Page 31 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

The ball was but a fortnight away, on New Year’s Eve. Since Valentin’s unexpected visit to Mickey’s office at Squire’s, Mickey had visited the Frenchman at Albany thrice more. Each time, they’d indulged in glorious sex preceded by long, teasing lunches packed with glorious conversation, almost as glorious as the sex itself. Valentin had as good as sulked each time Mickey had to tear himself away afterwards. Time permitting, Mickey planned on visiting his lover every day until the ball, and though he endeavoured not to count down the hours until their liaisons were no more, his brain refused to cooperate. Would Valentin still leave if he was unsuccessful in stealing the parure? Would he stay around long enough afterwards to say farewell? Would Mickey be able to look him in the eye ever again, knowing that the reason for Valentin’s failure was Mickey’s success?

With a bright smile, Mickey pushed all that aside. First and foremost, his loyalties must lie with Tommy and the duke. “Beauregard has confirmed he’s attending the Talybridge ball,” he divulged, “despite his intense dislike of the man. And he also mentioned he’s leaving town the following day to return to France.”

Tommy huffed a sigh. “With the parure stowed in his trunk. Which means we’ll be racing him to it. Perhaps he needs a distraction all of his own that evening so we can reach the safe first.”

“Ah,” Rossingley responded. “I’m glad you brought that up. With him in mind, I have taken the liberty of assigning my very good friend, Mrs de Villiers, to that role. She’d be delighted to assist if it meant spending the evening rabbiting away in French to a compatriot. She won’t know why she’s been asked to keep him occupied, of course. And he’s so handsome and new and exciting, I daresay he’ll be swamped by women anyhow.”

Mickey breathed a sigh of relief. Whilst all those present knew of his dalliance with Valentin, spelling out precisely how he should entertain the man in front of a duke and an earl was far beyond his natural level of comfort.

“So that’s my role sorted,” declared Rollo, no doubt already conjuring a dozen scrapes he could use as a distraction. “And Mrs de Villiers too. But what about everyone else? Fitz’s library is packed with adventure books, and in every single one, the thieves and pirates are assigned specific responsibilities. You know—the lookout, the strongman, the brains, et cetera. So, we must assign roles too.”

“Must we?” Ashington sounded tense. “In which case, could mine be to take the next ship out of Thames Docks?”

“No, my love,” answered Tommy, ignoring Ashington’s waxy features. “In fact, as well as taking on the heroic role of chief jewel holder, I suspect Rossingley has a further part for you.”

“Oh lord.” Ashington mopped his brow again with a spotted silk pocket square. “Please tell me he’s wrong, Rossingley. I’m not sure my fragile heart can stand it.”

Rossingley shook his fair head. “’Fraid not, old chap. But rest assured, this additional role will be well within your solemn, serious, ducal capabilities. Whilst the theft is taking place, somebody needs to engage Talybridge in deep conversation. I know you loathe the man, but not even a marquess can walk away from a duke when he’s in full flow.”

Not known for his fulgent conversational dexterity, Ashington winced. “What if I run out of things to say, or am overcome by a desire to punch him?”

“That would certainly provide another excellent diversion,” Rollo piped up.

“Um…it would, yes,” Rossingley conceded uneasily. “But I’m not convinced that’s the style of distraction we’re looking for. We don’t want Talybridge’s interaction with Ashington to be quite so memorable once he discovers the parure is missing. Even if you are a terribly serious, terribly sober duke and above reproach.”

Ashington’s face dropped even further. “You’re trying very nicely to tell me that I should stick to being my usual dull self, aren’t you?”

“I shall join you,” Fitzsimmons contributed smoothly. “To keep the discourse trickling along. I believe Talybridge has a fondness for hydrangeas. I can wax lyrical on the subject all day, if needs must.”

“And don’t I know it,” Rollo chipped in before turning to Tommy. “Once Kit’s slipped his hand into Talybridge’s waistcoat, how about he and Tommy set up a card game nearest to the door of the gaming room? From what we’ve learned of the layout of the house, it will afford a first-rate view of any comings and goings in the general direction of the study.”

“Excellent idea,” agreed Rossingley. “Of course, we still haven’t ascertained who shall actually do the deed. I’d volunteer myself—and nothing would give me greater pleasure, in fact—were it not for the point that, like Ashington here, my whereabouts tend to be monitored by the gossipmongers.”

And their ilk will be out in full force, thought Mickey, trailing after the enigmatic earl much in the way starving gulls chased the baker’s boy. Ashington suffered equally as much; it came with the territory of being rich, titled, and unmarried. Fitzsimmons could possibly slip away, but if Talybridge went public with the theft, the duke’s brother needed to be seen to be squeaky clean, given that he had his own chequered, scapegrace past.

Which, if Tommy was occupied orchestrating a card game, left only Willoughby and Mickey himself. Willoughby would be a useless thief and the first to admit as much. The sweet boy would likely lose his nerve halfway through, never mind an adoring Miss Amelia tracking his every move. Which left…just himself. A thrill of excitement coursed along his veins, despite the dire consequences of being caught red-handed. But why should he be? The plan was a solid one, and it wasn’t as if Talybridge would be on high alert, expecting to be robbed. What had Valentin said about Mickey, moments before ravaging him senseless? You blend in, how you disappear…

“I…um…I should do it,” Mickey blurted before he talked himself out of it. “Nobody would care less if I disappeared for half an hour or so.”

“Whilst the offer is appreciated,” countered Ashington immediately, “you’re volunteering to take up the most hazardous role of all. This isn’t your battle.”

“But it is yours, Your Grace.” Mickey offered the duke a stiff bow. “Which makes it Tommy’s and, therefore, makes it mine.”

“I appreciate the offer, too, Mickey. But the choice must be yours,” said Tommy.

Mickey’s rush of excitement held strong. He could lead something for a change, step out of Tommy’s shadow. He wouldn’t be a follower in this escapade; he’d be damned starring in it.

But…oh. A little thread of unease pricked at his conscience. Not at stealing from Talybridge—the man’s comeuppance was long overdue. But he’d be directly responsible for dashing Valentin’s hopes of getting his mitts on the damned thing. Already ill at ease with deceiving Valentin, he was now casting himself as a principal performer.

“Are you sure, Mickey?” Tommy fussed, no doubt worried about Mickey’s neck ending up on the block. Whereas Mickey’s own thoughts were only of the effect his actions might have on his lover.

He hesitated before replying, aware he was under scrutiny. Was he sure? Was he prepared to not only continue to lie to his lover but be directly responsible for foiling his plans too?

Yes, he decided. He was. At the very least it would protect Valentin from getting caught. He’d be no use to Mickey behind bars, would he? Better alive and free in France thanks to a failed mission than rotting in prison.

“Assuming we manage to obtain the key undetected and then steal the thing immediately after, I feel the risks are low,” Mickey asserted with a lot more confidence that he felt. “Please. I’ll do it, and gladly. I’m the obvious choice.”

One young member of the crew remained awfully quiet, though clearly his mind had been whirring.