3

Jasper closed the door behind Mond. "Keep your voice down."

"Afraid of your wife overhearing?" Mond's eyebrows twitched at the closed bedroom door.

Jasper crossed the room and switched on the wireless. Music drifted out that sounded close to what the band played downstairs.

"Of anyone hearing."

"What, your surprise reunion not copacetic?" Mond strolled around the room, taking in the opulent surroundings with an assessing

eye. "Being in her hotel room is a promising start."

Jasper had come close to not finding her at all. Luckily, one of the cabbies at Madame Rothschild's overheard where Esme instructed

her driver to take her. Jasper had arrived not five minutes behind his fleeing bride.

"It would be a promising start if she wasn't the one who stole the tiara from the party."

Mond's brow wrinkled in surprise. "That does put an interesting spin on things." His brow dropped. "With this kind of hush-hush information we should have met downstairs, not have it out with the competition a wall away."

"I would have joined you in the bar, but there's a hit man running loose and if he overhears us discussing the tiara, we're

likely to end up as fish bait. Besides, the lady has a habit of slipping the hook and I doubt she would allow me in here a

second time. I have a few wrinkles to iron out with her before putting this marriage out of its misery, but first I need to

know what else you've found out."

Jasper dropped into the chair Esme had previously sat in and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. In this line of work

one was forced to adapt quickly while navigating the unexpected twists and turns with practiced ease. Of course, one never

expected their estranged spouse to get one up on them.

Settling onto the couch across from him, Mond struck a cigarette and inhaled, streaming the smoke through his nose. "After

you hurriedly informed me that the tiara was a fake and rudely rushed out of a perfectly good party, I made a few discreet

inquiries." In other words he spoke to his reputable contacts who dealt in trades of ill repute. "The recent release of this

incredible tiara is shrouded in mystery and has quite the collector enthusiasts shivering with delight at the prospect of

obtaining it."

Thirty years ago the Valkyrie, the real one, had disappeared from public view with Duke hinting at having sold it after his

wife died. Too sad a memory to keep, he'd claimed. Then two months ago a whisper had reached Duke that the tiara had resurfaced.

The news sent him into a desperate tizzy, ordering Jasper, newly released from jail, after it. Who better than his bastard

grandson and pinnacle of all thieves to retrieve the family crown?

When Jasper had questioned Duke why he suddenly wished to have the tiara again after selling it, Duke rambled on about not being in his right mind due to grief all those years ago and that time had allowed him to find sentimental value in the piece. The tiara was a Roxburgh heirloom and belonged in Roxburgh hands. Perhaps that was why Duke trusted Jasper to fetch it—to prove himself a true Roxburgh and not some shameful family secret, someone worth welcoming into the fold.

"A new whisper arose from Venice," Mond continued. "A collector of the rare and beautiful has a shop near Ponte delle Tette.

Signor Campano. He doesn't like parting with his collection unless the offer is well over asking price, so be generous."

"Generous is for those intending to pay," Jasper countered.

"Be that as it may, dealing with Campano is likened to peeling a turtle from its shell."

"I've dealt with my fair share of turtles." Jasper's gaze slid to the bedroom door. Minxes too.

"So you'll be off then?"

"First thing in the morning I'll catch the train out. I'll stay at my usual haunt if you need to get in touch with me."

"And, ah..." Mond grinned, smoke curling from his mouth. "Until morning?"

"Make divorce arrangements, it seems." At Mond's look of confusion, Jasper settled back to explain—though what he was trying

to explain was still foggy to him.

"We married in the craze of a celebration. Passions were high and we didn't think beyond the next sunrise and were fueled

by a great quantity of champagne. Having gone into war and come out the other side alive, I figured the next best thing to

survival was finding love. Well, I was young and foolish and captivated by a pair of blue eyes."

"A mistake from the beginning."

He'd not thought so at the time. Imagining settling down to wife and home, all of which he could claim for his own. As a bastard,

nothing had been his own. Not even his last name, as Duke had forbidden all of his illegitimates—of which there were many—from

using it. Douglas, Jasper's father and Duke's only son, had chosen their surname from a favored box of cigarettes.

"Why did you never tell me?" Mond asked.

"And say what? After a whirlwind of passion my bride left me mere hours after I placed a ring on her finger? Better to swallow

the shot to my pride alone."

"Sometimes I think that's all women know how to do. Break hearts."

"Never said my heart was broken." Cracked, perhaps, but still mostly intact. Jasper pushed the thought aside as he had numerous

times over the past four years, and stood.

"Thank you for the information about the tiara. I'll let you know when I arrive, but in the meantime I'm sure you'd like to

jaunt down to the bar where I noted no less than six blondes."

Mond settled more comfortably into the couch and propped his ankle atop his opposite knee as he lit a fresh cigarette.

"All in due time, but not until I meet the mysterious Mrs. Truitt. The only woman who managed to snag and then leave in the

dust the most sought-after playboy north and south of the English Channel."

Jasper knew from experience that once his friend got that look there was no chance of getting rid of him until he was appeased.

Even if it meant putting off talking to his wife in private. Crossing the room, he knocked softly on the bedroom door.

"Esme? Might you come out here for a moment? There's someone I'd like to introduce you to."

No answer.

He knocked again. "Esme?"

When no answer came, he cracked open the door and stuck his head inside. "Apologies for disturbing you, but—"

The room was empty. He swung the door open. The bathroom was dark and the chest of drawers gaped open. As did the window.

He rushed over and thrust his head out to find two silk sheets tied together to form a rope, one end hooked to the bed's headboard

while the other dangled a few feet over the grass.

Laughter took hold. Deep and unbelieving, it smothered the curse struggling to fly loose.

That woman. Gone again.