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‘Mr. William’ stepped a few paces away from the lady.
“I am assuming that the necklace is the property of a ‘great’ personage.”
He settled his gaze on Grand. Miss Everley responded before Grand could set his dislike of ‘Mr. William’ aside.
“Although neither Lord Harlow nor I can speak of the owner’s identity, I assure you it is not his Lordship.”
‘Mr. William’ continued to meet Grand’s glare with one of his own.
“So, the necklace does not belong to ‘Grandison the Great’?” Grand wished to plant the man a facer, but he would not succumb to the fellow’s private challenge. He had often beaten Lionel Dostoff at a variety of athletic events while still at university. “Yet, you expect this necklace to draw the notice of the usual buyer of gems?”
Miss Everley continued to speak for them.
“Lord Harlow has previously examined his sources for a mention of the necklace, and nothing has turned up.”
‘Mr. William’ returned to his place behind his desk.
“Naturally, I will do what I can to learn something of the necklace. I am assuming that the suspected thief is a servant or someone employed by the necklace’s owner.”
Grand was glad he was again not called upon to respond. The lady said, “We are exploring all possibilities.”
‘Mr. William’ nodded his understanding.
“Permit me, at least, four and twenty hours. I will call on you tomorrow, Miss Everley, with my findings. Perhaps we might walk together in the park. I fear I do not escape from this soot often enough of late, and your bright face would be a lovely inducement. We will have tea at that little shop you so enjoy.”
Grand said, “We should not keep Jones and the coach waiting longer. Your man will be looking for you soon. If you are prepared to depart, my dear, so am I.”
******
He had not appreciated how the men inside the gaming hell had watched her closely, nor had Grandison approved of the way she ignored his presence opposite her in her unmarked carriage. Accustomed to being the recipient of every woman’s attentions, Grand heaved a rueful sigh. With their exit, he had attempted to protect her from the leers of the men, and even some of the women, inside ‘Mr. William’s’ establishment; yet, she appeared angry with him for his efforts.
Drawing a deep breath, his lungs filled with the faint-scent of lemons which still clung to her skin, even after walking through the smoke-filled den Lionel ‘Mr. William’ Dostoff ran. Through the shadows created by the moonlight and the occasional flickering lamplight as they approached the better part of London, Grand studied the perfection of her countenance. He was forced to concede, if only to himself, that he held a certain preoccupation with the lady. Had it only been one day since she had opened the door to his knock?
It certainly felt a great deal longer — months — or even years.
“You realise that ‘Mr. William’ is not the gentleman’s real name,” he said, not only to break the silence, but as a warning.
“Naturally, you would consider me incapable of recognising a member of society,” she accused. “Did you not hear me refer to him as ‘Lionel’?”
“I meant no such offense,” Grand argued. “I just assumed that, if you were to walk out with the man you should be made aware of ‘Mr. William’s’ real connections before you agree to his calling on you.”
“Do you wish me to know no company, my Lord? It is not as if I can show myself in Hyde Park on the arm of the 8th Earl Harlow, now can I? While we might be permitted each other’s company in pursuit of a missing necklace during the night’s middle, I know my place in the world.” Her chin hitched higher. “As to ‘Mr. William’s’ real pedigree, I am well aware that he is the youngest son of Lord Harris-Green. I am also aware that, like me, Mr. Lionel Dostoff has his secrets. The gentleman’s flirtation is part of the role he plays. After all, being seen with the daughter of a master thief on his arm provides the gentleman a certain ‘credibility’, shall we say, among those gathered in the main rooms of the Red Hawk. What harm is there for each of us to claim a few minutes of normalcy during the life either he chose or the one thrust upon me?”
“I would not deny you any of your wishes, Miss Everley,” Grand said through tight lips. He wished to construct an apology, but her coach turned into the mews behind his house and rolled to a stop. “Sleep well, my dear,” he mumbled as he crawled from the coach and turned to close the door so as to enjoy a final look at her sweet countenance. “I will report to Lord Liverpool and send word as to his Lordship’s continued orders.”
“As you wish, my Lord,” she said softly. Turning her head to end their conversation, she said, “I would like to return home, Jones.”
“As you will, miss,” her manservant said as he closed the carriage door and climbed up onto the box with her coachman.
Grandison stood alone in the alley for several minutes, watching her coach disappear into the night. Dejected, but telling himself that he would see her again soon, he made his way through the gate and across the garden to enter the house through the door leading to his library.
He paused to consider again all that had transpired that night. Whether he wished to admit it or not. Miss Everley was repeatedly on his mind, for she was an intoxicating mix of lady and hoyden.
******
Colleen had devoted the better part of what remained of the night to staring out of her sitting room window, having not done more than to turn down her bed. If she would admit it to herself, and she would not, the idea that Lord Harlow might be even an infinitesimal speck jealous of her showing Mr. Dostoff her attention pleased her. Yet, she knew that such aspirations were a foolish waste of her time. She easily realised that she had held an obsession, of sorts, with Harlow for more than a half dozen years, and she was no longer able to view him with any sense of reason.
Even though morning’s first light crept across the sky, she had yet to remove the sturdy wool gown she had worn last evening, requiring the warmth to ward off the evils of desire, which plagued her. Since taking Lord Harlow’s acquaintance, her future appeared bleaker than it had, barely thirty hours earlier.
