Page 96 of Thief of the Ton
“And I suppose you’re going to tell the pater—and Lord Hythe?”
“It would serve you right if I did,” Peregrine said, “but given that I doubt you’re the Phoenix, I see little reason to.”
“Of course I’m not the Phoenix!” Moss cried. “I have too much honor.”
“And too little intelligence.” Moss frowned and opened his mouth, but Peregrine continued. “I’ll keep your secret, provided you return the money.”
“What money?”
“Ten pounds, Mr. Moss.”
“I hardly think that’s proper—a gentleman does not deal with money.”
“He does when the alternative is being questioned in relation to theft,” Peregrine said. “Did you know that Lord Stiles—the magistrate—is a friend of mine? A fair man, if ever there was one, but he’s known for being overly stern, particularly when the perpetrator of the crime is a gentleman who, as he puts it, ‘should know better, and therefore deserves to be made an example of.’”
Moss cursed under his breath. In all likelihood he didn’t have any cash on him. Doubtless he’d spent the money as soon as Camp handed it over.
“Very well,” Peregrine said. “If you’re unable to raise the funds, I must seek satisfaction.”
“S-satisfaction?”
“I’m paying a visit to Hythe Manor in a few days’ time. Shall I pass him your compliments?”
“I say, old chap—you wouldn’t tell on me, would you?”
“A man of honor is safe from me,” Peregrine said, smiling. “I would never tell on a man who refrained from taking that which did not belong to him, such as a painting, a trinket, or”—he fixed his gaze on Moss—“another man’s wife.”
Moss colored and lowered his gaze. Then Peregrine drew out his pocket watch. “I say—is that the time? I really must be going. A pleasure as always, Moss.”
He bowed and exited the parlor, striding across the hallway, where the footman stood beside the front door, then stepped outside and climbed into his carriage.
He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, rocking to and fro with the motion of the carriage.
Curse you, Phoenix!
He could almost hear the man’s laughter—whoever the devil he was.
The Phoenix was toying with them all. Why go to such an elaborate deception as to have a fake painting made—and send it to Moss? Unless he’d slipped up and wanted Peregrine to believe that he’d sent Moss the original painting.
No—the Phoenix was too clever by half. He’dexpectedPeregrine to discover the fake—of that he was certain.
In which case, where, and how, had he disposed of therealpainting?
Unless…
He sat upright, his heart hammering in his chest.
Of course!Why had he not considered it before?
Unless…the painting had never left Hythe Manor.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The carriage turneda corner, and the expansive façade of Hythe Manor came into view. Peregrine leaned back while Houseman stared out of the carriage window, his eyes filled with the spiteful envy of those not born into privilege who, instead of wanting to further themselves, preferred to languish in their own self-pity and a sense of entitlement, and turn their bitter resentment toward others.
How different Houseman was to Lavinia!Shehad more reason than Houseman to be resentful. Yet though she harbored hatred for his father—perhaps rightly so—she didn’t resent those with fortunes of their own. Instead, she focused her efforts on her own betterment, and the care of a father she loved dearly.
What Houseman preferred to ignore was the burden placed upon men such as Lord Hythe—not only the upkeep of a crumbling mansion that was forever draining a man’s resources, but the familial burden to produce an heir to perpetuate the family line.
