An Honorable Thief (20 page)

Of course, she might have been watching from the window; after all, the encounter
—he refused to call it a fight— had taken place at the back of her house.

But if she'd seen what happened, why had she not roused the household and come to his aid? It couldn't be fear
— the way she'd coolly dealt with those footpads in the park showed she had courage enough for two. No, she wouldn't have cowered upstairs, watching two men fight. She'd have roused the household. She might even have come herself... especially if she'd seen him fall under a blow. She was clearly soft-hearted towards her fellow creatures; he'd noticed that during their drive.

It was all very perplexing.

What
had
the Chinaman wanted from the Singleton house? Diamonds? But she never wore anything of value
— she was famous for it. And her aunt, Rose Singleton, would have little worth stealing: certainly no fabulous jewels, such had been stolen from Pennington, Alcorne and Grantley.

Pennington, Alcorne and Grantley.

Good God! Hugo clutched his sheets in his fists. It was the first time he'd put the three names together in his head. Separately they meant little to him, but together...

He lit the lamp and consulted a small list by his bedside. Pennington, Alcorne and Grantley! Those three names made up almost half the list he had complied of the old friends of the late James Singleton! It could not be a coincidence!

He was right to have suspected some mystery buried in the past. Pennington, Alcorne, Grantley, Marsden, Brack-bourne and Pickford
—and an unknown Donald Cran-more—all had been boon companions of the young James Singleton. And somehow, something frightful had happened and Donald Cranmore and James Singleton had left

England never to return, and no one had ever spoken of it again. The others did not even socialise together now: that was why he had not immediately linked their names.

Only now, James Singleton's daughter had returned. And suddenly a mysterious Chinese burglar had appeared on the London scene. And three of James Singleton's erstwhile friends had been robbed of their greatest treasures.

There had to be a connection. It could not be a coincidence. There was no doubt at all in his mind; Miss Catherine Singleton was somehow in league with the Chinese burglar. Perhaps she even employed him.

And if Pennington, Alcorne and Grantley had been robbed, then the strongest likelihood was that the next to follow would be Marsden, Brackbourne or Pickford.

Hugo cursed himself. He should have realised the whole much sooner. Good Lord, had he not suspected the wench of stealing his phoenix tie-pin on that very first night?

His suspicions had seemed utterly ludicrous then, the product of an unhinged imagination
—sweet young innocents of the
ton
did not steal people's tie-pins. But now...

A sweet young not-so-innocent, who was not only a pickpocket, but in league with the notorious Chinese Burglar...

It was still very difficult to reconcile what seemed to be logical, with the girl he had come to know. The lisping minx, the mischievous baggage who parried his questions with such gaiety, the sweet-faced girl who had taught Sir Bartlemy Bowles a lesson in manners
—not many had noticed that, but he had. And then there was the cool young Amazon who'd beaten off footpads...

A thought occurred to him. Was that incident in the park a coincidence, or a falling out of thieves, perhaps? Neither of her two attackers were Chinese, he was sure of that: they were both far too big.

Hugo groaned and ran his hand through his already di-

shevelled hair. Was there no end to these plaguey questions?

And if his suspicions were correct, what the devil was he going to do about them
—turn her over to Bow Street? See her hanged, or transported? Sent back to New South Wales, the site of the nonsensical diamond mine—in chains?

Never!

Oh, God! What was he to
do?

He lay back in bed, tortured by the possibilities. Then a thought occurred to him and his lips curled in sudden wry amusement. He'd sworn he'd never again become enamoured of a so-called respectable lady of the
ton.
He thought he'd broken his own rule but it looked like he hadn't. If his speculations were correct, his lady was certainly not respectable. Virtuous, he thought, but not respectable. What a paradox! If he wasn't so furious, he'd laugh.

Chapter Eight

There was a slight stir in several quarters when Mr Hugo Devenish made his entrance at Uppington-Smythe ball a week later.

"Good grief! It's Devenish," whispered Maud, Lady Gosper to her neighbour. "I thought he was on the barest of civil terms with the Uppington-Smythes. What the deuce is he doin' at their ball, Hettie?"

"I believe the attraction is the Singleton gel
—the new one, not poor Rose, of course," responded Lady Hester Horton.

"Oh, yes. He's pursuing her quite openly. He was at Almack's last Wednesday night again; he hasn't missed a week since the gel arrived in Town," said the Honourable Pearl Hamnet.

"Well, he certainly dances attendance on her on every occasion, but as to whether the gel is encouraging his pretensions, that's another matter," said Hettie.

Lady Gosper looked at her and scoffed. "Gel don't want for sense, does she? Full o' juice, that Devenish boy
—not like the rest of his family. O' course she'll be encouraging him, Hettie."

Hettie shrugged. "I had it from Rose that the gel's been devilish fidgety about the way he's been following her around. Can't seem to attend any occasion
—rout party, soiree, even the theatre, but what Hugo Devenish will turn up. And besides, you forget, Maud—she has no need of a fortune—she's an heiress herself."

The three elderly ladies critically observed Mr Devenish pass through the crowd, bowing, smiling coolly and exchanging a few words with each acquaintance he met. Without appearing to have made a bee-fine, however, he was, in the space of a few minutes, bowing over the hand of the elder Miss Singleton, before bowing to her niece.

"Boy's got good manners, even if he has got cit blood in him."

Hettie shook her head. “Makin' a complete cake of himself, Pearl."

Maud made an irritated gesture. "Rose needs to take a firmer hand with that gel
—gettin' fidgety indeed! The Devenish boy is a good match for that chit, cit blood or no cit blood! In my day a gel would marry whoever she was told to and that was the end of it. Whistlin' a good match down the wind, indeed!" The old lady snorted. "Even if she is an heiress!"

Pearl leaned forward conspiratorially. “My husband tells me they're laying bets on it at White's."

Maud made a rude noise. "Pah! Of course they are
— that doesn't mean anything. Men will bet on anything. Nothin' better to do with their lives, poor, simple creatures!"

On the other side of the room another hasty colloquy was taking place.

"Thomas, I told you! See, he is here again
—pursuing her in the most blatant possible fashion! It's an absolute disgrace. I told you not to believe him—she must be an
heiress, else why would your uncle be pursuing her so shamelessly!"

Thomas shifted uncomfortably and glanced around. "Hush, Mama. People will hear you."

"I do not care who hears me!" snapped Amelia, lowering her voice, nevertheless. She continued in a loud whisper, "Now go at once and be nice to that girl, Thomas. Heaven knows she must be feeling neglected
—you have scarcely spoken to her in days and days."

Thomas sighed. “Very well, Mama, but not just now. I am promised to dance with another young lady."

Amelia stamped her foot in annoyance. "Oh, must you forever be playing protector to that little nobody! I am certain Sir Bartlemy is nowhere near as bad as you have painted him. Look! There he is dancing with the Langley chit, who looks perfectly happy."

They both turned to watch the dancers, who were engaged in a lively Scottish feel. Sure enough, there was Sir Bartlemy mincing smilingly up to his partner, the youthful Miss Langley, his hand outstretched. Miss Langley held out her hand to take his, but she unaccountably missed his groping fingers and her small fist collided with Sir Bar-demy's cheekbone.

Amelia frowned. "Clumsy chit. Her mother needs to find her a new dancing master."

There was a smothered sound from Thomas.

"I must go, Mama, I am promised in the next dance."

Amelia sniffed. "Gallantry never paid any debts, my son."

Thomas drew himself up with dignity. "I never expected it would, Mama. I will pay my own debts."

His mother looked shocked for a moment, then rolled her eyes dismissively, but a frown marred her smooth forehead as she watched her son walk away from her.

*
   
*
   
*

Mr Hugo Devenish was well aware of the stir, the gossip and the speculation that attended his arrival at the Upping-ton-Smythe ball. He was becoming used to it now. He did not like it, but he could appear indifferent to it. It was in a good cause, after all. He had commenced the hunt.

"Miss Singleton." He bowed over both her hand and turned to her niece.

"Oh! Mr Devenish! What a coincidence," gushed Kit in amazed accents. "Fancy finding you here!"

He inclined his head, acknowledging her irony. She looked beautiful, he thought. Tonight she was dressed in the usual long white gown worn by most of the young ladies in their first season, but hers was topped with an outlandish jacket, heavily embroidered with exotic scenes of elephants and temples, all in the most violent colours, and glittering with what appeared to be a hundred tiny mirrors scattered across it. She wore a small square tasselled cap over her dusky curls, similarly embroidered and glittering withjiny mirrors.

Bizarre indeed, and yet her air of unconcern, of complete confidence, made it appear stylish in the extreme. He glanced around the room and noted several ladies wearing small, square, tasselled, embroidered caps.

Kit widened her eyes in a show of mock surprise. “Yes. I had absolutely
no
idea you might come. Of course I also had
no
idea you would go to Almack's last week, nor to Lady Barr's ball. On the other hand, it was no surprise at all when you also happened to be visiting the Tower of London when I was there
—naturally you would visit it frequently, and also inspecting Lord Elgin's marbles—I understand they are quite fragile, so naturally one must keep an eye on them in case they crumble to dust suddenly. And as for running into you at both the Pantheon Bazaar and Hatchard's Bookshop and—well, gentlemen do frequent
silk merchants and read books, I know. But this ball? I am stunned."

He bowed again, apparently oblivious of her sarcasm. "Yes, it has all been most delightfully coincidental, has it not?"

He winced inwardly as two ladies near enough to overhear their conversation nodded meaningfully at each other. He hardened his heart.

He was convinced she was up to no good. He was certain she was in league with the Chinese Burglar. A law-abiding citizen would inform the authorities. Hugo had always believed in the law. Without law there was only chaos.

But he could no more hand Kit Singleton over to the law than cut off his own hand.

That being so, he'd decided to follow her so closely that one of two things would happen; either he would trap her in a meeting with the Chinese burglar, and then take some sort of action to sever their connection forever, or he would prevent her from being able to make an assignation with the scoundrel, which would have a similar effect.

And if his suspicions were wrong, if they were merely the product of a disordered imagination, of too much brandy and too many late nights, then all he had done was...

Hugo swallowed. All he had done was set the
ton
by its ears and raise everyone's expectations that he was about to make her an offer. Of marriage.

If she was innocent, then Miss Singleton's expectations would be raised also.

Hugo straightened his spine. He couldn't afford to worry about that. Falsely raised expectations did not compare with the threat of the gallows or transportation.

So he'd followed her to each social occasion she attended. He'd attended more balls than he'd ever been to in his life and had even discovered what a Venetian Breakfast was like: not to his taste. But on a number of occasions he actually arrived before her, thanks to information received from his groom, Griffin. She could not, in all accuracy, accuse him of following her.

"So, would you care to dance, Miss Singleton?" he said blandly.

Kit felt like slapping his amused knowing face. She scowled. He'd been haunting her all over town in the most ridiculous and frustrating fashion and she was most certainly not going to encourage him by dancing with him. She opened her mouth to refuse him.

"Yes, of course, Mr Devenish. She would be delighted," said Rose Singleton in a soft, determined voice. “Give him your card, Kit dear."