Chapter 28

"Steal it? I hardly need steal what was my father's, Lord Hawley. I only need prove it. Yes."
"What?"
Now that ... that, when it came to what he'd heard, every Aesop fable and Mother Goose tale rolled into one, that stole the cloak from Red Riding Hood, the boots from Puss, and left Cinderella without any shoe to speak of, never mind a glass one. Lord Armstrong her father? That was why she was here? Well, it wouldn't stop him.
She raised her chin. "What I say.You want to think I'm some common ten a penny thief, here for something I wish I'd never clapped eyes on, that's your affair.Me now, I'm here for the house I remember being in with my mother. Yeah. Of course it wasn't yesterday, I grant you that. But me and Matthew-"
"Matthew? You mean there's more of you?"
"My brother, Lord Hawley, as I think I told you."
She had. He'd thought Matthew was a fabrication. He still did. Owned this place? Was this the latest thing in stealing? Making off with houses now?
"Somehow we must have got sent away, him and me. That bit I don't remember. To Uncle Starkadder's in-"
"Uncle Starkadder?" He wiped his palms together, giving another dismissive sigh. Was it any wonder? Horse piss like this. He should yawn. "Uncle Starkadder, of Lord Thief of London fame, had Lord Armstrong of Barwych in his family tree? How remarkable is that?"
She took a step forward with her glass. Smoke stung his eyes. For a second he strove not to blink. Difficult when the contents of her glass sizzled in the fire.
Still, at least the glass hadn't been added to the mosaic floor tiles. At least she only wasted good drink. Although she'd doused the flame he'd fought hard to bring to life there, even scorching his trousers in the process. So, the tiger had claws. Wasn't nearly so refined as she made out either. Imagine that?
"Why don't you-"
He raised bored eyebrows. "Get out? I'd like to, but may I remind you I just helped you bury your lover, Miss Armstrong."
"And now you want a medal for it? Is that it?"
"Not if it's stolen."
The thing-the worst thing-was he remembered children playing on this very floor, just when he didn't want to. And while it ran hot in his veins to dismiss the fact she'd ever been one of them, what if she had? And this, by degrees more twisted than the floor pattern itself, was what she had somehow come to? The most daring jewel thief in England. Impossible. He couldn't think of it. He wouldn't. No. She had to have got that sorry tale from somewhere.
He dusted another bark flake from his palm, rose to his feet. "And you think people will believe you? Especially when they find how empty your spying claims are, unlike that grave."
"One you helped me fill."
"True. But let's suppose, for the sake of argument, we don't go that far yet, especially as you think you're Lord Armstrong's daughter."
"I don't think. I know, and that's all there is to this."
"Supposition's a dangerous business." Look where it had landed him.
"Just because I can't prove it doesn't mean I won't. That's why I'm here. To find the proof I need. Not to steal. Whatever you think. I'm done with that."
"Oh, really." He shrugged. This did get better by the minute after all. "Lord Armstrong's daughter. Forced into stealing at ... however young you were, is that what you're trying to say? As opposed to Sapphire, the greatest jewel thief in England, here to nick their way through the local pickings. Exactly what kind of idiot do you think I am? What kind of wool-puller are you?"
"Oh, and I faked my own death in the Thames, did I? After spending ten years squirreling every farthing?"
"You're a thief. You could have stolen them."
"Oh yes, I was allowed to keep my pickings. I asked you what you wanted. You said an answer. Well, I've given you quite as much as you're getting. Whether you choose to believe it, or not, is your affair. But it is the truth. I do remember being here. My name is Armstrong. That much is no lie."
"Says the woman who knows not the meaning of the word truth."
"Says the man who helped me dig that grave."
He swallowed. Armstrong? While he wanted to tell himself the pile of horse manure was steadily growing--nothing she could say would change this, remember?-- the word was cold ash in his mouth, especially what burned in his heart. These damned coral lips of hers, that bold as a stable of horse brasses, stare. The delicious snatch of temper.
Christ, Lord Koorecroft got wind of the fact she might be connected to Barwych, he'd want to take it further, then Devorlane would never get anything. What if this bucket of cod, wasn't just another attempt to hoodwink him, so she could run? He wouldn't want her doing that unless she dug up that corpse and took it with her. Especially when there was something he could sort of do here, now he thought about it.
Something he needed to do when it didn't matter what she said, or what she did, his intentions to clear his name were one thing at every turn. Dust. He cleared his throat.
"My father, the third duke, was given the Armstrong papers."
"He ... "
Never was.
Were these the words her lips froze on? Even if the third duke had received them, it didn't mean the fifth duke would give her them. Certainly not given what she'd done to him. Correct?
"Yes. For safekeeping when the old man died. So far as we knew he had no family. But he was reclusive."
"And those, those might have-"
Her eyes followed him to the beveled window. He didn't need to feel them boring holes in his back to know it. Kicking herself was she? Over her immeasurable folly in running to Lord Koorecroft? Or did hope beat in her perfectly treacherous breast that he was going to let her have them for nothing because she'd been wronged? When he'd stepped in here five minutes ago determined to end this? To at least claw that back from the fact he'd helped her.
"I don't have a clue what they have. I've never looked."
"I see. It's just. Well-"
"What? You went to Lord Koorecroft? You tried to accuse me of rape?"
"I- . Well, I'd be lying if-"
He glanced round, keeping his gaze veiled. "You can have access to these papers."
Her jaw dropped open. She couldn't believe it, could she? In some respects neither could he. But then he wasn't done. Not by any manner of means. Not what thrummed through his brain.
"Provided you do one thing for me."
"One?"
Did her mind now rake over what that was? Reeled over probably. She set her chin. Oh, what could he possibly demand? Another kiss? For her to leave here perhaps? Or finally tell the world the truth about who she really was?
"That is until you find out the truth."
He glanced back through the window, feeling winter light paint his cold face. The thing was he could let her have the papers for nothing. He would have, had she not gone to Lord Koorecroft. The one thing, despite everything else, he refused to let go of.
But it wasn't just that, or the length she advanced beneath his skin. He had demons to conquer regarding her, a whole hell of them. "Then, when you do, I want you out of the area never to come back."
"Never?"
The swish of velvet said this took her by surprise. It would be nothing compared to what was coming next. That was a surprise even he felt ripples of bemusement about.
Slightly angry ones, although there was complete method in his madness.
"But-but what if I don't? What if I search and there's nothing?"
"If you don't like my offer, the door is there." He turned to face her. "You will leave now. But if you do accept my offer, you will adhere to my terms for the duration of your search."
"And what terms are these?"
No, when the fascination was so unwelcome as to move him to pity for her, for how her life must have been nothing like he thought, in every way, there was only one way to exorcise it. After all, a night was all he ever wanted a woman for. She would be no exception.
"That you will become my mistress."