Page 111 of Thief of the Ton
“What do you mean?” Peregrine asked.
“If the Phoenix intends to steal your father’s clock, we could lie in wait and catch him in the act.”
“It could be weeks before he strikes,” Peregrine said. “Have some sense, man! We can’t wait about the place in the hope that he might come.”
“We could set a trap,” Houseman said. “Flush him out like a pheasant. What say we put it about that your father is transporting the clock back to the Continent? If the thief is among your acquaintance, the news would reach him easily. He’d have to act quickly in order to secure it, and many a man has slipped up when acting in haste.”
“You’re suggesting we use the clock as bait?” the earl asked.
“Aye,” Houseman said, “then, when the blackguard takes the bait, we can bag him.”
A cold smile crept across the earl’s lips. “I’d like that,” he said. “Houseman—can you make the arrangements?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Houseman said.
“Good,” the earl replied. “The bastard deserves everything that’s coming to him. With luck, he’ll end up swinging from a gibbet.”
Icy fingers brushed against the back of Peregrine’s neck at the savage relish in his father’s tone. He could almost have believed that Father knew who the Phoenix was—that he was an adversary he wanted to see destroyed…
Dear God!
His father had only one bitter enemy that he was aware of.
Lord de Grande.
Chapter Thirty
Sussex, September 1814
Lavinia spread jamon her toast and glanced at her father across the breakfast table. He lifted his teacup, stared into it, then set it down with a clatter.
“Would you like some more tea, Papa?” she asked, picking up the teapot.
“There’s no need to do that, daughter,” Papa said. “Bates can serve me.”
“My arms and legs are still functioning,” she replied, smiling. “Mr. Bates is seeing to Samson, and by the time we’ve summoned him, the tea will have grown cold. I’m sure we can forget propriety for the sake of keeping your tea hot.”
“He’s seeing to Samson?”
“I’m going for a ride after breakfast.” Lavinia poured tea into Papa’s cup, then dropped two sugar lumps in. “Samson had almost no exercise while I was in London.”
“And,” Papa said with a smile of mischief, “I suppose you’ll be riding astride now that your Aunt Edna has gone to take the waters in Bath and is no longer here to teach you decorum.” Then he gave a mock sigh of exasperation. “I swear, Lavinia, you’re more fond of that horse than you are of your own father.”
“Dear Papa!” she said. “There’s no one in the world whom I love more than you.”
“Not even…” His eyes darkened, and he stared at her, as if trying to read her mind. She flushed and looked away.
You know, don’t you, Papa?
When she had returned from Peregrine’s townhouse—the day they’d made love—Papa had been waiting for her in the morning room. And he’d looked at her…differently, as if he knew she’d changed forever.
She felt different—as if she’d been a mere child before, but now she was a woman—with a woman’s understanding of her body’s desires and how to satisfy them. Only now did she understand the vehemence with which the vicar at Springfield Church preached against the sins of Eve.
And how delicious that sin had been!
Her thighs had ached where Peregrine had taken her, but she had relished the discomfort, savoring the sting as she eased herself into the bath that night, reliving the feel of him inside her.
And last night, he’d come to her in her dreams, and she had caressed herself where he’d claimed her. But, try as she might, though the sensation had been pleasurable, she could not reach the same heights of ecstasy that she experienced at his hands.
