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Daphne bent forward, brushing Pierce’s lips in the softest of kisses, thanking God for sparing him. “My heroic husband.” She withdrew Pierce’s blade from his pocket, raising her skirts and tucking the knife safely beneath her concealing petticoats. “I’m afraid you haven’t a choice.”
Pierce was up, pacing unsteadily, when Daphne entered his bedchamber just after noon.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, closing the door behind her. “Your wound—”
“Is fine,” he retorted, making his way toward her. “I changed the bandage an hour ago. The bleeding has stopped. I’ll mend. What am I doing? Worrying about you.” Fiercely, he wrapped his good arm about her and drew her against him. “You’ve been gone forever. Thank God you’re safe.”
Daphne wound her arms about his waist. “This from the man who doesn’t believe in prayers?” she murmured, laying her cheek against his chest.
“Did Thompson try anything unethical? Did he cheat you? Doubt you? Hurt you in any way?”
“No. Actually, he was quite amused by the whole situation.” Daphne extracted the blade, handing it to Pierce with an impish grin. “However, he did offer me a job.”
“Very humorous. What about the workhouse? Did you have any trouble?”
“No, no, and no.” Tentatively, Daphne touched Pierce’s bandages. “Tell me you’re all right.”
“Now I am.” He buried his lips in her hair. “Christ, I was frantic.”
“I understand. I’d feel precisely the same way.”
A heavy silence hung between them.
“Pierce, you were almost killed.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, reliving the moment when he’d believed himself caught, when all he could think of was losing Daphne.
When, for the first time in thirty years, his life mattered more than his cause.
And when he’d suddenly, vividly, known what he stood to lose.
“I heard that gunshot,” Daphne was saying in a strangled tone. “I saw you struck, and all I could think of was—” She broke off, fought to regain her composure. “No. I won’t do this.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I need you, Pierce. But I also love you. I can’t—won’t ask you to relinquish your quest. I understand the bond you share with the children. Lord knows, I care for their happiness as much as you do. So whatever decision you make, I’ll respect, and leave it to God to bring you home safely to me.” She stepped back, took Pierce’s hand in hers. “Here,” she said in an aching whisper.
Pierce opened his eyes in time to see his wife press a large sapphire into his palm.
“You didn’t specify which stone you wanted me to save,” she managed. “So I had Mr. Thompson pry this from the chest. I hope you approve of my choice.”
A wave of emotion engulfed Pierce’s heart. For a long moment he stared down at the glistening gem, awed by his wife’s selflessness, more awed by the realization that the decision he’d so vehemently sought had, in the end, found him.
“A most impressive gem,” he replied, his voice oddly choked. “We’ll put it in the drawer with my cravats as a covert symbol of our one unforgettable crime together.” His thumb stroked tears from her cheeks. “It’s time,” he pronounced soberly. “As of now the Tin Cup Bandit will restrict himself solely to the second half of his ritual.
“Once a month I’ll leave a tin cup of money in a workhouse of my choosing. And if I’m caught, well, I’ll merely attribute my odd brand of generosity to all the inspiring articles I’ve read on the Tin Cup Bandit. The retired Tin Cup Bandit. The difference, however, will be that, unlike my predecessor, my actions will be totally legal. And I can’t be shot or hung for donating my own funds, now can I?”
Wordlessly, Daphne smiled through her tears.
“Am I to assume you approve of my plan?” Seeing the question in his wife’s eyes, Pierce shook his head. “I’m not doing this for you, Snow flame.” He tossed the sapphire to the bed, extending his now empty hand to her, offering her their future. “I’m doing this for me.”
“No, Pierce,” Daphne demurred softly, drawing his palm close, placing it against her abdomen to share her newly discovered miracle. “You’re doing this for our child.”
20
“WHAT INFORMATION HAVE YOU brought me, Larson?”
Tragmore perched on the edge of his desk, his eyes narrowed expectantly on the investigator.
“Very little, sir. The marchioness keeps mostly to herself. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, I see no evidence of improper behavior, and certainly no indication that your wife is being unfaithful.”
“Does that mean no guests have visited Rutland?”
