Traitor in Her Arms Read online

“I wasn’t screeching,” Diana said, not in the least offended. Diana didn’t stand on principle unless it suited her. “We were discussing whether to go to the British Museum now or when you could spare a moment.”

  “And I said we have no need to go to the museum. I don’t have the item.” Gabrielle glanced at the footman, and Cressy, following her gaze, waved him away.

  Cressy stepped forward. “What do you mean you don’t have it?” She’d lowered her voice considerably, and her blue eyes darkened with concern.

  Gabrielle sighed. What was the matter with everyone this morning? “I mean exactly what I said. I do not have Cleopatra’s necklace.” She lowered her voice on the last.

  “Was Her Grace wearing it?” Diana asked.

  “No, the duchess was not wearing it. It was in the jewelry box as the maid you bribed”—she nodded to Cressy—“promised.”

  “Couldn’t you pick the lock?” Cressy was frowning now, and Gabrielle swore there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

  “Yes, I picked the lock, but someone had gotten to the necklace before me.”

  “Who?” Diana leaned forward, expression and tone indignant.

  “The Earl of Sedgwick.”

  “Sedgwick?” Diana’s brows shot up.

  Cressy shook her head, and Gabrielle knew just what she was thinking. No doubt, she’d find a way to mention it in less than two minutes.

  “But why would he want it?” Diana continued.

  “Good question,” Gabrielle said. “I didn’t inquire.”

  “Didn’t you attempt to get it away from him?” Diana asked.

  “Of course. I threatened him with the pistol.”

  “Really?” Cressy smiled. “Did it work?”

  “Yes, but as I was making my escape, he distracted me and was able to…reacquire the necklace. He took the pistol too.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Cressy said, “Did he kiss you?” Her voice was low and ominous. Gabrielle had to give the housekeeper credit. That hadn’t even taken thirty seconds.

  “I don’t wish to talk of it,” she said brusquely.

  Diana ignored her. “He kissed you. Was it like you remembered?”

  “Diana!” Gabrielle blew out an impatient breath. “There are more important matters than what happened between Sedgwick and me. For example, how will I pay McCullough’s creditors this month? Without the necklace, I have no money.”

  Silence descended except for the clink of Diana’s cup on the saucer. Gabrielle closed her eyes. How could she have allowed the necklace to slip through her fingers? She needed that money.

  When George had died fighting that ridiculous duel with Baron Wolston, she’d been shocked to find she was a widow at only twenty-one. She’d been equally shocked by her dismal failure as a wife. She’d thought she could save him from his dissolution.

  But he had only dragged her down with him. Mere hours after his death, creditors had knocked on her door demanding payment for George’s extravagant gambling debts. Gabrielle had had no idea the extent of George’s debt. It was more money than she could imagine.

  She had sold most of her jewelry and several other objects of value in the home, but it hadn’t been enough to cover the debt. That was when Cressy, who had taken Gabrielle under her wing from the moment she stepped, wide-eyed and naïve, into George’s town house, suggested with a little training Gabrielle might find other ways to acquire the funds. And that was the day that the housekeeper Gabrielle had barely appreciated became a mentor and mother figure to Gabrielle.

  Gabrielle already had the skills to make a master thief. While her father was a country gentleman, her grandfather had been a successful clockmaker. He’d said she inherited his need to know how things worked. Cressy had shown her how to pick locks, and Gabrielle had taken to the task as though she were born to it. There was something exhilarating about feeling the tumblers move and hearing the telling snick. There was also something rather exciting about being where one shouldn’t be.

  Cressy had also shown Gabrielle how to pick pockets, but Gabrielle had never found much excitement in that activity. She did it when necessary and found no pleasure in it. Cressy, of course, thought it all great fun, and Gabrielle wondered at how she had acquired these skills. But she didn’t ask, and Cressy never volunteered that aspect of her past.

  Of course it was Cressy who had a friend at the British Museum. He had connections to the black market and offered to buy—in secret, of course—any historically significant pieces brought to him. No questions asked.

  There were any number of historically significant pieces decorating the homes of England’s ton. These pieces had been acquired through travels abroad, and Cressy had argued they no more belonged to the English aristocrats than to the black market swine. She called the nobility grave robbers and thieves. Gabrielle didn’t quite agree. She was no Robin Hood.

  But several days after Cressy’s proposal, one particularly nasty creditor had told Gabrielle to either pay or he would take payment in the form he chose. He’d eyed her salaciously, and that very night, Gabrielle had taken a small Egyptian scroll from Marquess Conyngham’s home during a ball and sold it for enough money to satisfy that creditor and mollify several others.

  Gabrielle didn’t like stealing, but neither did she wish to be carted off in lieu of payment by some thug. And the Duchess of Beaumont could afford to lose one little necklace if it would placate a thug or two.

  Except Sedgwick had the necklace, and Gabrielle was right back where she’d started.

  “Well, there’s still Winterbourne’s ball tomorrow night,” Diana said. She had begged Cressy to teach her to pick locks on numerous occasions, but Cressy had refused on principle. Gabrielle didn’t know why principles applied to Diana and not to her, but she didn’t argue. Diana made enough trouble without becoming a criminal. And as they had been best friends since meeting at the convent school in the French countryside, Gabrielle didn’t want Diana in danger because of her. It was bad enough the duke’s daughter insisted on paying some of the expenses for the upkeep of the town house. Gabrielle didn’t want to involve her friend further.

  “Does the marquess have any antiquities?” Diana asked of Winterbourne.

  “Not that I know of,” Gabrielle said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

  “Well, I don’t need this new dress,” Cressy said, looking down at her blue frock. “I can sell it.”

  “And I can always ask my father for money,” Diana said. “He would—“

  “No.” Gabrielle shook her head vigorously. “You two have already done far more than you ought. I can’t ask you to repay George’s debt. Oh, would that I’d never married him!”

  “I will not say I told you so,” Diana began. Gabrielle gave her a dark look. “Actually, I will say it. I told you not to marry him.”

  “Thank you, Diana. Your advice, three years later, is most helpful.”

  “What would be helpful,” Cressy said, “is a plan.”

  Gabrielle rubbed her hands over her eyes. She was out of plans.

  “Well, I have an idea,” Diana said.

  Gabrielle sighed, and Cressy cleared her throat in what sounded suspiciously like a snort.

  “It’s actually a rather good idea.” Diana crossed her arms and frowned.

  “What is it?” Gabrielle asked. She might as well hear it. She was desperate.

  “Why don’t we find Lord Sedgwick and steal the necklace back?”

  Gabrielle opened her mouth to object and then promptly shut it again. Why didn’t they steal the necklace back?

  Gabrielle looked at Cressy, who smiled. “I should have thought of that!” Cressy clapped a hand on Diana’s shoulder.

  “I told you it was a good idea.” Diana practically preened.

  Gabrielle’s mind was working quickly now. “I know where Sedgwick lives. Undoubtedly he has the necklace there. But where? And how will we gain entrance to search?”

  Diana frowned. “I can’t be expected to thi
nk of everything.”

  Gabrielle tapped her fingers on the table and Cressy paced back and forth.

  “We bribe a servant?” Diana offered.

  “To steal?” Gabrielle shook her head. It was one thing to ask a servant for information. They were always testifying in criminal conversation cases or spying on her ladyship for his lordship. Covering up adultery could earn a servant a nice extra wage. But asking a servant to do something illegal was going too far. And what if the servant muddled the theft? “Too risky to even ask,” Gabrielle said.

  She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Cressy’s shoes shushing on the carpet. “I suppose we could try to break in…” she began.

  Suddenly, the housekeeper stopped pacing. “I know,” Cressy said. “We go on a night when we know he is out. We’ll dress Diana as his mistress and go to his town house.”

  Diana clapped her hands. “Oh, how exciting! I’m to pose as a demirep!”

  Cressy rolled her eyes. “I’ll pretend to be an abbess and tell the butler Sedgwick asked Diana to wait for him in his room. While Diana distracts the butler, I’ll steal his keys. Then Diana can search his rooms for the necklace.”

  Gabrielle retraced the plan in her mind. “That just might work. But what do I do?” Gabrielle asked.

  “You will be with Sedgwick. Keep him occupied and away from home until Diana and I have time to find the necklace.”

  “It could work.” Gabrielle looked at Diana. “Are you willing to search his rooms?”

  Diana’s eyes gleamed. “Why not? It might prove interesting to find what Sedgwick has hiding in his clothespress. When do we go?”

  “We need to know when Sedgwick will be out,” Cressy said.

  Diana tapped a finger on her chin. “But how will we know Sedgwick’s social calendar?”

  That was a good question. How would they know? Again, they could ask the servants and face all those underlying risks…or they could go another route.

  “I know who we could ask,” Gabrielle said.

  Diana shook her head. “No. Don’t say it.”

  “She always has the gossip. She knows what everyone is doing and where they’ll be.”

  “No, Gabrielle. Please, no,” Diana begged.

  “Unless you can think of an alternative, I see no other choice. We must pay a visit to Miss Cheever.” It was not as though Gabrielle relished the idea.

  Cressy wrinkled her nose. “Gabrielle is correct. If anyone knows where Sedgwick will be, Violet Cheever will.”

  “Fine!” Diana threw up her hands. “But first I need more chocolate and possibly something stronger.” She stood. “On second thought, let’s go right away. The sooner we go, the sooner it’s done. I’ll tell John Coachman to ready the carriage.” She swept out of the room with skirts and feathers flying.

  When the sound of her loud footsteps dulled, Cressy smiled at Gabrielle. “See, everything will be fine.”

  Gabrielle smiled back. “I do hope so.”

  “It will.” She took Gabrielle’s hand in hers and squeezed it.

  Diana breezed back in. “Hurry up!” she scolded. “I want this over with so I can calm myself before tomorrow night.”

  Gabrielle rose. “A new gown and the need for calming? What’s so important about Winterbourne’s ball?”

  Diana smiled. “I’ve decided vicomte Marsan is the one.”

  Cressy’s eyebrows rose. “The frog eater?”

  “The émigré,” Diana corrected. “He never attends ton functions, but I have it on very good authority he will be at the Winterbourne’s ball.” She looked at Gabrielle. “So let’s put this Violet Cheever unpleasantness behind us quickly, shall we?” And she marched out of the room again.

  Gabrielle glanced at Cressy. “I might have known it would be something important.”

  —

  Violet Cheever was not an attractive woman. Gabrielle didn’t like to be unkind, but there it was. Violet’s teeth stuck out in front like a beaver’s, her nose was flat and looked like it had been squashed, her eyes were small, and her mousy hair was thin and stringy.

  Gabrielle would have felt sorry for the girl if Violet wasn’t so horribly mean. Violet had attended the convent school with Gabrielle and Diana, and she’d always been the one who pulled pranks on other girls. She’d put spiders in all their beds and “accidentally” spilled Gabrielle’s lily of the valley perfume, which had been a birthday gift from her mother. She pulled hair, stuck her foot out to trip her schoolmates, and was always whispering something about someone.

  Violet was too scared of Diana to play any tricks on her, which in Gabrielle’s opinion was too bad. Diana was creative and surely would have thought of some satisfying way to mortify Violet. But Gabrielle was happy now, as she and Diana stepped into Violet’s modest drawing room, to have her friend beside her. It would make the next quarter of an hour pass quicker.

  “Why, if it isn’t Lady Diana!” Violet said when the two were announced. Gabrielle rolled her eyes. She knew Diana hated fawning sycophants, but the ruder Diana was to Violet, the more Violet attempted to ingratiate herself.

  “Hello, Violet.” Gabrielle curtsied, even though her presence hadn’t been acknowledged.

  Diana gave a slight curtsy and didn’t bother to smile. As the daughter of a duke, she didn’t have to subscribe to social niceties.

  There was another girl, who Violet introduced as Miss March, beside Violet and Mrs. Cheever on the couch, so Gabrielle sat in the chair opposite while Diana stood.

  “Oh, Lady Diana,” Violet said. “Let me have a footman fetch a more comfortable chair for you.”

  There were chairs aplenty, but Gabrielle knew Diana wanted to be done with this quickly.

  “I prefer to stand,” Diana said, her tone icy.

  “Rubbish. I’ll have a chair fetched. I cannot possibly allow you to stand.” Violet flapped her hands, obviously beside herself that the daughter of the Duke of Exeter should stand in her drawing room.

  “I won’t sit in it.”

  There passed a long moment where Diana and Violet eyed each other, and Gabrielle was certain Diana would say something awful and they would be forced to leave before she learned anything useful about Sedgwick. Finally Violet giggled, breaking the tension. “Very well. You already surpass us in rank. It seems fitting you should stand above us. It shall be like you are residing in the clouds.”

  Diana glanced at Gabrielle, and Gabrielle knew if she didn’t do something soon, Diana would take her clouds and reside elsewhere. “How have you been Violet?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Quite well. My friend Miss March is visiting. Do you remember her from school?”

  Gabrielle had done everything she could to forget the convent school. But now she studied the young blonde dutifully. “No, I’m sorry.”

  “I was a few years behind you,” Miss March explained. “This is actually my first trip to London, and Miss Cheever has been acquainting me with the city.”

  “And all the news!” Violet pointed to a stack of scandal sheets on a side table. Gabrielle spotted The Town and Country Magazine and The Rambler’s Magazine, among others. She had obviously come to the right place for news of Sedgwick.

  “Welcome to town,” Gabrielle said. “I do hope you enjoy your visit.”

  An uncomfortable silence descended for a moment as Gabrielle struggled to think of how to introduce the topic of Sedgwick, Diana fumed impatiently, and Violet and Miss March obviously knew not what to say.

  “I didn’t see you at the Beaumonts’ ball last night,” Gabrielle finally said.

  “Oh.” Violet waved a hand, the white sleeve of her morning dress fluttering. “We had another engagement.”

  Gabrielle doubted it. Very few invited to the Duke of Beaumont’s ball would have missed it, but Violet did not have the social connections that Gabrielle, a viscountess, did.

  “Do you know who was there?” Gabrielle said, biting her cheek in anticipation of mentioning Sedgwick’s name. But she had to bring him int
o the conversation somehow. “The Earl—“

  “I heard the Scarlet Pimpernel was there,” Violet interrupted.

  Gabrielle frowned. Not only was the interruption rude, she was tired of all the talk of the Scarlet Pimpernel. He was all anyone spoke of anymore.

  Conjecture about the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel seemed the ton’s favorite topic of late. Was he George III? The Prince of Wales? Lord Cholmondeley? The Duke d’Orléans? No, all of London was convinced the man must be an Englishman, and the bon ton was certain he was from the nobility. Why, who else would risk his life to save the condemned of France?

  Rumors as to the Pimpernel’s identity, the identity of the members of his League, and his amazing feats abounded. Some claimed he had rescued a thousand or more French nobles, but no man could have done so much. Still, if he’d even rescued a tenth of that, it was an amazing accomplishment.

  If the man was even real. She’d read about and heard firsthand accounts of the situation in France and Paris. The political leaders seemed to change daily and new leaders meant new atrocities. Paris had gone mad with bloodlust, disguising murder as liberty. The British nobility, a little afraid the lower classes of England might take a cue from the French, needed a mythical figure like the Pimpernel to calm their fears.

  But myth or not, Gabrielle was not at leisure to entertain yet another discussion of the man.

  “Oh yes!” Miss March exclaimed, and her eyes lit up as all the young ladies’ did when they spoke of the Scarlet Pimpernel. “Was the Scarlet Pimpernel at the ball last night, Lady McCullough?”

  Gabrielle shook her head at the pretty Miss March with her golden curls and large blue eyes. “I don’t think he was. But the Earl—“

  “But how would you know?” Miss March asked. “You don’t know his identity.”

  “No one knows his identity,” Diana said. “So no one could say if he’d been at the ball or not. But I did see Lord Sedgwick at the ball.”

  Gabrielle could have kissed her friend.

  Violet waved her hand dismissively. “Oh yes. He’s been making more appearances in Society lately. I heard he accepted Lord Winterbourne’s invitation.”

  Diana made a small strangled sound, and Gabrielle threw her an apologetic look.