Page 14 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
You will not disappoint me, Antonia.
The buzz along her nape sharpened. At least she would be safe from Havencrest’s intervention tonight. She had sent a crisp response, what she hoped was a final reply, to put to rest the nonsense that she would risk her life so a rich man could have a shiny rock. It was one thing for her to risk her own neck to steal for her own benefit. It was another entirely to risk it on someone else’s behalf.
“Are you ready?” asked Margaret, rising from the ottoman where she had perched while her maid twirled her blond locks around a hot iron rod. Antonia could see how a man—or woman—might find her innocent radiance appealing.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Antonia replied, taking her friend by the arm and shortening her stride to match Margaret’s. Once they were in the carriage she asked for the details of the evening’s performance. Evendaw and his wife awaited them.
The earl’s jaw unhinged twice as they jostled over cobblestones, closing each time. He regarded Antonia with frank curiosity and more than a dram of skepticism. Antonia folded her gloved hands in her lap, waiting. “It is, of course, beneath an Earl to ask the contents of a private letter, however, I cannot help but comment upon the unusual number of deliveries to Miss Lowry over the past few days. Is it possible we have an attachment forming?”
“Do not press our guest,” his wife chided, casting a chilly sidelong glance at Antonia. Lady Evendaw, never an enthusiastic hostess, had acquiesced to Antonia’s extended stay out of pity for a foreigner alone over the Christmas season and from her misguided notion that Antonia would help to further her mission of marrying Margaret to the first man who offered. Antonia lifted her chin, tempted to feign an attachment just to spite her hostess. But the too-real danger of an attraction in truth put a quick stop to that line of thinking.
“It is nothing,” Antonia assured her hostess. She smiled slyly at the blonde woman on the bench beside her. Margaret’s eyes went wide.
“Do you mean to imply that Havencrest has developed an interest in my sister?” demanded Evendaw, his ruddy complexion brightening considerably. Antonia lifted one wool-and-silk-draped shoulder. The convenient lie had slipped out without thought. She would figure out what to do with it later. In the meantime, Margaret’s wide eyes had petrified into a grimace of worry.
Caring about people was such a bother, Antonia sighed inwardly. This was why she tried to avoid it at any cost. But when she had needed a friend, Margaret’s focus had sharpened. Without her intervention, Antonia would be shivering her way through winter in her secret bolt-hole while she tried to fence the gems which she had already stolen for money to escape the country.
At intermission, conscious of her need to stash diamonds and rubies like a squirrel, hoarding acorns in the fall, Antonia eyed the clasp on a lady’s bracelet. One snip of her tiny jewelers’ shears through the second link in the chain would drop the row of foil-backed sparkles directly into her palm. She slipped her forefinger and thumb through the slits she had cut in the tips of her elbow-length gloves. The clever innovation had been her own idea. Gloves got in the way of the tactile experience she needed to quickly relieve women of their ornaments. Yet, she couldn’t exactly strip them off without attracting notice.
The mirror opposite made it easy to snip through cold metal. A jostle of the shoulder and a muttered, “My apologies—so clumsy,” gave Antonia the chance to tuck her index finger into the small gap and tug. The broken link gave, and a weight landed in her palm. Satisfied, Antonia slipped her hand into the slit on the seam of her gown and into a padded pocket tied to her stays.
“Are you ready to return to our seats?” asked Margaret.
Her heartbeat quickened, but Antonia smiled as if she had all the time in the world. “Of course, lead the way.” Whether the lady found her arm bare in a minute or an hour, Antonia intended to be far away from the scene.
They worked their way through the crowd but had not gone five yards before Antonia sensed a presence at her back. Every nerve went on high alert. Two seconds later, a large, unyielding hand landed upon her arm.
“Give me one reason not to call the magistrate directly,” a familiar masculine voice declared in low tones.
Antonia stiffened. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
There was a low, humorless chuckle from above her right shoulder. “Alas for you, I am. Make your excuses to Lady Margaret Evendaw and meet me on the balcony. Trifle with me this time, Miss Lowry,” he ground out in a tone that barely carried to her ear, “and I promise you I will testify as witness to seeing you clip Mrs. Weston’s bracelet from her wrist.”
A duke’s testimony against her was a death sentence, and Antonia knew it. “Give me five minutes,” she whispered.
He dropped his grip. All the time, he had faced away from her. In the crush no one would catch their brief interaction, to her great relief. No one, except Lady Evendaw. She was not at all hazy like her sister-in-law sometimes was. Antonia’s best bet might be to return home early, pack her belongings, and run. Yes, flight was the best plan—she would be a fool to stay after Havencrest had caught her a second time. For she had no interest in handing over the part of the Heart’s Cry necklace she had already taken, and less in stealing the other half.
