Page 17 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
“I didn’t care about the jewel.” The maddening woman lifted one shoulder as though one of the most valuable gems in the world held little significance. “The red teardrop is surrounded by layered filigree. It is an astonishingly good example of smithing by signares. Very distinctive. One doesn’t usually find them set with large gems.”
Havencrest did not know what a signare was, and this did not seem like the right moment to expose his ignorance. “Now that you know it has a matching complement, wouldn’t you like to see them reunited?”
“I admit it…intrigues me,” the woman confessed grudgingly. Havencrest held back his smile. He recognized temptation when he saw it. “But as with the first piece I obtained, I am less interested in the stones than in the setting.”
“Wise, as the gold is less likely to cost you your life,” Havencrest said as they rounded the corner onto the street leading to the theatre. Carriages and horses lined the roadway. He tapped for the driver to stop. “It can be melted down, unlike cursed diamonds.”
“I put no stock in stories. After all, if the diamonds are cursed, how has Lady Sumervale survived for so many years in possession of one-half?” Antonia’s gown rustled over the seats. “How did I live through our misadventure on the river? It would have been an ideal time for a bewitched diamond to kill me.” She flashed him a grin. “If you weren’t ready to do the honors.”
“You are the most provoking woman, Miss Lowry. How is it you remain unwed?”
“No one ever asked,” Antonia snapped. Her teeth snapped closed.
“I understood you had come to England—alone, most unusually—because of a broken engagement.”
“Fine. I have been asked, accepted, and spurned. I suppose you’re in the market for a duchess?”
“Perhaps I am. Do you know any women with a tolerance for dukes with a reputation for being as broody as a laying hen?”
Miss Lowry shook her head, but a faint smile had crept into her mouth again. “Shall I apply for the position?”
God, yes. Please.
“Why not? We may be the ones to break the Heart’s Cry curse.” Malcolm’s joke fell as flat as his tone. They made their way back up the front walk for countless drivers and footmen to see and whisper about. She made certain to keep the hood of her cloak pulled far over her face. Havencrest realized belatedly that the brazen display of them returning to the theatre would do wonders to tamp down the gossip. Men of means slipped away for assignations all the time. There was nothing distinctive about the American woman’s dress or cloak to make her stand out.
“I expect because the Dowager Duchess has already died in every way that counts,” Havencrest finally commented, scathingly, as they entered the grand foyer of the theater. Antonia snorted with shock. “Ah, excellent. We haven’t missed the last act. I do adore the aria in the last act.”
“It is one thing to steal a necklace, your lordship,” Antonia said archly. “But quite another to insult an old woman. Even if she does possess all the charm as a snapping turtle. I do not undertake my work out of spite.”
Then, what motivated Miss Antonia Lowry?
The answer came to him in a burst of insight. Pride.
“All of you aristocrats are related in some manner, it seems. Who is Lady Summervale to you?” Antonia asked. She surrendered her cloak to the check and hurried ahead.
“My grandmother.”
“You are joking.” Antonia halted so quickly that he nearly knocked her over. Malcolm steadied her, but she shrugged out of his grasp, leaving him with hands like two parentheses where her shoulders had been.
“I am utterly serious.”
“No. Ask her for it, if you need it so badly.”
“What makes you think I haven’t tried that?” he demanded and dragged his hand through his hair with frustration. An old habit.
“How does your grandmother respond?” Antonia asked, incredulous.
“She says I am too much like my father and I don’t deserve it. Mind you, I am like my father in many respects. For example, we both loved my mother.”
“Where is he in this mess?”
“Dead. If he yet lived, I wouldn’t be a duke,” Malcolm explained wryly. She was working so hard to wriggle out from under his thumb. He was not about to allow her to escape again, though.
“Right.” Antonia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course not.”
“Americans, as I understand things, do not concern themselves with primogeniture.”
Miss Lowry blinked up at him. “I’m sorry?”
