching it up, Lamb pressed his prize to his heaving chest. "Winner takes all. Ladies, it has been a pleasant evening, but

I must bid you all a fond adieu."

He tossed something at his feet. A puff of smoke erupted.

Esme coughed and batted away the smoke.

Lamb was gone.

"You little sneak!"

His laughter rippled across the empty dance floor as his black coattails disappeared around a bush.

"My prize!" the countess shrieked as if she'd been stabbed.

"Come back here at once!" Duke shouted. "Thief! Thief!"

Lamb did not obey the command, nor did anyone move to go after him, the audience and waitstaff too enthralled by the unusual spectacle. Typical. Most people preferred the safety of spectator rather than the unknown of participant.

Click.

Esme swiveled her head and found Pirazzo pointing a gun at her from the rear of the stage.

"A pleasure to see you again, Miss Fox," he said.

"I can't say the same." Panic thrummed but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of having her at a loss. The countess squawked

beneath her.

"Move away from Countess Accardi now or I will be forced to remove you by other means."

Bam!

A gunshot exploded behind Pirazzo. His gun tumbled from his hand.

Before he could even blink, Jasper appeared behind him. From ground level, his arms snaked out and grabbed Pirazzo by the

ankles, yanking him off the stage. The sound of fists smacking and grunting echoed up. If he was any hit man worth his salt,

Pirazzo would have more than one weapon on his person. Esme's little gun held only one shot and Jasper had used it.

Forgetting Lamb, the Valkyrie, and the murderess jabbing pointed fingernails into Esme's leg, Esme scrambled to her feet and

lurched to the rear of the stage. The two men had regained their feet and were slinging fists.

Bruises bloomed on both their cheeks. Blood trickled from Pirazzo's lip. Jasper swung and ducked, punched and bobbed with

all the sleek concentration of a panther. Pirazzo was more of a boar, his meaty hooks lacking style but connecting with punishing

blows to Jasper's upper body and jaw.

Ducking low, Jasper drove his shoulder into Pirazzo's stomach, knocking him backward. Jasper jumped atop his opponent and rained down a series of pummels, cracking the Italian's nose sideways. Pirazzo threw up his arm to block the blows while his other hand squirmed down to his belt.

In a motion quick as lightning, he whipped out a silken cord and lassoed it around Jasper's neck, yanking tight. Jasper's

face flushed red as he clawed at the cord. Cackling in delight, Pirazzo heaved up and shoved Jasper to his back.

Pirazzo leaned over Jasper with a pointed grin, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. The bright red splattered against

Jasper's neck, an ugly color against the purpling of his skin.

"I have you now, little Phantom."

Esme looked around for a weapon of any kind. Grabbing a music stand, she jumped off the stage and brought it crashing down

on Pirazzo's head. He juddered from the impact but didn't break his hold on choking Jasper. She swung the stand again, cracking

it against the side of his head.

Down he went, sprawling against Jasper in an unconscious heap. Scrambling out from beneath the oily mass, Jasper tore the

rope away from his neck and gasped.

"Darling! Are you all right?" Esme threw herself at his side. His purple face faded to blue, then red, then ashy. A nasty

shiner ringed his eye and a cut trickled blood from his cheek, but at least he was still breathing.

He nodded, sucking in air.

Esme grabbed the cord and tied Pirazzo's hands and ankles behind his back, securing them with a knot to make any sailor proud.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Jasper rasped.

"A good thief must always know how to prevent another pickle," she said. "Besides, I saw it in an American cowboy act that toured the East End once, and I always wanted to try it. He used a hay bale with horns, so I believe I pulled off the more difficult stunt. Wherever did you learn to fight like that? I assume fisticuffs would be strictly forbidden in a gentleman's upbringing."

"Thanks goes to the army. Amateur boxing champion of the First Battalion Royal Warwickshire Regiment at your service." He

tried to grin but winced as the gash on his cheek split wider.

She dabbed at the cut with her sleeve. "How splendid. Boxing and shooting. That was quite the shot you made, though I personally

would have aimed for his meaty head."

He grimaced. "I did."

"Oh, well, we can't all be sharpshooters." The rush of action that had propelled her moments before left in a whoosh, leaving

her trembling all over. Tears pricked her eyes.

"Don't ever frighten me like that again." Throwing her arms around him, she peppered his face with kisses.

His arm slipped around her waist. "Your doubt in my survival is touching." He pulled back a bit but didn't quite drop his

arm from around her. His other hand reached up and swept back the mussed hairs clinging to her cheek. "My brave little vixen."

Another swell of tears started. How close she had come to losing him. How her heart ached as she imagined never looking into

his understanding eyes again, never brushing away that stubborn curl from his forehead, never scraping with him again. The

only man who could rival her in all the ways she needed.

"Jasper, I love—"

"Here they are!" Duke's voice cut through the moment with all the subtleness of Big Ben tolling on New Year's. Rounding the stage, he took in the scene with a scowl and shake of his perfectly combed silver head.

"Leo! Harry!" Two footmen scurried after him. "Take this... this creature to the wine cellar along with Countess Accardi

and guard them until I alert the authorities. It might be some time before the badges arrive."

"Mr. Corby has already alerted the authorities, Your Grace," one of the footmen said, grabbing the deadweight Pirazzo by the

legs. "Mr. Truitt issued the order some time ago."

"Back when I tried to warn you." Jasper pushed himself up. Esme stood, grasped his arm, and helped him stand. "Remember? Something

about death threats."

"Yes, well, the point has been made and we are all safe now." Duke's eyes narrowed. "Except for my tiara. Some no-necked waiter

spirited it away during the hullabaloo."

"Lamb," Esme said. "He snuck in and seized the opportunity."

Jasper huffed a laugh, wincing as he touched his throat where purple fingers printed against his skin.

"We never should have allowed him to slip our minds. Of course he would want retribution after we took it from him in France."

"There's that infamous ‘we' again." Esme curled her arm through Jasper's, smiling up at him. "I'm starting to like the ring

of it."

Jasper's expression was inscrutable. A mix of surprise, hesitancy, suspicion, and amusement. "Are you now?"

"Ahem." Duke cleared his throat. His complexion had returned to a more natural British paleness, but his eyes were bright

with excitement as they locked onto Esme. "Are you going to introduce this extraordinary young woman who foiled my murder,

or must I conduct my own pleasantries?"

Jasper arranged his facial features to an acceptable politeness. "Duke, may I introduce Miss Esme Fox. Esme, His Grace, the Duke of Loxhill."

"Enchanted." Duke grasped Esme's hand and swept it up to his mouth for a brief kiss on the back of her knuckles. A practiced

move if ever there was one.

"Esme Fox... Where have I heard your name before? Oh yes! My, my, you're Jasper's wife." He looked her up and down appraisingly.

"Soon to be ex," Jasper corrected.

Esme's heart thudded. "I need to talk to you about that," she whispered in his ear.

"Ex?" Duke boomed incredulously. "You are off your crumpet to toss aside such a treasure. She was in league with Rossalina,

but I can forgive the lack in judgment for her bravery displayed here tonight. You are a credit to the Roxburgh name, dear

lady."

"Um, thank you," she said before hissing furiously at Jasper. "I need to speak with you now ."

"That is how I saw to your release from jail," Duke continued as if noting nothing amiss. "Your name."

Esme stared stupidly. "My name?"

"You are wanted as a known thief by the name of Esme Fox, but the lady they held in their cell was Esme Truitt. A small but

critical mistake in identity."

Jasper's politeness disappeared into a frown. "Here I thought you simply threw your title at them and made it all disappear."

"Certainly I did that, too, but only after I clarified the name. I like to prove them wrong and make them sweat before I drive

the nail into their coffin." Duke turned to Esme. "By the way, I wish to offer an apology for all that muck up."

"You mean when you had me arrested," Esme said dryly.

"Yes, that. I can blame only my sore temper revolving around this tiara business and my previous experience with ensnaring

women. Of which you are not."

"An apology, my, my. Perhaps there's hope for humility in the men of your family after all. Though I surmise it will be a

short-lived victory."

Duke rocked back and forth on his heels, eyeing her as if he were a boy in a candy shop. "By golly, you will make an excellent

duchess. Witty, charming, lovely, unafraid—"

"Excuse us for a moment please, Your Grace." She tugged on Jasper's arm before she lost the nerve to say what she'd come here

to confess. "Jasper, now ."

Pulling him around to the hedges, she put her life into her hands and spilled the depths of her heart before her cornered

husband could escape.

"I have been running my entire life and am no longer quite certain of where to go, only that it's after you. Once I've gotten

to wherever you're leading me, I'm standing there until you make me move."

At the beginning of her speech, his expression had been inscrutable, but by the end it began to fray at the edges. "Esme,

please don't. We can't go through all that again. It's time to accept the loss and go about our separate lives."

"I know I've hurt you. And I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Jasper. At first I thought I was protecting myself by leaving before you could abandon me. Then I left because I thought I was protecting you, and, well... I've made many mistakes and I'm bound to make many more, but the greatest mistake I could make would be to let you walk away before telling you I am absolutely mad about you. Desperately, hopelessly, incandescently, maddeningly in love with you."

Reaching into her wrinkled blouse, she pulled out a simple necklace of gold. On the end dangled her wedding band. "You said

you wanted something different for us, something shiny and hopeful. So do I."

He stared silently at the ring for a moment, then lifted his gaze to her eyes. Solemn, reserved, and coolly dispassionate.

"You'll run."

"If I do, I'll make sure it's straight into your arms." He raised a questioning eyebrow. She sighed in exasperation. Declaring

one's feelings was more exhausting than she'd thought. "This won't work if you don't trust a little. You do remember how to

trust, don't you?"

"Vaguely." Frowning, he reached out and touched the ring. It swung gently back and forth on the chain. "Say it again."

Her fingers shook as she grasped him lightly by the lapels and met his unflinching gaze with an honesty that threatened to

buckle her knees. "I am maddeningly in love with you."

"Not that part. The bit about you being mistaken and sorry."

She dropped her hands. "Is that the only thing you took from my speech? I admit it wasn't poetry, but it was heartfelt. If

you're going to stand there and mock my arduous declaration, then I shall take the opportunity to tell you what a low-down—"

"Has this sudden declaration anything to do with an announcement about my becoming an heir?"

"If you recall, I tried to declare myself to you before Pirazzo popped up and before Duke proclaimed you his heir. A smooth

move on his part so you wouldn't make a scene and refuse him outright."

"I suppose you were on the verge of admitting something to that kind of feeling," he grudgingly conceded.

"It's no dice, Esme. We're no good together. You're a liar and I'm a thief. You run and I chase after things that don't belong

to me. We've hurt each other, trampled each other, made questionable decisions together, destroyed our livers by drinking

to forget each other, backstabbed, stolen from—"

"Jasper." She plunked her hands on her hips. "I haven't slept in four days. I have a bruise blossoming on my backside where

the countess's bony hip stabbed into me, and I hear the coppers beating at the gates. Now, tell me quick, do you love me or

not?"

He snorted and stamped like a horse with a rope about his neck, raking his fingers through his hair until it stood at all

sixes and sevens, and muttering under his breath.

"Great balls of fire. I'm afraid I do."

"Finally." Looping her arms around him, she gave him a kiss of promise. It wasn't sweet nor was it gentle, but then, what

about their relationship was? It was full of fire and passion and an equal desire to melt the other right down where they

stood. She nearly succeeded until his arms came about her, drawing her tight to his chest and scorching her insides with a

possession she happily retaliated with.

At last she came up for air, drawing in cooling breaths to temper her racing blood. She traced a fingernail lazily along his

charmingly chiseled jaw.

"Shall I tell you what a blackguard you are for making me fall in love with you?"

A lazy smile curled his mouth, tempting her all the more.

"Shall I tell you what you are for seducing me so thoroughly?"

"Do tell."

He put his mouth to her ear. The words whispered warmly over her sensitive skin and prickled her all over with delicious anticipation.

He pulled back, grazing his cheek over hers. "What do you think of that?"

She laughed and cupped her hands behind his head, drawing his mouth to hers as happiness bubbled like champagne fizz, frothing

over her insides in golden splendor.

"You haven't seen anything yet."