Page 92 of Thief of the Ton
“Lavinia—my darling daughter,” Papa whispered, clinging to her as if he clung to life. “M-make me a promise. Swear, on the life of your dear, departed mother, that you’ll not fraternize with my enemy.”
She closed her eyes, but the image of Lord Marlow—and the desire in his eyes—threatened to overpower her. She opened them again to find herself confronted by Papa’s strong gaze.
“I swear,” she whispered, ignoring the pain in her heart.
He lessened his grip, his body relaxed, and a soft smile curled his lips.
“That’s my darling girl,” he said. “You’ve always been loyal to your dear papa—when others betrayed me, you were my salvation. Your mother would have been so proud of you.” His chest rose and fell on a sigh. “I think, perhaps, London is no longer the place for me. I’ll return to Springfield Cottage as soon as I’m able. London is for the young—the hale and hearty—but it is also where treachery lies, and I no longer want any part of it. I wish to live out my days in peace, surrounded by those who love me—and the memory of my one true heart.” He stroked her hand. “I cannot thank you enough for returning the painting to me.”
“I would do it again, a hundred times over, to restore the balance of justice,” she said. “Now, how about I venture into the kitchen and bring you a bowl of syllabub? A small bowl, mind, so Cook doesn’t miss it.”
“Have you taken to thieving, daughter?”
Her heart fluttered, but she merely smiled. “A little thievery can be forgiven if it’s for a good cause, Papa.”
“Perhaps,” he replied, “but only if the thief evades capture.”
“You need not fear,” she said. “I’m always careful.”
He fixed his gaze on her, then glanced toward the painting, and she caught a flicker of understanding in his eyes.
“I think I’ll return to Springfield the day after tomorrow,” he said. “Then I can display the painting. It would look very pretty in the parlor, but I’ll keep it in my chamber. Now—be off with you. I’m rather tired, would relish the quiet, and I’m sure Lady Betty would value your company, rather than be subjected to your aunt all evening. And don’t trouble yourself over the syllabub. While I’m sure your skills as a thief are exceptional, all thieves are caught in the end. I think, perhaps, from now on, you should restrict yourself to more…honestmeans of procurement, however honorable your intentions. In fact, I’d like you to return to Springfield with me when I leave.”
Lavinia kissed her father’s hand, then slipped the painting back into her workbasket and exited the chamber.
He knows.
Papa was no fool.
And he was warning her to stop.
But her heart had almost cleaved in two at his look when he spoke of Walton, and his eyes had moistened with sorrow when he mentioned his beloved clock. Try as he might to persuade her not to, she owed it to him to see her quest through to the end.
One more item—and then her quest would be complete, and Papa would have the peace of mind that had been denied him for so many years.
And perhaps…
Perhaps, once his precious treasures were restored, Papa might think more kindly of the man she had grown to love.
For shedidlove Peregrine—the pain when she’d learned who his father was told her that. Had she cared nothing for him, it wouldn’t have mattered.
But the boy she’d idolized as a child, had dreamed of while she grew into a woman, and the man who had captivated her and brought her to pleasure…
She had fallen in love with him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“There’s two gentlemento see you, sir,” Peregrine’s footman said. “One of them is Mr. Houseman.”
What did that arrogant arse want?
The footman ushered Houseman into the study, together with a thin, white-haired man dressed in a threadbare coat, holding a cloth cap in one hand and a packet in the other.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Peregrine asked.
Houseman gave a satisfied smile. “This morning, I received a visit from someone in my network of contacts.”
Arrogant fool!A handful of ne’er-do-wells who frequented the inns in the less palatable parts of London was hardly anetwork.
