Page 15 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

Accompanied by his nosy twin, he’d paid Miss Amelia Chesterton an afternoon call. “The parure was a betrothal gift from Talybridge. He presented it to her in Florence.”

Ashington matched him with a sigh of his own, laden with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

“On a more positive note,” interjected Rollo, “You will be delighted to hear that, unmasked, Miss Amelia Chesterton has no visible warts, no signs of the pox, and two brown eyes which happily work in tandem with each other.”

“Two very pretty brown eyes,” corrected Willoughby. “And perfect brows to match. Rolly’s underselling them. They are the colour of autumn’s first fallen leaf. And she also boasts a remarkable retroussé nose.”

“How marvellous.” The earl permitted himself a small smile. “Heaven forbid the future countess of Rossingley have eyes of a dull mud-brown and her nose be unremarkably retroussé.” He raised one of his own perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “I take it Miss Amelia is still your future countess?”

“She’s my everything, Papa,” Willoughby breathed, eliciting a snort from his twin. “Shush, Rolly.” He clasped his hands to his heart. “And we are a love match. She has confessed to being hopelessly in love with me too.”

“Of course she is, my darling,” said Rossingley. “You are the sweetest young gentleman a girl could ever wish to have.” He threw his other, smirking son a frown. “Unlike your twin, who requires a much firmer hand.”

“Amen to that,” agreed Fitzsimmons. He wiggled his fingers. “Fortunately, I’m in possession of two very large ones.”

Rollo beamed. “And we all know what very large hands signify.”

“Retain some focus, Rolly! Miss Amelia is distraught.” Willoughby’s eyes, two pools of liquid cerulean, filled with tears. “We must prevent her marrying the marquess. She hardly knows the man, nor cares for him. It’s her father who’s besotted by Talybridge; the fool can’t see beyond bragging to all his friends back home that his daughter is to become a marchioness!”

The earl’s features slid from benign amusement to a shrewd alertness. “Is the parure still in her possession?”

“She was so agitated regarding her impending nuptials that I felt it was too brazen a question to pose.”

“So, I did it for him.” Rollo beamed again. “And trust me, one treads a fine line complimenting a young woman on her choice of neckwear without implying one has been ogling her bosom all evening.” He looked smug. “I believe I carried it off.”

“So, is it?” his father prompted.

“No. It’s locked away in Talybridge’s safe. One of those betrothal gifts that isn’t truly a gift until her wedding night.”

“More of a lure,” said Rossingley thoughtfully. “Which makes things trickier, but not impossible.”

He narrowed his gaze, shooting a quick glance at Kit as if continuing a silent conversation with his crafty lover. Mickey had seen this expression before—and Kit’s, come to that. In his experience, it generally heralded something alarming. The others must have spotted it too; the air in the room thickened whilst they waited for the earl to speak.

“Now we have all the pertinent information, our course of action is quite clear.” Rossingley’s eyes glittered.

Another pregnant pause followed.

“It is?” queried Ashington after half a minute. “I’m…uh…befogged.”

Mickey felt for him as his anxious gaze darted around the room. Always maintaining a very modest opinion of his own intellect, the duke clearly assumed everyone but him understood.

“Not to me,” said Tommy, coming to his rescue.

“Nor me,” added Fitzsimmons. “You’ll have to spell it out to us duffers, I’m afraid.”

With an innate sense of the theatrical, Rossingley rose to his feet, taking his elegant, sweet time.

“Very simply,” he declared, his crystal-clear tones ringing out, “I propose we steal the Ashington parure ourselves. Thereby beating Beauregard to it.”

“Steal—” Ashington’s jaw dropped open. “I’m a bloody duke, not a highwayman, Rossingley! Nor am I a safe cracker! Or a common thief! And…and nor are you!”

“I am, though,” offered Kit. “A little out of practice, but I expect it’s a bit like riding a horse. One doesn’t forget how to do these things.”

“Yes, but…” the duke spluttered. “You’re…we’re…I’m…no!”

“I’m not against a bit of thieving to help a good cause, my love,” murmured Tommy.

Mickey didn’t bother adding his voice. Everyone knew they’d both been blackguards at various moments, if only to ensure food in their bellies.