Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(10)

“We’re not going to Brooklyn, are we, Marcus?”

“No, miss.” He gripped the wheel and kept on driving. “We aren’t.”

They didn’t go far. By Kat’s estimation they weren’t more than a half a mile from the main road when the car stopped. She could still see the smoke rising from the chimney of the big house hidden behind the trees, and yet it felt a world away from the tiny cottage with the white picket fence and perfectly pruned roses that stood before her. There were black shutters and flower boxes on every window. An ornate railing ran along a cozy porch, and the whole place looked almost like it had been made from gingerbread.

“Marcus, where are we? Who lives here?”

He turned off the car and reached for the door. “I do.”





“I never knew you had a house.”

Kat crawled from the backseat of the car and looked up at the man who held her door. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn he didn’t stand quite as straight, there in his own driveway. He looked at her a little more squarely. He wasn’t a servant then, she realized. He was a man, welcoming her into his home.

“Oh, it’s not entirely mine. I share it with—”

“Marcus? Marcus, is that…”

A woman was standing in the doorway, a dish towel in her hands. She had steel gray hair and the same piercing eyes that Kat had seen reflected in the rearview mirror for years.

“Miss Katarina Bishop,” Marcus said, “please allow me to introduce my sister, Marianne.”

“You’re Marianne?” Kat thought about the way Hale’s mother had said the name, almost with a snarl. “It’s nice to meet you.” Kat extended her hand. But Marianne just gaped at Marcus.

“Oh, brother. What have you done?”

Somewhere in the house a kettle screamed. It made a sharp, haunting sound. The woman turned, Marcus at her heels, and Kat followed them into a tiny kitchen with white lace curtains and a tray set out for tea.

“I’m very sorry, Miss Bishop,” the woman said, her British accent even stronger than her brother’s. “I mean no disrespect. I’m sure you’re a very talented young lady. But this is a private family matter.”

“You were her family!” It was the first time Kat had ever heard Marcus raise his voice, and she had to do a double-take to make sure it was him and not some well-groomed imposter.

“You forget yourself, brother. And your place. If our father were alive—”

“He isn’t.”

“Marcus,” Marianne said grimly, “this is not our way.”

Marcus pointed at Kat. “It’s her way.”

The kettle still screamed, so Marianne pulled it from the flame, but the silence that followed was too loud, and Kat had no choice but to say, “Uh…which way is that?”

“I’ve observed many things in the past few years, miss.” Marcus looked her in the eye. “It is not my place to talk, but I do see. I see everything. And after what I’ve seen, I know that you may be the only person who can help. And so, miss, I would like to hire you. For a job.”

Kat could have sworn she’d misunderstood. “A job job?”

“Yes. There is something that I would like for you to steal.”

Marianne brought a handkerchief to her mouth but didn’t protest.

“Okay, Marcus.” Kat took a seat at the table. “I think you’d probably better start at the beginning.”

Never before had Kat thought about whether or not Marcus had a family. She hadn’t wondered where he went when he wasn’t at Hale’s beck and call. But there she was in his kitchen, sitting across from his sister, listening as he said, “Our parents were in service to the late Mr. Hale the Second. Marianne and I were born into this proud tradition, and when our time came, we were honored to follow in our parents’ footsteps.”

“The family business,” Kat added, half under her breath.

Marcus nodded. “Exactly. Our family has worked for the Hales for four generations.”

He sat up a little straighter when he said it, and Kat knew that, in his world, that was a thing of great esteem.

“When she was very young, Marianne was asked to care for the new wife of Mr. Hale the Third—a young American woman who had come from…shall we say…humble beginnings. But who was also very, very kind.”

“Hazel,” Kat filled in.

Marcus nodded.

“When the new Mrs. Hale came to us…well…I imagine our world must have seemed incredibly strange to her. The ladies still dressed for dinner in those days. Her new husband played polo with a cousin of the king. And there she was, half a world away from anything she’d ever known, with nothing but a husband who was constantly working.”

Marcus took a deep breath. “Well, that’s not exactly true. She had a husband”—he cut his eyes at his sister—“and a maid.”

Soon Marianne was reaching for her handkerchief again and dabbing at tears.

“My sister wasn’t much younger than Mrs. Hale. There they were, both living apart from their families for the first time. And so Marianne wasn’t just a ladies’ maid. She was also Mrs. Hale’s only friend.”

“She was so alone.” Marianne’s voice cracked. “So, so alone in that big house. She had everything. But she had no one.”