A Daring Liaison(90)

A few moments later, Wycliffe appeared in the doorway, his tall frame nearly blocking any light. “What a bloody mess,” he said. “Shall I call in help?”

Charles shook his head. “I am beginning to wonder if we will find anything here.”

Wycliffe tilted his head toward a tin plate of stale bread and overripe fruit. “Looks like supper. Think he’s coming back?”

“Not if he sees us here.”

“A search of this place will take us hours. Richardson is outside, keeping watch. He will stay and send word when Gibbons returns.”

A sensible plan. Charles nodded and slid his boot under another rag pile. The scrape of his sole against a wooden plank invited closer inspection. He knelt and moved the rags, Wycliffe peering over his shoulder. The board was level with the dirt floor, as if it had been set in a hole. He removed the pick from his pocket and pried one edge up. Yes, there was a hole beneath.

He flipped the board over and peered into the hole. A metal box with a hinged lid appeared. Rather than open the lid, he lifted the entire box out and placed it on the floor. Wycliffe knelt beside him and flipped the lid back.

The glitter of gold flashed in the candlelight. So this was the Gibbons treasure trove. There were not many pieces, but why had they kept these when they were wont to sell everything they stole within a day of two of the theft? Were these fresh acquisitions? Had Dick not had time to dispose of them?

Wycliffe pulled out a chain, from which a dainty oval amethyst dangled, and held it to the light. This was no tawdry imitation, but the living model of Clark’s sketch of Lady Caroline’s stolen necklace. There, too, was the Scottish thistle brooch and pearl earrings. If he had needed confirmation that the Gibbons brothers had been the thieves who robbed Lady Caroline’s coach, he had it now. There were other items, too. A tiny ring meant for a child, a dainty garnet necklace, an opal ring and a bracelet of wrought gold. And, most damning of all, a locket with a miniature portrait of a younger Georgiana.

“These were Lady Caroline’s,” he said, pointing to the first items. “The jewels she wore the night she was robbed.”

Another warning chill invaded Charles’s vitals as he stood. After all the time he’d spent chasing Gibbons, this was too easy. Too convenient. How had Gibbons missed the paper with his address when he’d stolen everything else of value from Hathaway’s room? Unless he’d left it there? He stepped outside and glanced around. Was it a trap?

Wycliffe gave him a questioning look, as if he’d felt it, too—this nameless suspicion.

No. Not a trap. A diversion. A red herring meant to keep them occupied. The hair on the back of Charles’s neck stood on end, and a deep dread filled him. “Georgiana,” he whispered.





Chapter Twenty




Knowing she could never get drunk enough to drown the facts of her birth or even dull the memory of Charles’s face when she admitted the truth, Georgiana gave up the attempt. Darkness had fallen by the time she left the library and went up to her room. She found a valise in her dressing room and put it on her bed.

She only needed to pack a few things. She could send for the rest later. The journey home would not take that long. Charles could handle the details of the annulment. There shouldn’t be too much of a scandal since they’d never even formally announced their engagement. Heaven knew he had grounds enough. Fraud. He hadn’t known who she really was. Though she hadn’t known she was a Gibbons at the time of the nuptials, she had known she was illegitimate—Lady Caroline’s illegitimate daughter.

And, should the authorities wish to arrest her for her husbands’ deaths, they would know where to find her. Even that eventuality did not seem to matter now. Odd, how only days ago her life had been quiet and ordinary, and now everything was turned upside down.

Had she dealt so much with death that it had lost its power to horrify her? Was she simply numb from the revelations of the past few days? Or had something died inside her with the look on Charles’s face when he realized who she was? Some spark of humanity that she would never be able to reclaim? No, she would never be the same. Even now the pain of losing him again was almost more than she could bear.

She opened her bureau drawer and removed a nightgown and robe, as well as some stockings and handkerchiefs. A breeze wafted from the open window and brushed a stray curl across her cheek. She shivered and tucked the curl behind her ear.

“Oh, there’s a good girl. You knowed I was comin’ fer you, eh?”