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“The honey? Or the blow to the gut?”

Moon bent his neck at an accusing angle. “Say what you want. You’re going to lose her
and
the diamond if you don’t tread lightly.”

“I’m not after her.” Feeling his face grow hot, Henry turned back to the window. After a beat, he said, “How do you know? About—”

“Your voice,” Moon said. “I heard it in your voice. The way you spoke to her.”

Henry placed his palms on the windowsill and took a deep breath through his nose.

“What are you going to do?” Moon asked softly. “She’s his sister. And you and I both know he’s our thief.”

“Maybe he’ll confess, and hand over the diamond without event.” Henry glanced over his shoulder at Moon. “No, you’re right, he won’t. It’s obvious he stole the jewel for a thrill. And there’s no thrill in surrender.”

Henry looked at the gilt clock on the mantel. “Once it’s dark I won’t have much time—what, it’s almost June, I’ll have a few hours of darkness, if that?—but I’ll poke about the earl’s residence, see what I can find. With any luck he’s as stupid as he is cocky, and he’ll be using the diamond as a paperweight.”

*   *   *

A
las, the earl proved cocky
and
clever. With rising frustration Henry moved from one room to the next in Harclay’s Hanover Square house. The moon was new, the darkness complete. It was almost a gift, Henry’s one missing eye; for years he’d honed other senses, including touch, to compensate for what he lacked in vision.

He tore through desks and laid waste to wardrobes. He felt behind paintings and rolled up carpets, running his palms over the walls and floorboards in search of a telltale gap or knob, a loose plank. He trailed his fingertips over furniture, china, linens, paper. Always silent, always careful to put things back to rights.

All this work, and there was no sign of the French Blue.

A dozen rooms, half a dozen hours, and nothing, nothing, nothing.

For the most part Henry moved silently, intently, without disturbing so much as a mote of dust. But bending his knee to keep from limping was a painful endeavor, especially as the hours passed. He bit the inside of his cheek against the pain, but once, when he was creeping through the earl’s bedchamber, the sharp spikes of sensation became too much to bear.

Hand on the knob of Harclay’s dressing room, Henry drew a noisy breath through his teeth.

And then, horrified, he froze, heart thumping in his ears as he waited for the inevitable.

It came a beat later—the rustle from the great tester bed across the room.

Henry’s mind raced as he glanced down at the knob in his hand. He could slip inside the dressing room, but surely the earl, if he was awake, would hear Henry close the door. And what if this door was the only way in or out? He would be trapped. He couldn’t risk it.

He looked to the windows. Too far; already dawn shone through the curtains. There was no time to wait. His only option was to sneak back to the chamber door, slip out before the earl was fully roused.

Which meant he didn’t have time to search the dressing room. He cursed silently, annoyed that he was forced to leave this particular stone unturned.

Then again, a dressing room was hardly a good hiding place for anything, much less a diamond. Harclay’s valet was in and out of that room several times a day; the drawers were his domain, not the earl’s.

Still, the fact that Henry did not know for certain what was behind this door rankled. The diamond was not in the drawing room, the study, the kitchens. It was not anywhere Henry had already searched. Which meant the jewel could be there, inside the Earl’s dressing room.

Harclay tossed and turned again in his bed, let out a noise that could’ve been a snore, a slurred word.

Henry didn’t waste any time. He bolted from the room, careful to close the door quietly behind him. The house was stirring; he could hear footsteps on the back stair. He had taken too long, was careless with the few hours he’d been given.

He didn’t see the crisply attired maid until it was almost too late. Henry was racing down a shadowy hall, focusing all his energy on not making a sound, when the woman appeared, quite suddenly, a few feet to his left, brush and pail in hand.

Without thinking, Henry turned and, sending up a small prayer that the woman did not see him, ducked into the nearest room.

Closing the door behind him, he turned to face his surroundings, blinking furiously as a bead of sweat made its way into his eye.

Oh. Oh
no
.

Out of all the rooms in his bloody mansion, of course he had the bad—good?—luck to find himself in hers.

Caroline’s.

Caroline, who stared at him from her perch on the bed. She dropped her teacup to its saucer with a clatter, and tugged her robe closer about her bosom. She straightened against the mountain of pillows at her back.

“Mr. Lake!” she said, voice low. “What in the world—?”

“I’m not. I wasn’t sneaking—I wasn’t
searching
—”

“Then what are you doing in my room at six o’clock in the morning, dressed head to toe in black?”

Henry looked down at his costume. She had a point.

He managed a tight smile. “Just doing a bit of reconnaissance. Harmless, I assure you.”

And then, remembering himself, Henry bowed. Was that a blush staining her cheeks? Or merely the late springtime heat?

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“I know. I am sorry, my lady, I am, but the maid—and the time . . . ” He sighed, tugging a hand through his hair. Perhaps a change in subject was in order; it might buy him a bit of time.

“You’re up early,” he said. “I trust you slept well?”

She looked at him for a moment; he saw the weariness in her eyes. “It seems sleep has eluded us both.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Are you at least recovered from our spill into the Serpentine?”

She looked down at the breakfast tray in her lap. Running her first finger through the petals of a daisy drooping in a tiny cut glass vase, she said, “You
did
deserve that, you know.”

His heart began to pound. “I know.”

Silence stretched between them. The morning sun was hot on Henry’s back.

“Well, then.” She set her hands on either end of the tray. “If you’ve come to ask about William, I’ve nothing to say.”

“Ah. So you know of Violet’s accusation.”

Caroline nodded. “I do. But let me assure you, Mr. Lake, I know nothing about the theft or the diamond or where it is now. I spent the last year in mourning at my late husband’s estate in Oxfordshire; I came to London less than a week ago. If William was planning something, I—well, I knew nothing about it.”

Henry took a breath through his nose, reining in the impulse to pepper her with more questions. He recalled what Moon had counseled the night before.

Bees like honey more than a blow to the gut
. Or was it
honey attracts more bees than a fist
?

Whatever it was, Henry was determined to heed Moon’s advice, however unsolicited and inane that advice might be. Caroline would never forgive Lake for what he’d done—he didn’t begrudge her that—but he could certainly work to make her hate him a little less.

Besides, he had a missing diamond to find and a country to save; the more help he could enlist, the sooner he’d find the gem, the sooner he could leave London, and Caroline in peace.

At least that’s what he told himself.

“Very well,” he said, rocking back on his heels.

She blinked. “Very well? That’s all you’ve got to say? I half expected you to arrest me, or at the very least torture and interrogate me until I confessed.”

“Messy business, torture, and I’ve only one good coat to my name. Well, two, if you count the one I—er—
borrowed
for Hope’s ball. Can’t spare either of them, I’m afraid, and blood does have a tendency to stain.”

Caroline’s eyes widened, just a bit. “You’re joking.”

He smiled. “Of course I’m joking,” he replied. “About the coat. After you so graciously sent it back, I donated it to my associate Mr. Moon. Man does so love a good costume.”

Caroline ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip in an attempt not to smile.

Henry took a step into the room. He felt unaccountably nervous, all of a sudden. “I would never ask you to betray your brother, Caroline. But I must find the diamond, and soon, if only to remove myself from the widowhood you do seem to so enjoy. If you see anything, or overhear a tidbit that could help . . . perhaps I might see you, ask some questions, look about?”

“See me?” Caroline arched a brow. “You’ve been away from England too long. You don’t just
see
a dowager, and one recently out of mourning. William will know you’re up to something.”

The words came before he could stop them. “Perhaps I could gather my reports under the guise of a social call or two, so William does not suspect me? That way I might poke about without him knowing.”

“There will be no
poking
about.”

“Of course.” He swallowed.
Poke
—an unfortunate choice of word, he saw that now.

“I told you I know nothing.”

“Please,” he said, his voice small. “Help a fellow out. I mean well. Despite our . . . um . . . susceptibility to accident, I do enjoy your company. We were companions once, if you remember.”

Caroline drew a breath, let it out. “You don’t deserve it, you know. My help.”

Henry toed at the carpet. “I know, Caroline. I’m sor—”

“I don’t believe you,” she snapped. “Some cheek you’ve got, coming to
me
of all people—asking
me
for a favor, after what you did. I should shove you out the window and be done with you. You cannot possibly understand what I went through
after you left. What you did to me, by leaving. Actually—” She made to rise.

“Wait!” Henry held up his hands. “Wait, please. The sooner I find the diamond, the sooner I might leave you in peace. The French Blue—it’s not just any jewel, my lady. I cannot share details—”

“Of course you can’t.”

“But suffice it to say you’ll be doing old St. George a solid favor by helping me. Or, at the very least, not impeding my search.”

Caroline turned her head away from him at that. Like he had that night in his brother’s chamber, Henry watched the working of her throat as she swallowed, hard. When she spoke, her voice was tight.

“My brother,” she said at last. “If I help you, does that mean you won’t pull out his fingernails, either?”

Henry hesitated. “If he cooperates—”

“I don’t care if he cooperates. I want your word that you won’t hurt him, no matter his role in the theft of the diamond. No matter how your hunt for the thief plays out.”

It was a bad idea to promise such a thing; if she knew all that was at stake, she would know he
couldn’t
promise to keep William safe.

But there was a lightness, a spark in her eyes that hadn’t been there a heartbeat before. He didn’t dare hope she was just as eager as he to know, once more, the love they bore each other as companions, but he
would
dare to believe she was willing to give his proposal a try.

“You have my word,” he said. Something fizzled at the base of his skull as Henry spoke the words—a warning.

He ignored it.

“You may not poke, but you may look.” Caroline lifted the tray from her lap and set it aside. “You might begin by climbing out that window. Go round the house, and knock on the front door—yes, Mr. Lake, you must—so that you might call on me like a sane gentleman. I shall receive you in the drawing room.”

Ten

A
s Lake’s rotten luck would have it, Caroline’s brother, William, the Earl of Harclay, was reading the paper in the drawing room when Henry was announced. He was glad he had not risked searching the earl’s dressing room; clearly he’d risen not long after Henry escaped.

“Mr. Lake,” the earl drawled, looking up from his paper. He didn’t bother to stand. “How early you are! And that costume. Tell me, do you wear black because it is the color of your soul?”

Lake bowed, wincing at the sharp pain in his leg. “Apologies for the hour, my lord. I have come to call upon your sister the dowager countess.”

The earl pursed his lips. He lowered the paper. “Have you, now? I’m afraid she’s not yet awake. I would tell you to come back at a more . . . appropriate hour, but Lady Caroline is recently returned to London, you see, and keeps a very busy schedule of appointments.”

The earl’s lazy, self-satisfied confidence set Henry’s teeth on edge; he wanted, very badly, to reach out and throttle the man. Alas, such things were not permitted in drawing rooms, but if they were, Henry would’ve done it, and soundly, too.

“Any new leads on our thief?” Harclay asked, crossing one leg over the other with luxurious ease. Henry couldn’t help but feel the gesture was meant to mock him. “My offer of aid stands.”

Henry managed a tight smile. “Of course it does. And how helpful you’ve been thus far.”

“Bah, you flatter me,” the earl smiled. He still did not ask Henry to sit. “Doubtless with Lady Violet on the case, you and Hope will have the diamond back in no time.”