By half past ten in the morning, Max had already ridden around the grounds with Titus, taken care of his morning ablutions, and had breakfast — twice. Living like a country lord would have him straining the buttons of his waistcoat by the end of a month. There was more food sitting untouched in the breakfast room than he usually saw in a week. And from what Titus had said, food wasn’t the only thing that Maidenstone had in abundance.

“You should see the carriage house, Max,” Titus had said as they’d ridden that morning. “This family keeps everything. I swear there’s a cart that looks like it might’ve hauled the Romans around back in their day. And there’s a sedan chair with gold leaf flaking off it. Who has someone carry them around in a bloody sedan chair in the middle of bloody nowhere?”

“A Briarley,” Max said. “A Briarley would definitely think that was a good use of time and money.”

“They’re all mad,” Titus said. He sounded almost admiring. “One of ’em had a saddle blanket made of cloth of gold. No one would’ve ever seen it under the saddle. It’s tarnished now, of course. The grooms use it as a tablecloth.”

Max could only shake his head. “It’s the same in the house. There are hundreds of rooms and they’re all full of treasures.”

“Any good prospects?” Titus asked.

Max recounted the most valuable objects he had seen during his tour of the house. His list was dry, almost clinical. He mentioned vases, candleholders, gold figurines, ivory carvings, and other wonders.

But he didn’t tell Titus the other details. Details only Lucy could have known. When she described a vase, it was never something like, “This vase is inlaid with lapis lazuli and is worth three hundred and fifty pounds.” Instead, she would say, “This vase was smuggled out of Venice when Nero Briarley fled after sleeping with a cardinal’s mistress.”

Or she would say, “This gold cross was sent back by Agrippina Briarley, the fourth earl’s daughter. She went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and disappeared — the rumor is that she married a Turkish pasha.”

Or she would say, “This enameled egg came from St. Petersburg, when my grandfather’s uncle Aurelius went on a political mission. They said he died of typhoid, but his last letter indicated that he’d run afoul of the empress. It’s likely he was poisoned.”

The Briarleys were unlike any family he’d ever heard of. And the objects at Maidenstone had never been meant for sale, or hoarded for their value — they were part of Lucy’s life.

And he was going to take that life from her.

But he listed the objects for Titus anyway, dispassionately, as he was expected to. When he finished the list, Titus whistled.

“We should have brought a wagon to toss everything in. Should we take it all to America, or try to sell the jewels to the collectors we know in London first?”

“Let’s see how the thieving goes before we decide that,” Max said. “A lot depends on Atticus and whether anyone comes looking for us. We may have to run without selling anything — I don’t want to walk into a trap in London.”

Titus shifted in his saddle. They’d kept their horses to a walk while they talked, but Titus looked like he was ready for a long gallop away from the house. “We might have problems here, even before we get to London. There are a couple of guests who might recognize me.”

“Who could possibly recognize you here?”

“Lord and Lady Salford,” Titus said. “Salford is Ferguson’s cousin-in-law.”

Max had met Lord and Lady Salford at dinner the night before, but he’d never seen them in person before. Salford was a renowned collector with a London townhouse full of valuable objects. “I know we considered breaking into Salford’s house last spring, but his collection was too unique to resell easily. He couldn’t have recognized you from our initial planning for that job.”

Titus nodded. “He’s not a threat. But Lady Salford used to be Miss Prudence Etchingham, and she had business dealings with Ostringer. I saw her around his shop sometimes.”

Ostringer was an antiquities dealer whose business was mostly — but not entirely — aboveboard. He had hired Titus as a stableboy shortly after Max and Titus had been separated, eventually teaching Titus everything he knew about forgeries. Titus still worked for him occasionally, since Titus’s forgeries were more lucrative than any brute-force theft he might have been involved in. And Ostringer sold some of Max and Antonia’s safer “acquisitions” without asking any questions about their provenance.

Max frowned. “Would Lady Salford recognize your handiwork?”

Titus shrugged. “Don’t know. I’m sure she wouldn’t want anyone knowing it, but she’s a decent forger herself — mostly pottery and rocks, not handwriting. Ostringer sold some of her goods. If she remembers seeing me at his shop, it might give her ideas.”

Max didn’t like coincidences. And he didn’t like realizing that he had left the papers that “proved” his claim with Ferguson. He’d thought they had at least a few days before someone could discover the problems with his story — it would take time for a messenger to go to London and come back with any news. But Max hadn’t known there were forgery experts residing at Maidenstone.

“Stay away from Lady Salford,” Max said. “Maybe you should skip the mausoleum decorations tonight and use that time to search the house for the safe — there won’t be many servants or guests here to catch you. Lucy showed me everything at Maidenstone except for the jewels, it seems.”

“So it’s still Lucy? Did she show you where they ring the wedding bells?” Titus asked.

Max had sent his horse into a gallop then, ignoring Titus’s question and the way his laughter had floated over the field after him. But he couldn’t ignore the question forever.

The previous day, and the tour Lucy had given him, should have been another step in his bigger plan. He’d seen a fortune in objects. She hadn’t shown him the Briarley rubies, but that moment would come.

But the only way to make that moment happen was to spend more time with her. And he’d learned something else the previous day: he couldn’t spend time with Lucy without wanting to kiss her.

If he were honest, he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her.

But as he’d ridden through the fields around the remnants of Maidenstone Wood, he had tried to see it through her eyes. She didn’t see the riches or the objects — not as sellable goods, at least. She saw them as tangible links in a chain that stretched over centuries. She saw it all as a birthright, a legacy — a living memory, not a fortune left to her by the dead. Something she was responsible for, not just a beneficiary of.

If he didn’t marry her, and he stole everything…it wasn’t going to be the legal power of England that he would have to run from. Lucretia Briarley would seek him out and murder him herself.

He must have been utterly mad, because the idea of Lucy tracking him down in New Orleans and calling him out didn’t scare him — it only made him want her more.

He wanted to go to her and ask for another tour — or another anything. He knew he should keep his distance. But even beyond her kisses, even beyond the rubies, there was another simple fact.

He enjoyed her company. He had enjoyed having a few hours where it felt like he was making a friend.

When was the last time he had felt like that?

But it was only half past ten in the morning. Yesterday had been an anomaly; their early meeting with Ferguson had brought her out early. But proper ladies would take breakfast in their rooms, and Lucy wouldn’t make an appearance until early afternoon. That schedule, at least, had been made very clear to him by Claxton. The servants wouldn’t say a word about their mistress, but they were exacting about making her expectations known to the guests.

Still, when he heard a knock on his bedroom door, he hoped that it was her. Before he could reach the handle, though, he heard the familiar scrape of a key — or a pick — in the lock.

Antonia slipped into the room a moment later.

“I would have let you in,” he said.

“I need the practice,” she responded, shutting the door. “We’ll want to know how the locks work here.”

“They don’t work very well, apparently.”

“That one was too simple,” she sniffed. “You’d think an earl would have better security.”

“He probably didn’t have many thieves running around. Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be helping Cressida?”

“Your Miss Briarley just took her away. Something about a modiste.”

Max hadn’t spoken to Antonia alone since they’d arrived at Maidenstone. It would be hard for him to see her without attracting attention, since the duties of a normal lady’s maid shouldn’t have brought her into his room. Titus must have told her about the secret engagement, if she was calling Lucy “your Miss Briarley.” But Max didn’t respond to the implicit question. “Why would she take Cressida to a modiste?”

Antonia shrugged. “Probably digging into Cress’s background. I wanted to go with them and try to redirect the conversation, but Cress ordered me to stay behind.”

“That’s just as well,” Max said. “Lucy has dozens of servants. She would find your behavior inexcusable if you interjected yourself into their conversation.”

“Well, we’d best all hope that Cress can keep from giving anything away. But as long as she’s with Miss Briarley, we should take the opportunity to search her room.”

“Cress’s room?” Max asked blankly.

“Don’t be dense,” Antonia said. “Miss Briarley’s room. She’s hiding something. I haven’t heard a scrap of gossip about her from her servants, and Titus hasn’t either. Something ain’t right. And we should find it before whatever it is causes problems for us.”

She was right. Max knew she was right. But then he thought of digging through Lucy’s private things — things she would never expect him to see. Things an honorable man would never look for.

He’d never hesitated to break into anyone’s room before. But as Antonia turned toward the door again, he said, “No.”

“Oh, so your lordship is too good to break into her room?” she teased.

But then she saw the look on his face. “You’re serious,” she said. “I cannot believe it.”

“There’s too much risk.”

“There’s risk in any job. Right now, the bigger risk is we’ll be caught up in whatever she’s hiding.”

Antonia was still right. But Max crossed his arms. “We won’t break into Lucy’s room.”

She turned to the door. “If you won’t, I will.”

He grabbed her shoulder. “We aren’t breaking into her room.”

Antonia turned back to face him. The look she gave him was identical to the ones she used to give him when they’d first reunited — the look that said she wasn’t ready to trust him, or to help him, after so many years apart.

“So you would value her privacy over our job?” she asked.

“There are some places where honor should win.”

But he knew he sounded defensive. Antonia gave him a derisive laugh. “There’s no honor among thieves. Which is what we are, ain’t it? Or has all this talk of you being the earl gone to your head?”

“Of course it hasn’t,” he snapped.

“Hasn’t it?” she said. “Marry the princess, keep the house, live the life of an idle lord. But the price will be too dear — Durrant will bleed you dry if he ever learns that you have Maidenstone to pay him off with. And how will you tell the Briarley chit that Titus and I are your siblings and not your servants?”

“I won’t have to tell her because we’re not staying,” he said firmly. “The plan is still to leave England. Together.”

Antonia’s eyes were shuttered, her feelings hidden behind a contemptuous mask. “Papa would have killed for the chance to be the earl. I’m sure he’d be proud of you for believing all his silly stories.”

“I’m not going to be the earl,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re good at pretending to be highborn,” she said, continuing as though she hadn’t heard him. “You talk like ’em. Even starting to smell like ’em,” she said, sniffing the air in the room. “Or maybe it’s the old earl what I’m smellin’, innit? He died in that bed there.”

She was laying on her street accent, thick and strong, a cloak over her anger. He knew she was needling him, but it didn’t stop the flash of guilt.

“I won’t betray you, Antonia,” he said. “I gave you my word that I would take care of you. I will keep that promise.”

She patted her thigh, right where she kept her dagger. “Seems I’ve always taken care of myself.”

At that moment, he was tempted to prove to Antonia that he was still the thief he’d always been — that nothing mattered more than blood.

But searching Lucy’s room was a far greater betrayal than outright stealing. One day very soon, he would betray Lucy. He would abscond with everything of hers that he and his family could carry.

And she would hate him for it. But not as much as she would hate him if he dug through her personal effects, looking for secrets she’d worked so hard to bury.

Stealing, though — he could do that without it being personal.

Or, at least, he could tell himself it wasn’t personal. Lucy probably wouldn’t feel that way.

He sighed. “Trust me. Please. Whatever secrets Miss Briarley has, I doubt they have anything to do with us. We’re going to steal a fortune from her. We don’t need to betray her trust as well.”

“It isn’t that you don’t need to betray her trust. You don’t want to,” Antonia retorted. “I think you’re too close to her. It’s only been two days and you’re already talking about her like her feelings matter. Are her feelings more important than Atticus’s life?”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “But we’ll do this with as much honor as we can afford.”

They glared at each other for a long moment. Antonia’s brow was furrowed. “If you don’t want to search her room, can you tell me where the jewels are?”

Max shook his head. “There’s more here than jewels, luckily. We’ll have no problem walking away with something, but I do have my sights set on the Briarley rubies.”

He briefly told her what he’d learned in his reconnaissance, giving her the same list as Titus — items that were particularly valuable, as well as rooms where it was apparent, based on the symmetry and the location of the doors and windows, that there were no safes hidden in the walls.

She committed it all to memory. “I’ll see what else I can find while everyone is decorating the mausoleum. Do you still want tomorrow night to be when we take everything and run?”

That was what they had agreed to while planning the job — that they would spend three nights at Maidenstone and leave on the fourth, before anyone could possibly return from London with evidence.

“If we can find the safe by tomorrow,” Max said. “But if we can’t, I think we should risk one more night. I haven’t seen anything as portable as the jewels would be, and they’d be a lot easier to sell as we go than figurines or other pieces of art would be. Depends on whether anyone suspects us of anything, though. I’ll get a message to you tomorrow with the decision.”

Antonia nodded. “I won’t take anything tonight while you’re at the mausoleum, then — wouldn’t want anyone to notice anything missing. And I’ll tell Titus and Cress to wait for your word before starting the next part of the plan. Just don’t ruin the job by falling in love. You know better than to make that mistake.”

“I won’t,” he said.

But he couldn’t quite meet her eyes when he said it.