Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (30 page)

“You kept records!” Dickey shrieked. “Records!”

“Just in case,” Kruger smirked. At the murderous look on Dickey’s face, he scrambled behind Dagwood for protection.

“I’m going to rip your black heart out!” Dickey charged.

Gillis stretched out his stubby leg and Dickey went hurtling, arms and legs flying, across the room, crashing into the pedestal cupboard by the door. The urn sitting on top of it teetered, almost as if swaying in a gentle breeze. Then it fell, crashing directly on top of Dickey’s head. Dickey wore a crown of crumbly porcelain, dusting his dark mane a chalky white.

A hoarse laugh erupted from Kruger’s throat. He cackled as Dickey floundered about, trying to stand on the broken porcelain pieces. The man’s white-dusted hair was wild about his face like a crazed owl, and he groaned, “Kill…you…”

“Who’s cracked now, Dickey?” Kruger cried, laughing.

Lady Frederica awoke with a start. “I’m blind! I’m blind!” she shrieked, her turban having listed over her face.

Kruger clutched his belly, hooting and laughing so hard he almost choked. And it felt so good, he almost didn’t think about the hangman’s noose.

“One wonders where the servants are with such ruckus going on,” Dagwood muttered to Gillis. “And where are Kim and Kelly?”

Just then two Bow Street Runners charged into the room waving their tipstaffs and shouting for calm.

That’s when the real trouble began.

S
itting on Marcus’s bed in the guesthouse, Catherine stared at the snowy white pearls rolling around in her palm. Her mother’s necklace; so lovely, like a luminous mound of teardrops. Her emotions felt like that strand, jumbled and knotted. She needed Marcus to help her untangle the perplexing feelings whipping through her with a velocity that left her quaking.

Where is he?
It was growing late. Already a cool evening breeze drifted in through the window, carrying the scent of pine. Night was descending, the darkness unfurling into the day and blanketing the light.

The edifying Timmy had informed her that Marcus had taken off with an acquaintance of consequence, the Solicitor General. A gentleman named Dagwood. As they’d entered their coach, Timmy had overheard the Solicitor General tell his men that Marcus was assisting them. Catherine was impressed and wondered what it was about. But whatever he was doing, she prayed it wouldn’t keep him from her for too long.

For the hundredth time in an hour, she stared at the shiny white baubles, trying to understand her confounding feelings. She’d accomplished a heretofore unimaginable feat, reclaimed some of her legacy, and gotten what she would need to save her brother. Yet it all felt so wretchedly
wrong
. The burglary had left her with a sour taste on her palate.

She realized now that Jared’s predicament had provided the excuse she’d needed to go after the Caddyhorns. Deep down it was something she’d wanted to do for years but had been too afraid.

Until Marcus had resurfaced.

Since he’d returned, her life had gone from leaden gray to vibrant color. And she didn’t want to live any longer under gloomy skies, waiting for it to pour. Instead, she wanted to kick off her shoes and dance in the rain. Chase after that rainbow.

It was his example that had moved her to don the mantle of the Thief of Robinson Square and make a claim for her destiny. He was so brave and selfless in ferreting out traitors for his country. It might have been the Thief’s book that had guided Catherine last night, but it had been Marcus’s spirit inspiring her onward.

But Marcus’s deeds were heroic, motivated for the better good. Aside from paying off the Winstons (which didn’t feel particularly laudable), what good had Catherine accomplished? All she’d done was to put the authorities on her heels and give herself something else to worry about.

Looking back, she realized that what she’d really wanted from the burglary was her deepest wish for the last ten years: for everything to be as it once was. Before her parents had died, before the Caddyhorns had taken over. But stealing the Caddyhorns’ jewels did not bring back
her parents. Possessing her family heirlooms didn’t resuscitate her lost childhood. Granted, wounding the Caddyhorns where they’d suffer it most had felt really good…But the emotion had been surprisingly short-lived.

As the morning had stretched into the day and drifted into the evening, Catherine had realized a great many things, some of them inordinately disquieting. She’d been living in fear, she realized, thirsting for vengeance that could never be had, and in some respects, not living at all. She’d been
surviving
, existing until the next difficulty surfaced. She felt like she’d been going from one dilemma to the next, never once stopping to enjoy the beauty of the moment.

Jared had been right; Catherine had become a bitter old crone at the tender age of two-and-twenty.

Until Marcus. When she was with him she felt free. Safe from worry. Happy, even. He’d given her the pleasure of flying on his wind. To experience life and joy for the first time in so many, long difficult years. Whenever he was near she truly felt like the air she breathed was freer, the sun brighter and the world a richer place. Even before she’d shared his bed.

She had no regrets about losing her innocence with him. In fact, just the opposite. Something had changed for her this morning. The last vestiges of her restraint had slipped off. She felt like a caged bird suddenly set free to spread her wings and soar.

It wasn’t just the bed-sport that had liberated her, she recognized. But the sharing of some deep part of herself that no one else had ever touched. For that moment, at least, she’d belonged to Marcus. And he’d been very much a part of her. Together what they’d shared had been…magical. She’d never felt anything like it, and wondered if he’d felt it, too.

“Cat.” Marcus stood in the doorway, so handsome in his crimson-and-gold uniform he stole the breath from her throat.

“Marcus, I’m so glad to see you.” Dropping the necklace, she jumped from the bed and rushed toward him. But at the strained look on his face, her steps slowed. “What’s wrong?”

He stood uneasily, not advancing into the room. Slowly, he reached up and removed his crimson shako, the white plume waving gently in his hand. Cat was reminded of another feather, one left underneath Lady Frederica’s pillow. She shook her head, overwhelmed by her folly. She could have lost her life, could have lost her only chance with Marcus.

But something was wrong with him. His face was flushed; guilt seemed to flash in his azure gaze and he seemed to be scrutinizing her as if she were a heretofore unknown entity. She felt like saying, “It’s only me!” but instead held her tongue, waiting for him to tell her what was amiss.

Marcus set his shako on the dresser and removed his gloves. Then, walking over to her, he grasped her hand and led her to the bed. The feel of his touch was reassuring, but his mien was far less so. His handsome face was grave, his movements solemn. He pulled her down beside him, sinking the mattress with his brawny frame.

“We need to talk, you and I,” he murmured somberly.

Ignoring the fear in her gut, she searched his dear face, trying to understand what was wrong. His usually twinkling eyes were filled with worry, his smooth, sweet lips pinched. He looked so upset and, she, seemingly, was the cause. She could see it in his bearing and how when he looked at her, he appeared somehow pained.

Marcus looked over at the necklace lying on the coverlet, distracted. “What’s that?”

“My mother’s pearls.”

His face contorted with grief, and he shook his head. “I must have been blind not to see. I’m a cad, a selfish bastard, Cat. I never asked you about—”

“Stop insulting the man I love,” she interrupted, squeezing his hand.

“But I’ve never even asked how you came—” He blinked, then his eyes widened. The vulnerability she saw in his gaze almost made her want to cry. “What did you say?”

“No one has the right to abuse the man I love. Even you.”

“You love me?” He swallowed. “Truly?”

“I do. You are my wind.”

His mouth worked. “Your wind?”

“Yes, when I’m with you, I fly free.”

His brow furrowed, not exactly the response she’d expected from her declaration. Granted it was more than a bit syrupy for a rugged man like Marcus, but still, it came from the heart.

“To me, love is about more than passion, Cat,” he murmured gently. “Love is…so much more. It’s about trust…sharing…honesty…Things we haven’t really had enough of between us.”

She swallowed, a sudden dread twisting in her belly. He was breaking it off. Trying to do it gently, but saying that it was time to go. Her heart wailed. Now that his mission was done, there was no reason for him to stay in London.

She recalled how long Marcus had held her at bay, not wanting to breach her maidenhead and get her with child. He’d made it perfectly clear that he’d never wanted entan
glements. She was a fool to have expected more; she, the woman who’d always admired his free spirit. How could she have considered chaining him?

But that’s exactly what she wanted. To bind him to her so that she’d never again have to live that colorless existence. Could she join him on his journey, perhaps? She knew he was fond of her. Her heart pinched that he didn’t love her as she did him. But she loved him so very much; perhaps it was enough for the both of them?

Leave Andersen Hall, Jared…It might be a blessing to escape the authorities. They’d never find her. Jared could stay with Mrs. Nagel. Just for a while…Or perhaps he could come with them, too…

“I could come away with you,” she murmured, not meeting his eye.

“To war?” he asked, seemingly incredulous. “You’d do that?”

Meeting those gleaming blue eyes, she explained, “I’m tired of feeling like a frightened mouse, Marcus—”

He squeezed her hand. “Darling—”

“No, let me finish.”

Pursing his lips, he nodded.

“But there’s something you should know, first. I’ve done something terrible.”

“I know.”

“You know?” she sputtered.

He nodded. “I visited the Caddyhorn residence today.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“I know what you did, and why you did it and I can’t blame you.” He shook his head. “I’m amazed at you, but I can’t blame you.”

Where was her hot-tempered overprotective bear? Dumbfounded, she bit her lip. “You’re not angry with me?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not with you.” His tone
hardened, the muscle in his jaw worked and his eyes blazed with fury. “But I will finish what you started and wreak vengeance on every last Caddyhorn who’s ever hurt you or your brother.”

The ferocity in his mien was enough to make a girl swoon.

“And,” he added. “Sir John Winston and his son will never bother you or Jared again.”

Raising her hand to her mouth, she asked, “What did you do?”

“Thomas Winston had apparently suffered from a lapse of memory. I simply helped jog it a bit. The man suddenly realized that his valet did, in fact, have Sir John Winston’s watch and that, indeed, he had promised to discharge Jared’s debt after that little prank.”

“God, you’re good,” she breathed. The man had been back for only a few hours and figured out her every secret. Moreover, he seemed perfectly unfazed.

He smiled down at her. “And so are you, my lovely thief. The authorities haven’t got a clue and I’ll make certain they never do.” He kissed the top of her head and she felt a heady rush of warmth for this special dear man. He would protect and keep her safe, she knew it with every fiber of her being.

“I have something important to tell you.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I don’t want any secrets between us ever again. I’ve never shared this with anyone.”

She looked up, holding her breath.

“I am the Thief of Robinson Square. Well, the first one, anyway.”

Her mouth dropped opened.

“It’s why I left for the army. Or was sent away, actually. It was a deal that Gillis brokered. On my father’s behalf.” He grimaced. “It didn’t matter that the authorities didn’t
have a shred of evidence on me, or that I didn’t want the blasted deal, Gillis met with Dagwood anyway.”

She gaped, trying to process it all. “The Solicitor General?”

“He wasn’t a Solicitor General back then.”

“Oh, my God!” She covered her mouth. “He came to arrest you! He thought you’d robbed the Caddyhorns!” Tears burned her eyes. “I’ll go to the authorities straight away! I’ll confess to everything! I’m so sorry, Marcus! I won’t let you hang!”

“Hush, Cat.” Wrapping his brawny arm about her shoulders, he hugged her close. “No one is going to swing, least of all me.”

She shuddered with fear. “What have I done? What have I done?”

“You’ve pulled off an awesome burglary, is what you’ve done. And I’ll ensure that no one will ever find out that it was you.”

“But what about you?” she cried.

“Dagwood knows I couldn’t have done it. I was out of town, remember? And he’s not about to tell anyone about my past.”

Her shoulders sagged as relief flooded through her. “That’s right. Thank heavens.”

“Tell me about it, Cat. I’m dying to hear.”

The suggestion took her aback. She peered at him sideways, wondering if he were jesting.

“Come on,” he urged. “Tell me about the burglary.”

She opened her mouth and closed it, then shrugged. “Well, it was fantastic, actually. The book, your book, well, it’s bloody brilliant.”

He grinned, so terribly pleased with himself.

“How in heaven’s name did you ever learn about those trick knots?” She held up her hand and showed him. “You
know, the ones where you flick your wrist and the rope slips free but it’s tight as steel otherwise?”

Smiling, he shrugged. “My father. It was one of the many things he taught me.”

Her eyes widened, as realization dawned. “Gillis brokered the deal with Dagwood that you didn’t want. Your father was his client, not you. Heavens! He turned you in, didn’t he? That’s why you were so angry with him!”

His smile faded. “I was angry with him for so many reasons, Cat. And for so long. His turning me in was just the breaking point.”

“I can’t believe that your father set the authorities on you like that,” she muttered, biting her lip. “It’s just too awful.”

“It’s not as dreadful as it sounds.”

She looked up, surprised. “You’re defending your father?”

“I’m beginning to understand his reasoning. He wanted to make it impossible for me to continue with the thefts, and he wanted to save me from prosecution. So off to war I went. It was an ingenious plan, if I do say so.”

“So he knew all along it was you.”

“Not the whole time. He came upon my journal just as the anonymous donations to Andersen Hall soared. Despite everything, I believe he liked the incongruity of my stealing from the miserly prosperous to give to the less fortunate. And if you recall, I only selected the most parsimonious people for my targets. My father always had his own brand of justice.”

“But the authorities—”

“My father held a certain magistrate’s secrets over the man’s head. In the end, he was more than happy for the arrangement.”

“Righteous Uriah Dunn
blackmailed
someone?”
Would wonders never cease? Stunned, she shook her head. “So you went into the army and the Thief of Robinson Square disappeared.”

“Yes. Until last night.”

“Astounding.” She shook her head. “But what I don’t understand is why Headmaster Dunn would have the master closet cleaned when he knew that the book was there.” She pressed her hand over her eyes, remembering. “It was hidden in a secret compartment. But the wood had rotted through. I never got a chance to tell him what I’d found!”