“MacDeever spent the night with his lady friend,” Colin said. “He had his keys with him, so they couldn’t have been stolen, but he says the locks in the building are so old they can be forced or opened without a key.”
Anwen sat on the chairman’s desk where the strongbox was usually to be found, an odd perch for a lady. Her air was distracted, though her calm didn’t fool Colin.
“I forced one of the locks when we searched the unused wing,” she said. “I used my hairpin, remember? If Win Montague learned of that, he’d be sure to let the magistrate know.” Her tone was flat, beyond bitterness, beyond resignation or even despair.
“Has Montague been spreading his foul talk again?” Montague had driven his phaeton out of the mews at a rattling trot, denying Colin even a nod of parting.
“I hate him, Colin. I thought I hated the quadrille, long sermons, serious illness. I don’t. I hate Win Montague.”
Colin took Anwen in his arms. She remained passive in his embrace, and that troubled him.
Scared him witless, in fact. “Tell me, love. What has Montague done now?”
Anwen felt small and brittle in his embrace. Her fire was down to coals, and Colin would shelter the flame they held with his life if necessary.
“He will have you arrested on Monday morning, and if I were you, I’d be very careful no one has access to your domicile between then and now. Win will put a sack of coin under your pillow or otherwise incriminate you with more than gossip. He can do it too, Colin. You were right not to underestimate him.”
For a moment, Colin simply held his beloved, because he needed to stay near her goodness and dearness.
“What’s the rest of it?”
“In the alternative, I can marry him, and you will be allowed to slip away quietly as a gentlemanly courtesy extended by Mr. Montague to a distant family connection. You’ll be a wanted man, and my family must compensate the orphanage for the missing funds, but nobody will hang for stealing. The House of Urchins will be demolished in any case.”
Was there an uglier verb in the language than “to hang”?
“Anwen, I did not take that money.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “Neither did I, but such is Winthrop Montague’s honor that he’ll intimate from every club and race meet that I planned the entire card party so I could steal the proceeds. I’m withdrawn and eccentric, a difficult woman, much indulged by my family. I had no maid sleeping in my dressing room to attest to the fact that I fell into bed exhausted and barely stirred until I joined you here this morning.”
“To accuse you makes no sense,” Colin said, holding her more closely. “You love this place, and you have no motive to steal from children. Don’t let Win’s fancies frighten you into marrying him.”
She kissed him, a gesture of faith in a desperate conversation. “I’d kill him before the vows were consummated, Colin, which makes me as bad as he is. I won’t blame you if you take ship for Scotland. This situation will sort itself out, and my family will stand behind you. I’ll join you in Scotland, and there’s nothing Win Montague can say to it.”
He kissed her back, a gesture of determination. “What about the boys, Anwen? I’ve given them and you my word that they’ll not be tossed to the elements for Montague’s convenience or my own.”
She eased away and began a perambulation about the room. “I gave them the same promise, but I won’t lose you to Montague’s vile games, Colin. The boys had nothing to add to what we know, and they still think you should beat the stuffing out of Montague.”
“And be arrested for assault?”
“No, actually.” Her smile was wan. “Dickie explained that if you haven’t any witnesses, and you say Win fell down the steps, and Win says you pushed him, no arrest can follow. It’s a difference of opinion. Quite the little barrister.”
“So the trick is to commit my crimes without witnesses. Do you suppose Montague had accomplices when he took that money?”
Anwen left off tidying a shelf of books behind the desk. “What?”
“You heard the same evidence I did. Montague had more opportunity than anybody save Hitchings, who has never taken a penny or misstated an expense. Hitchings also has no motive, because if this place closes its doors, he has no job. That leaves Montague, who had motive in the form of designs on Mrs. Bellingham, as well as debts, and endless opportunity.”
Win’s guilt had been clear to Colin from the moment Win had accused him. Anwen had apparently not reached the same conclusion.
“Your theory makes sense,” she said slowly. “In his every pontification and threat, Montague’s demeanor supports your version of the events. He’d steal from children, blame others, and think he could get away with it. He’s set it up so he’ll be the victim of unfortunate associations, while he marries me to save me from scandal. I really do hate him.”
And yet, Anwen hadn’t wanted to accuse even Winthrop Montague of stealing from the children.
“He hasn’t got away with it,” Colin said, “not yet. His worse offense is upsetting my lady, and for that, he must be held responsible.”
This time when Colin held Anwen, she was with him, she was present, accounted for, and holding him in return.
“You cannot call him out, Colin. He’ll cheat, he’ll say his gun misfired, he’ll find a way to take you from me, and see your reputation the worse for it.”
How fierce she was, how protective.
“I won’t let it come to that. What was stolen can be retrieved. The banks won’t open until Monday, and Win wouldn’t trust that much money to any of his dear friends. He’ll keep it under his control, and that means I can find it.”
“You’ll steal from the thief?”
“I’ll restore the money to those who are entitled to it.”
Anwen sank her fingers into the hair at his nape. “He’s having you arrested on Monday at the latest unless I agree to marry him, and he’ll make that agreement public on the instant. I can’t marry him, but I can’t ask you to risk hanging.”
“You don’t have to ask me. Honor demands that I put the situation to rights. Fortunately, I’ve been in Win’s rooms many times, and know the entire house well. Then too, I’ll have the benefit of expert advice before I attempt this adventure. Your job is to make Montague think you’re considering his proposition.”
She held Colin desperately tight. “I can do that. You’ll consult with the boys?”
“Who better? They know housebreaking, thievery, all manner of useful skills that a gentleman could never claim but I desperately need.”
“Be careful,” Anwen said, going up on her toes and kissing him at length. “Be quick, and be very, very careful.”
* * *
The door to the conference room was unlocked.
In the past three weeks, Anwen had become very aware of when a door was locked or unlocked, when a sister was napping one floor above, and when the footmen came around to trim wicks or clean the ashes from the various hearths. Here at the orphanage, with children underfoot, she was usually even more careful.
Caution was beyond her when Colin planned to embark on nothing less than a hanging offense against the Earl of Monthaven’s household.
“I can’t stand the thought of you taking such a risk,” she murmured. “If you’re caught, you could well die. A man who steals from his friends and from orphans, who bullies a woman to the altar, will think nothing of perjuring himself to see you hanged.”
The words were the stuff of nightmares, and yet, all of polite society would name pickpockets as a worse threat to the king’s peace than Winthrop Montague.
All of polite society would be unforgivably stupid.
“I won’t be caught,” Colin said. “By Monday morning, the money will be back where it should be, and Montague will look like a fool for going to the magistrate.”
How confident Colin sounded, and how solid he felt in her arms. Anwen stroked her hands down his back.
“You don’t have that much money in London, do you?”
“Nobody with any sense keeps such a sum in private hands.” Colin spoke with his lips against Anwen’s temple. “I could likely raise the cash within a week, but I just strained my immediate resources to accommodate Montague’s last escapade.”
Of course he had. “I’m too muddled to think. Too angry, too frightened, too—”
Colin framed her face in his palms. “Hush. If you weren’t worried, I’d fear you failed to grasp the magnitude of the problem. We’ll get through this. You are my bonfire, and the harder the gale blows, the more brightly a bonfire’s flame roars.”
She tugged him over to the desk, scooted back, and pulled him between her knees. “I’m an anxious bonfire. Love me, Colin.”
The need to join with him was a confused welter of worry, determination, desire, and hope. Colin could be arrested by this time Monday, the orphanage doomed, Anwen’s family embroiled in scandal, but this moment was hers to share with him.
“Lass, there’s no need tae—”
“That was your one allotted gesture in the direction of gentlemanly restraint, Colin. Lock the door and make love with me.”
His lips quirked, the dimple creasing his left cheek. “When you put it so sweetly, I can only agree.”
He twisted the old lock, and as he crossed the room, his walk became a prowl. Anwen’s nerves settled, though her heart beat faster.
“This is battle lust,” he said. “You’re fighting for all you’re worth against an enemy who has no honor, and the blood sings.”
“The only battle I want to win is the battle for your heart.”
He stepped between her knees. “Regarding that conflict, I’ve long since surrendered, Anwen.”
“So did I.” And she was desperate to surrender to him again.
Colin had reserves of self-control Anwen lacked. His kisses were deliberate, slow and sweet, then hot. His focus was on her, not scattered in a hundred upsetting directions. Gradually, Anwen let herself be pulled into the loving he wove, despite the dusty shelves, the hard desk, and the missing money.
Despite everything.
Colin made a respite for her, a haven of soft caresses, tender indecencies—he excelled at those—and growing desire. When he eased her skirts up, and moved his sporran to his hip, Anwen was ready.
“You do it,” he said, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Bring us together.”
She wiggled, she scooted, she took him in her hand, and showed him where she wanted him. Then scooted another half inch, and the joining was begun.
“We’ve never made love in a bed,” she whispered as Colin gently rocked closer. “I want to make love with you in a bed. I want to see your home in Perthshire. I want to learn all about distilling whisky. I want to marry you. I want—”
He surged forward. “You’ll have what you want, and you’ll have me.”
She had him until she bit his shoulder to keep from crying out her pleasure; had him until her soul sang with a surfeit of rainbows; had him, until she realized the dampness on her cheeks was tears.
Colin withdrew, and held her close. “None of that now. I’ll be careful, and Winthrop Montague will rue the day he trifled with his betters.”
Anwen’s skirts drifted back down over her ankles. She felt calm, hollow, cherished, and terrified all at once. She stayed close to Colin as he finished in a few deft strokes, and then for a few minutes longer.
“I don’t want to let you go.”
“You’re no’ lettin’ me go. You’re in my heart, and you always will be. I’ve a few plans to make, and some young gentlemen to consult with, but I should see you home so you can tell your family what’s afoot before Montague beats you to it.”
The suggestion was like a pail of cold, dirty water tossed on Anwen’s fragile sense of peace.
“Uncle Percy will be horrified, not only because the money is missing, but also because scandal threatens to touch his family.”
“Then give me one night, and maybe scandal can be averted before Montague spreads his accusations. If Montague comes to call, intercept him, or at least see that his recounting is accurate while you incriminate him with your every question and aside.”
Anwen fluffed the folds of Colin’s cravat, which had got a bit wrinkled somehow. “I can do that. You’re good at this.”
He gave her a naughty smile and put his sporran front and center. “We’re good at it.”
“Not that, though you’re a very skilled lover. I mean, you’re good at seeing what has to be done, assigning tasks to the person best suited to the job, and planning for success.”
“Wars are won and lost in preparation as much as battle, and it’s the same with the whisky.”
Anwen let Colin have the last word, but he didn’t realize how naturally talented he was at dealing with responsibility. He was a convivial escort, a charming partner for the waltz, but beneath the polite banter and handsome turnout was a man of substance, brains, and integrity.
She let that thought reassure her as Colin handed her into his coach, but as soon as he’d kissed her farewell, she started praying.
* * *
Colin had arranged to meet with the boys after supper, which meant he had time to consult with one other potential ally first.
Potential being the hopeful version of the facts.
“If it isn’t the hero of the card party,” the Earl of Rosecroft said as Colin was ushered into the same room where he’d played cards the past three Tuesday evenings. “Have you taken a fancy to my Malcolm? He’ll cost you a significant amount of coin.”
Rosecroft was the nobleman at his leisure today, no horse slobber on his cravat, no dust on his boots. He did, though, have a curious pink stain on his cuff.
“I’ve taken more than a fancy to your cousin, Anwen,” Colin said, “and I have come to speak with you about coin. In confidence.”
“Bollocks. I hate confidential discussions.” His lordship sounded very much like Colin’s older brother. “Will I need to lend you my matched Mantons anytime soon?”
“You will not. I need the loan of your common sense.”
“A paltry item. Shall we sit, or would you rather admire the garden?”
“The garden, if you please.”
“This must be very confidential indeed.” Rosecroft led the way through French doors to a miniature version of the Moreland House gardens. All was tidy and restful, except for an enormous canine of mixed pedigree, who bounded over to Rosecroft.
“Scout, go away.” The earl had never sounded more stern.
The dog licked his hand.
“Bad dog. Begone with you.”
This time, the beast insinuated its head under Rosecroft’s hand, as if to inspire some petting.
“This is my daughter’s dog,” Rosecroft said, refusing to oblige. “She pined for him so badly I had him brought down from Yorkshire, and the dratted animal listens only to her.”
Oh, right. The girl had pined for her dog. Of course.
Colin gave the sheep-dog whistle for “get out,” which meant to give the sheep more space rather than hover at their heels. The dog cocked its massive head, then trotted off a few steps.
“He thinks you’re one of his bonnie wee lambs,” Colin said. “Must be an English dog.”
Rosecroft wrinkled a nose worthy of a ducal firstborn. “Explain what you just did, and then we can have this confidential discussion.”
What self-respecting Yorkshire landowner didn’t know his sheep-dog calls? Colin ran through the basic commands as he and Rosecroft wandered a gravel walk, the dog accompanying them. Then Colin explained the situation at the orphanage, and the need to retrieve the funds immediately.
He did not mention that Anwen had been the recipient of a marriage threat, lest Rosecroft put the matched pistols to use himself.
“Montague has you boxed in a corner with no handy windows,” Rosecroft said. “If I had the money I’d lend it to you, but I’m a great believer in letting the banks hold my valuables, and most of my coin is York. Have you considered this might be a trap?”
Well, shite. Colin dropped to a plank bench, and the dog sat panting by his side. “I honestly hadn’t.”
Rosecroft took the other half of the bench, and the dog got up to rest its chin on his knee.
“As devious as Montague has been, as ungentlemanly and even dishonorable, you need to plan on that possibility. You will set your stealthiest foot in his bedroom, and he and four of his friends will leap out from the wardrobe with arrest warrants in hand.”
Rosecroft stroked a hand over Scout’s head, the caress clearly familiar and dear to the dog.
The boys at the orphanage needed such a companion. Loyal, loving, and full of sharp teeth when the occasion called for it.
“I don’t see that I have much choice,” Colin said. “The money must be found, or the orphanage will fail amid a storm of scandal. Anwen will be ashamed to have brought trouble to her family’s doorstep, and my sisters will not thank me for bringing trouble to my own house.”
“And you might spend the rest of your short, handsome, and overly honorable life in Newgate, until such time as you are hanged.”
“You Irish are such a cheerful lot.”
“You Scots never know when to blow retreat. I can have you on a yacht sailing north before sundown, MacHugh. Don’t be an idiot.”
The show of support was lovely, the lack of faith was tiresome. Colin had lived his life in the shadow of an overprotective older brother, and one fraternal nanny was one too many.
“A generous offer, Rosecroft, but I must decline. Anwen’s good name is at stake, and if I allow Montague to keep the upper hand, he’ll have the orphanage condemned, despite the support Anwen was able to garner for the boys. Had I an alternative that allowed me to preserve my honor, I’d take it.”
Rosecroft tried the “get out” whistle and the dog dutifully moved a few yards away.
“Your situation has all the earmarks of a Windham courtship,” Rosecroft said. “Complicated, full of drama, and undoubtedly a case of true love. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re determined to stick your neck in a noose to retrieve this money?”
“Aye, unless you have other ideas?”
The dog sniffed its way back to the earl’s side, and as Rosecroft absently scratched canine ears, he shared a few ideas that made Colin glad he’d dropped by for a wee chat with a prospective family member.
“I’ll show you more of the sheep-dog signals when this is over,” Colin said, rising. “My thanks for your time. I’ve a housebreaking to plan.”
Rosecroft stood as well. “You’re not planning on effecting this larceny tonight, are you?”
“I have only until Monday morning to avoid the magistrate’s men,” Colin said. “And Winthrop will be out with his friends until all hours, toasting Mrs. Bellingham’s ankles.”
Which meant Win’s valet would probably be napping in the dressing room. Ye gods.
“I doubt Montague will be out until all hours. His father is hosting a dinner party tonight, and I can’t imagine Montague would be allowed to beg off. If you make the attempt tonight, the house will be crawling with guests, family, and extra staff.”
“Bollocks.”
* * *
“It ain’t stealing if you’re just takin’ back what’s yours in the first place,” John explained from his place at the head of the study room table.
Tom didn’t think that logic would convince Lord Colin, who slouched by the window in the rays of a weak setting sun.
“I’m not concerned with the morality of reasserting dominion over the funds,” Lord Colin replied. “I’m unwilling to let you boys come with me. The risk is too great.”
“I’d like to assert some dominion over Mr. Montague’s head,” Dickie said, smacking one fist into the other palm. “The nervy bastard.”
Lord Colin smiled slightly as he gazed down onto the alley.
“Your lordship means well,” Tom said, “but if we don’t go with you, it would be like letting one of the little boys go down the drainpipe on his own the first time. We can’t do it. They go piggyback until they’ve seen the way of it, and then we watch them the next few times. You going on your own isn’t right.”
“Miss Anwen would want us to go with you,” John said, tipping his chair back on two legs. “Or she should want us to go with you. Proper gent like you trying to toss a whole house on his own?”
John shook his head, looking like old Hitchings at his most despairing.
Joe got up to water the fern, then resumed his place at John’s right hand.
“I want your advice,” Lord Colin said. “I don’t want your deaths or transportation on my conscience. The task will be deuced difficult.”
“Now see,” John said, “there’s a problem right there. You don’t go into a job expecting to fail. You do your planning and considering and discussing, and then you march out smartly like you own that house already. If you’re skulking along the mews, you’ll draw a lot more attention than if you’re merely strolling around looking for a private place to piss.”
“That was usually my job,” Dickie said. “When I got too big to fit down the chimneys, I was the lookout, but I had to drink a fearsome amount of ale to do the job right.”
“Good point,” Lord Colin said. “What else?”
“Dress the part,” Tom said. “None of them pale knees flashing in the moonlight, sir, meaning no disrespect to your kilt. You wear decent clothes, not your Sunday best, but like for calling on your mother, and you wear dark clothes. Everything dark—not a cravat, not cuffs, not gloves, not a silver walking stick that can catch the light. Not cufflinks, even. Dark clothes can save your life.”
“Best if there’s not much moon,” John said. “You need a little moon, enough to see by, not enough to be seen by.”
“A reaver’s moon,” Lord Colin said. “You’re describing the best conditions for stealing cattle.”
“Wrap your boots in chamois, or go barefoot,” Dickie said. “And you need a plan for how we’re going to toss the joint.”
“We are not going to toss anything,” Lord Colin said.
Tom was tempted to kick him. “Then stick your handsome head in the noose right now, sir. The other rule you’re ignoring is to get in, get the goods, and get out as quick as you can. The longer you’re in that house, the more chance some footman, dog, or tippling maid will spot you. By yourself, you’ll take all night to toss a fine Mayfair house.”
Lord Colin shifted to prop an elbow on the mantel. “I’ll be quick, but the house will be occupied until the small hours of the morning. You boys need your sleep.”
“We need a place to sleep,” John shot back. “You’re being stupid. Da always said you can’t fix stupid.”
“Ma said you can’t fix arrogant,” Dickie added. “She usually said it to Da.”
“You have to let us help,” Tom said. “You don’t know a damned thing about being a thief, and we know everything. Did you try to tell Miss Anwen how to organize her card party?”
“Of course not. She was far better—it’s not the same thing.”
John let his chair crash back down to four legs. “Right you are, guv. This is serious, not a fancy charity do where nobody could get hurt. Whyn’t you take the help we offer, when the stakes are so high? You’ll be in Newgate, but we’ll have to explain to the wee ones why we weren’t allowed to watch over you. And to Miss Anwen.”
His lordship ran a hand through his hair and looked exasperated, but Tom couldn’t spare him any pity. He was being noble, and a fat lot of good that ever did anybody.
“Joe,” Tom said. “Make him listen to us.”
Joe rose and came around the table, then extracted a scrap of white fabric from his trouser pocket.
His lordship snatched the square from Joe’s hand. “Where did you get my handkerchief?”
“He nicked it,” John said, punching Joe on the arm.
“When he watered the fern.” Dickie’s grin was smug. “Joe’s out of practice, or we woulda never seen him do it, but he weren’t stealing. We know that. He were saving your bloody neck for Miss Anwen.”
Lord Colin slowly folded the white square into a tidy rectangle. He looked at the handkerchief as if answers might be embroidered on it, then studied each boy in turn.
“You can come with me, but nobody else goes in the house.”
“Have a seat,” John said. “Planning the job is half the battle.”
“True in any aspect of warfare,” Lord Colin said. “Where do we start?”