Chapter 11
…Now you might think, my dear Lord Thornton, why should you be the one divulging all your information, sharing all your secrets while I have not provided you with any anecdotes from my life?
Well, I would be happy to tell you everything, except that my life is rather boring. At this moment, I am sitting on my bed writing the letter to you, while my sister is looking over my shoulder and insisting that I am doing it all wrong. Apparently, addressing you as Lord Thornton is too formal, and telling you about my nagging sister is too familiar.
I beg of you to ease her mind. Is there a less formal way for me to address you? Or would you rather we kept to more formal communication?
T horn chuckled as he read through the letter, the sound echoing in his empty study. He hadn’t imagined Miss Prescott to be amusing. In fact, he had thought her to be rather uptight. Yes, she was uncertain of her dancing abilities even during the ball, but she didn’t seem… He shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair. He wasn’t certain how to describe her now.
She was nervous, reserved, and full of doubts during their dance. Now, he found out she had a light sense of humor. His fingers traced the playful words on the page. Perhaps, she felt more at ease in the comfort of her own home. Would she feel as comfortable under Thornton’s roof?
If so, bestowing revenge upon his father might not be such a chore after all.
Thorn picked up a quill and rotated it between his fingers. He pursed his lips in thought as he considered what to write, then dipped the quill into the inkwell with decisive movements and started writing, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Dearest Miss Prescott,
You would be surprised to realize that reading about your little tiff with your sister was the highlight of my social calendar. As much as it might seem to be a fancy lifestyle from the outside, the balls and soirees get tiresome after a while. And I am saying this as someone who has not frequented many social events in my life.
You shall see it well enough once you become a viscountess. I am certain the life of a merchant’s daughter has been far more eventful than anything awaiting you after our marriage.
I do not mean to make the prospect of our marriage unappealing to you. I just don’t want to see you disappointed. However, rest assured that I shall work tirelessly to ease your acceptance into society and make the entry of your sisters as smooth and painless as I can.
Sincerely,
Thorn
P.S. Please assure your sister that my friends, and therefore my fiancée and her family, have leave to call me Thorn. I hope that this will appease your sister’s spirit and that perhaps she will cease reading your personal correspondence with your fiancé, lest I share very intimate details in my further letters.
* * *
“Lest I share very intimate details in my further letters?” Lydia paused in her pacing the length of Honoria’s tiny room, a flush creeping up her neck. “Is he flirting with me? I mean us, I mean her!”
“What if he is?” Honoria lifted her shoulder in a shrug and righted the stack of papers against the surface of her bedside table. “He thinks he is corresponding with his betrothed. Why would it be wrong of him to flirt?”
Lydia grimaced, twisting a loose thread from her sleeve, then continued her nervous pacing. “I suppose it wouldn’t. And I suppose it is to our advantage. I was thinking of a rather devious plan—”
“Lydia!” Honoria exclaimed in horror, nearly upending the inkwell.
“What?” Lydia halted once more. “I haven’t even told you the details yet.”
“I do not like the word devious in this context.”
“Just listen, would you?” Lydia raised her forefinger.
“Fine.” Honoria’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What is your grand plan?”
“Well,” Lydia expelled a breath, gesticulating wildly with the letter as she spoke, “we can ask him to attend one of the plays next week in the Medusa Theater, and I can accost him on the way there—”
“No!” Honoria tapped her fingers against the edge of the bedside table. “Lydia, are you out of your mind?”
Lydia bit her lip. “No?”
“You couldn’t get the ring off him in the stealthy way—which is supposed to be your forte—and now what? You’ve decided to play a highwayman?”
“Highwaywoman,” Lydia corrected. “Which, in case you’ve forgotten, I did spend quite a chunk of my life being.”
Honoria stood abruptly. “He’ll be surrounded by his footmen and the coachman. This is dangerous.”
“I don’t have to be alone,” Lydia protested, her fingers curling into her skirts. It would’ve been better if she weren’t there at all—if she’d just hired someone to do the job for her. But this job was too delicate to trust to anyone else.
She couldn’t trust hired thugs to be thoughtful and not to harm Art or his servants. She couldn’t trust them not to double-cross her and keep the jewel for themselves, either.
“No,” Honoria interrupted, her tone firm. “You are not getting other people involved.”
“No innocent people,” Lydia agreed, lifting her chin. “But during my time as Mist, I made the acquaintance of quite a few people who are far from innocent. Many would jump at the chance to help the infamous thief.”
“And you trust them not to deceive you?” Honoria countered. “Do you trust your viscount not to fight back—and perhaps hurt them? Or worse, you?” Her voice softened. “Or for them to hurt him ?”
Lydia licked her lips, her confidence faltering. No, she didn’t. “He is not my viscount,” she muttered, the only protest she could muster.
“This could go wrong in so many ways; I can’t even begin to list them.”
“Fine, Honor! What’s your plan? We just keep corresponding with him ‘til the end of days?”
Honoria grimaced, sinking back onto the bed. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I know that you’re doing this for me. You don’t have to take this job to live comfortably in London. It’s me who needs to get away. And I don’t want you to unnecessarily risk your life and those around you.”
Lydia looked at her queerly. “ I don’t need this? Have you forgotten the nature of this job—who I am confronting in all this? Do you think it’s easy for me to live in the same city as the man who abandoned me and threw me out onto the streets? The man who is the core of all my problems and who is now about to happily marry and have a family of his own? No.” Her voice cracked. “It’s not a pleasant prospect, and I need to leave England as badly as you do.” Lydia let out a shuddering breath. “Besides, if I don’t finish this job on time, Hades’ proprietress is going to throw me to the wolves. And that prospect does not seem pleasant either.”
“I understand,” Honoria said softly, “but we need to be smart about it.”
Lydia tossed her head. “Did you just call me daft?”
Honoria chuckled. “I did not! Unless you go through with your daft plans.”
Lydia gasped in feigned outrage. “You are impertinent!”
Honoria chuckled. “Someone needs to be.”
Lydia shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. Honoria was right. Lydia could not risk going about it all wrong. She needed to do this right, or they both risked major consequences.
“Very well,” she said slowly, another idea taking root. “There is another way I can get the jewel without involving anyone at all.”
“Oh?” Honoria blinked curiously, inching closer to the edge of the bed.
“But it’s high risk, high reward.”
“Do go on?”
“Since I don’t seem to be able to sneak up on him and you dislike the idea of accosting him, there is a third option. Meeting him face to face.” Honoria opened her mouth, but Lydia quickly continued, not letting her friend interrupt, “At the masquerade.”
“ The masquerade?” Honoria’s voice rose with alarm. “You mean Hades’ masquerade? The one that’s happening on the last day Miss Monroe allotted you to hand over the jewel?”
“Yes, I told you. It’s high risk.” Lydia entwined her fingers at her midsection, then began pacing again, her steps deliberate, matching the measured cadence of her thoughts.
“And why is it high reward exactly?” Honoria’s tone bristled with skepticism.
“Because unlike every other scenario, I won’t need to be afraid that he’ll see my face. I’ll be wearing a mask! Everyone will be wearing a mask. I can write to him where to meet me, show up, stand as close to him as I please, and get the jewel, all without the risk of him recognizing me.”
Honoria’s frown deepened, creating a small crease between her brows. “But you tried to steal it off him already and you failed.”
“Yes.” Lydia stopped pacing and pressed her hands flat against her sides, willing herself to remain calm. “But this time, he will think I am his betrothed and will let me get close to him. I will have as much time as I need.”
“I don’t like this, Lydia. He might recognize you. Or at least recognize that you are not his fiancée. Your hair color alone is quite a giveaway.”
“I’ll wear a wig.” Lydia’s reply was quick, dismissive.
“You are not even the same height.”
“He will not recognize the difference.” Lydia waved the concern away with an elegant flick of her wrist.
Honoria’s gaze hardened, her eyes narrowing. “But your voice—”
“I assure you, we won’t even need to speak.” Lydia turned her attention to an invisible piece of lint on her dress, pretending it required her utmost focus.
“You won’t? So, what’s the plan, then? You’re just going to walk up to him and kiss him?”
The words hung in the air for a long moment. Lydia smoothed her skirts with deliberate care as if that might shield her from Honoria’s pointed gaze.
“And in the meantime,” Honoria continued, in a conversational manner, “you’ll keep pretending to be his betrothed, writing letters back and forth with him for two weeks.”
“Precisely,” Lydia said, her voice quieter now, though her chin lifted, and she was finally able to meet her friend’s gaze. “But that’s to our advantage. I can use the letters to make him feel comfortable about his fiancée to an extent that when she asks him for something during the masquerade, he’ll do it without a second thought.”
Honoria folded her arms tightly. “Such as?”
Lydia gave a carefree shrug, an easy smile on her lips. “Meeting us in a dark room or a nook where no one would disturb us. Perhaps we can even ask him to get a private room and disrobe prior to my arrival.” She chuckled at her ridiculous idea, but Honoria didn’t even smile, her expression growing more troubled with each word.
“Lydia, this is quite risky.”
“I know, I told you.” Lydia tried to appear confident, but her voice didn’t sound as convincing. She cleared her throat.
“And not just because you might get caught. You’re picking at old wounds that have barely healed.”
Lydia tried to laugh, but it came out more as a cough. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“And it’s quite last minute, too.”
“I work best under pressure.” Lydia lifted her chin defiantly, though her heart hammered against her ribs.
“What if you fail?”
“I won’t.” Lydia finally walked toward her friend and plopped on the bed beside her. “Because you shall be there, too.”
“Me?” Honoria’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her throat.
“Yes. It will be like the old times!” Lydia’s eyes sparkled with genuine excitement now. “Look, you shall wear a mask, so nobody will recognize you. And be honest, you want to enter the London scene once more before we leave, don’t you? I know you’ve never been to a masquerade.”
“Well…” Honoria hesitated, a flush creeping up her neck.
“I know you miss the balls and the social whirl. This will be our last escapade before we leave London forever.”
Honoria cleared her throat, unable to meet Lydia’s eager gaze. “Perhaps—”
“But the best part is,” Lydia pressed on, sensing her friend’s wavering resolve, “we can hand over the ring to Miss Monroe right away and just leave. It is high reward, because we don’t have to risk losing the jewel while we transport it to Miss Monroe or risk being hunted. We can just grab it, hand it over, and leave.”
Honoria’s face did not inspire confidence. Her fingers twisted in her skirts as doubt and confusion warred across her features. But she took a deep breath and nodded, nonetheless. “Very well. High risk and high reward it is.”