Page 119 of Thief of the Ton
Lavinia…
Foolish girl! What possessed her to embark on such a crusade—one that could lead her into danger?
And how much of a simpleton had he been to not have realized sooner that it was her?
The evidence had been before him at every turn. It was at her suggestion that the guests’ possessions were searched at Lord Hythe’s house party after the painting had disappeared. She had suggested Lord Hythe have the gallery guarded—which had diverted everyone’s attention from the real painting she’d set out to steal from a different part of the house.
She had been present at the Caldicotts’ house party when the sword had gone missing.
And then there was the necklace, which he’d seen her wearing at Lady Houghton’s ball. He’d even remarked on how the shine of the emerald seemed to have deepened, looking richer at the end of the evening than it had at the beginning—almost as if it were a different stone altogether.
As it had been.
Lavinia de Grande must have stolen the necklace in plain sight, replacing it with the fake she’d worn to the ball, and Lord Houghton was none the wiser.
Peregrine suppressed a smile. What other woman would make such a bold move?
In all respects he should despise her—breaking the law, causing a scandal among Society with her antics. Theft was a dishonorable act.
Yet he found himself admiring her.
She was the most honorable woman he knew—not swayed by a desire to present herself in such a manner as to make herself desirable, or attractive among a shallow Society that valued appearance, wealth, and birth over goodness. Her acts of theft were driven by honor. Peregrine’s father saw himself as the victim—as did Lord Hythe and the others. But they were the perpetrators of the true sin—the ruination of de Grande. Lavinia was attempting, in her own way, to right the wrongs that had been perpetrated against her father.
Was she, even now, plotting to steal the clock? If she were, a trap awaited her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
An owl screechedin the distance, and Lavinia’s mount stamped on the ground.
“Hush, Samson!” she hissed.
The sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon, emitting one final, fiery glow at the edge of the world before it was consumed by the darkness, as if swallowed by a giant beast.
Why did the onset of darkness always heighten her fear? And why were sounds always louder at night?
She heard a rustling noise on the path ahead, then a small shape scuttled across the road, barely discernible in the faint moonlight. A silent shadow swooped through the air and dived toward the ground. A squeal rang out, then was silenced.
The night hunters were going about their business.
And tonight, she had joined them.
She urged Samson forward, keeping to the side of the road to muffle the hoofbeats. The road curved around, and a dark shape grew visible—the main building of Marlow Park. It dominated the landscape, turrets and chimneys forming jagged shapes to pierce the night sky. The house was mostly in darkness save for occasional windows, lit from within, staring out across the landscape.
It’s as if you’re watching me.
A shiver rippled through her skin.
Tonight might mark the demise of the Phoenix, for her quest would be complete.
Assuming Earl Walton was leaving tonight—assuming he had the clock with him.
And assuming her courage did not fail.
She drew Samson to a halt at the edge of the trees, where they would be concealed among the shadows. It was the perfect vantage point—she’d checked it the previous afternoon when she’d ridden Samson over to undertake a little reconnaissance. It gave a clear view of the road where it dipped some fifty paces ahead, to re-emerge two hundred paces away.
Like all hunters, she had the perfect cloak of concealment. Her coat—or rather Mr. Bates’s coat, which she’d appropriated from the greenhouse—might be several sizes too big, but its dark color helped her to blend into the background. She pulled her tricorn hat—another gift from the unwitting Mr. Bates—low over her forehead and waited.
At length, she caught sight of a flickering light—no,twoflickering lights—in the distance. They swayed from side to side in unison, two wraiths engaged in a dance, moving closer and closer. Then the crack of a whip echoed through the evening air, followed by the rumble of hoofbeats and rattle of wheels.
