The Thief Page 2

  “I’m arranging a gathering of several old school chums for a night of cards and other entertainments. I wanted to personally reintroduce myself to you before sending a formal invitation. Do say you’ll come. The guest list wouldn’t be complete without you.”

  At a loss for words was an understatement. Cyril couldn’t have been more confounded if his Aunt Hattie’s parrot had suddenly engaged him in meaningful conversation. The idea that Cyril’s presence was so important to Pointy was nonsensical. Despite all the years that had passed since he was an awkward schoolboy, Cyril couldn’t help but feel he was being set up to be the butt of some elaborate practical joke.

  “Saturday next. Only a few days off, I realize, but the idea of a reunion came to me out of the blue, and I am anxious to raise a glass with my compatriots once more.”

  “Floreat Etona,” Cyril quoted the Eton motto as he tried to think of a good reason not to attend.

  “Esto perpetua,” Alden responded. “May it last forever.” His bulging eyes intensified his gaze. “I knew you’d understand it is the old ties that bind. As one grows older, he understands the importance of friendships that can never be broken.”

  “Indeed.” Why was he scrambling for a reason to bow out of the party when he’d only just promised himself to become less reclusive? “I should like to come. Thank you for the invitation.”

  “Wonderful!” Alden clapped his hands together, wearing such an expression of relief that Cyril wondered again why his presence at the gathering mattered so much.

  Cyril offered tea, which his guest refused. Now his invitation had been accepted, Alden seemed eager to be gone. “I have several more calls to make, so I fear I must be on my way.” He rose with a rapidity that seemed rather like bolting. “Promise me you won’t change your mind. I expect to see you on Saturday so we might talk more.”

  Cyril already doubted his decision. “I will be there.”

  “Good.”

  Once in the foyer, as Cyril offered him his coat, Alden glanced around. “Your butler’s day off?”

  “Mm.” Cyril hated lying, but he could prevaricate. His dismal financial straits must remain private for as long as he could manage. “Good day, Alden. It was an unexpected surprise to meet you again. I look forward to your party.”

  As he closed the door behind his guest, he realized he had spoken the truth. He might not like any of the other invited guests, but for better or worse, this gathering would be something of interest in his rather dull and reclusive life.

  Chapter Three

  “Good evening, Lord Belmont. So good to meet you.”

  Jody spoke through his nose with his jaw tight and watched his face in the mirror as he practiced those two simple sentences over and over. There was no doubt he looked right in his shiny new suit and spats with his hair oiled and neatly parted. He’d even grown a thinly trimmed moustache on his upper lip, as was popular with gents these days, although he preferred being clean-shaven.

  Turning sideways, he regarded his trim body and straightened his sharp new waistcoat. Indeed, his appearance was up to snuff, but did he sound right? To his ear, he had the upper-crust accent down perfectly, but he was about to enter a wolves’ den. If even one note of his performance was off, those swells would tear him limb from limb.

  Lassiter moved close to brush an imaginary speck of lint from his jacket. “You make a fine picture, my dove. You’ll outclass them all. Never fear.”

  Jody scowled at Lassiter’s reflection. He didn’t lose his highborn tone when he replied, “Easy for you to say. You are not taking any risk.”

  “My investment, lad.” The old man’s blue eyes, still keen though faded with age, narrowed as he indicated Jody’s pristine white shirt and gleaming black suit. “The clothes on your back are mine, and I created the man inside them. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  “You never let me.” Jody picked up his top hat and cane, praying the tailor who’d owed Lassiter a favor truly knew the most current fashions. If he wasn’t in vogue down to the smallest detail, this pack would sniff him out.

  Lassiter offered him several bills. “Thought I’d hire a carriage for the night so you could be seen getting out of it. But I understand the young bucks mostly take cabs around town.”

  Jody waved off the money. “Don’t need it.”

  “Ta, then. Good luck at the ball, Cinderella.”

  “Piss off, you crotchety bastard.” Jody made a rude gesture with his middle finger.

  Lassiter’s laughter ushered him down the hallway and onto the street.

  As he sat in a cab, reviewing the history he’d written for himself, Jody’s heart hammered until he felt short of breath. He must calm down. This was a job like any other. He’d posed as a businessman before, and as a solicitor on one memorable occasion. In the past, he’d fooled lower-level gentry. But tonight, he was acting for the highest of the upper crust. No outsider could completely learn the secret language of the elite.

  Keep quiet and listen, then. Make him do the talking, Lassiter’s inner voice coached him.

  Jody would have liked to shut out that voice, but unfortunately, the man was almost always right. Lassiter had been running cons since he was born. He was an expert at devious business and had tutored his star pupil well.

  Jody had eventually realized Lassiter called each of his strays “star pupil,” but not until the pattern of wanting to please Teacher was engrained in him. So here he was yet again, doing a final “last” job. Only this time, when it was through, Jody would leave town with his earnings and leave his old world behind permanently.

  By the time he reached Alden’s house, Jody had fully donned the person of Mr. Tobias Wentworth. If he and his mark grew close enough to use Christian names, Toby would be similar enough to Jody that it would be easy to respond. Wentworth was Poindexter Alden’s suggestion because he considered it innocuous enough not to draw undue attention. Alden claimed a fortune could be made by extracting money from Belmont, a distant member of the royal family.

  The facts about their mark seemed vague to Jody, but Lassiter’s plan included forged paperwork that would make a gold mine investment seem legitimate. Jody’s job was to gain the mark’s confidence and lower his inhibitions until he’d believe almost anything he was told. If at any point this shaky ship appeared to be springing a leak, Jody planned to jump overboard and swim for shore.

  Alden’s house shone in the darkness, gaslights illuminating the imposing façade and light spilling from every window. As Jody mounted the steps and nodded at the liveried servant who held the door, his skin crawled as it had when he’d quit opium. Once inside, he drank in the details of carved marble, gilt-trimmed mirrors, impressive paintings, and rich carpeting that made the hall a jewel box of color. He’d never before been in quite such an elegant house and had to keep himself from gaping at the crystal chandelier or the mural on the ceiling. It seemed Alden ought to be rich enough to pay his own gambling debt, but apparently the fellow had sucked on the family teat so hard, his people would no longer extend his allowance.

  A footman took Jody’s hat and coat and ushered him to the drawing room, where several men were already lounging. These were Alden’s former Eton friends, whom Jody had been told to expect. Their stares made his muscles go rigid, but he drew a long breath and forced his body to relax. He copied the insouciant air of the four gentlemen draped casually over the chairs and ottomans and sauntered into the room with the air of a man who owned the world.

  “Ah, Wentworth!” Alden jumped to his feet, his agitation palpable. This fellow was going to give the game away before it began if acted as if he had a hot poker up his arse. “I’d like to introduce you to some of my oldest, dearest friends.”

  Jody had been told a little about the assembled guests, but it helped to have faces to connect with each name. A blond, sharp-eyed man wearing what was probably a habitual smirk of disdain was introduced as Mr. Jonathan Hunt. A baronet’s son and heir to a vast fortune, the man seemed quite clearl
y the group’s leader in the way the others looked at and deferred to him. Sir Bradley Flagstaff, a bearish fellow whose rugby muscle was softening to fat, was Hunt’s enforcer in their school days, intimidating classmates into doing whatever Hunt demanded.

  Redheaded twin brothers, George and Frederick Smith, were perfect lackeys who smirked at every dry comment Hunt made. Of course weasel-like Alden behaved the same way. Not much separated this group and any criminal Shoreditch gang, in Jody’s estimation. He recognized the types and imagined Hunt and his chums had not only terrorized their schoolmates but likely weren’t any kinder now to those beneath them.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jody drawled as Alden introduced each man to him. Then Jody turned his attention to the most important person at the gathering—Lord Cyril Belmont.

  For the life of him, he could not see quiet, rather sloppily dressed Belmont fitting in with these pretentious, sniggering men. While the others sized up Jody as if deciding if he were worthy to be in their presence, Belmont regarded him with a sympathetic gaze that seemed to say: We’re both odd men out here. I understand precisely how you feel.

  “Your lordship.” Jody gave a slight bow of his head as Alden introduced him.

  “Please, don’t stand on formality. Call me Belmont.” The man smiled with honest warmth. Crinkles radiated out from the corners of his brown eyes, and deep grooves lanced his cheeks on either side of his mouth.

  Jody automatically smiled back, and it was not an act. He felt as if he’d just met a good friend whom he had not seen in a very long time. A mad notion since he’d never had a mate he cared that much about. Lassiter’s boys might have been brothers in crime, but they’d never had much affection for one another.

  The warm, glowing feeling set Jody off-kilter and off his game. For a moment, he couldn’t think of a response, so he nodded mutely and continued to study his quarry. At a glance, Belmont was nothing special. Of average height, weight, and facial grade, his appearance ought to be forgettable. He didn’t possess the profile of a Greek god like Hunt or the formidable stature of Flagstaff or the arrogant bearing of any of the other men in the room. In different clothing, Belmont could have been a shopkeeper or chimney sweep rather than a peer of the realm. He had an unassuming way about him that put Jody immediately at ease.

  But those dark brown eyes! They certainly are something special.

  Jody ignored the thought and returned to the conversation before these strangers decided he was a speechless dolt. “Good to meet you all. Being new to London, I truly appreciate Alden’s introduction.”

  Alden clapped him on the back a little too heartily. “Yes. This poor fellow was raised in India. Never set foot on our native shore until recently. I told him before I left, You simply must visit. I’ll introduce you to everyone who is anyone. Didn’t I say that, old boy?”

  Jody nodded. “Indeed.”

  George Smith, one of the twins whose face was already flushed nearly as red as his hair, stared at Jody over a brandy snifter. “How odd you did not to travel to England for your education.”

  “Whatever did you do instead?” His bearded twin sat with one leg propped on the other, toe jiggling restlessly.

  “I was rather ill as a youth, so I had a tutor,” Jody replied.

  “Hm.” John Hunt set down his glass and narrowed his eyes. “Wentworth, eh? Any relation to Sir Reginald?”

  “No. Afraid not.” Having expected some interrogation, Jody had planned to keep his answers brief. Stick to a few bare facts and let them stand or fall as they might. Extra lies only made more trouble.

  But Alden didn’t know any better and began to prattle. “Wentworth’s family moved to India from Canada, so he likely doesn’t know anyone you would know. His family holds mining interests in one of the southwest provinces of India. Gold mining,” he murmured confidentially and gave an exaggerated wink that made Jody wince.

  “Actually, mica and iron ore, for the most part,” Jody corrected. He planned to weave in hints about a potential gold strike once his credentials were established. “But I’m sure you gentlemen don’t want to talk about such a dull subject as mining. What are your plans for us this evening, Alden?”

  “I thought we’d go to Carter’s for some gaming. There’s sure to be a cockfight later. And I’ve heard there are new girls at Madame La Belle’s. We can end the night with breakfast back here. How does that sound?”

  “Hear, hear!” and “Topping!” came from the Smith twins.

  “I’d be happy to go straight to Madame la Belle’s,” Flagstaff responded. “I need to get my leg over something pretty in petticoats soon. My stick of a wife is useless in bed.”

  “Crass, Bradley!” Hunt reprimanded his underling. “You should show more respect for the mother of your children. How could a lady know what you want in the boudoir?”

  “I doubt she’d countenance three whores at once,” Alden replied, earning appreciative laughter.

  Jody looked at Belmont. A quicksilver message shot between them that signaled female companionship was not of interest to either of them. Jody well knew the language of eyes that men of their proclivities used to communicate. So Alden was correct in assuming Belmont leaned in such a way that Jody could play him and reel him in.

  At any rate, Jody had a strong impression that even if Belmont was inclined toward the ladies, he wouldn’t be the sort to frequent cathouses. He seemed better than that.

  “I’ll join you for the early part of the evening, but I can’t stay late,” Belmont said.

  Hunt rose from his sprawling, kingly pose in the tall wingback chair. “I s’pose not. You always were too straitlaced to get up to any trouble, weren’t you, Belmont?” He cocked his head to study the other man. “Or maybe I should say too ‘bent’ rather than ‘straight.’”

  Belmont shrugged. “You’re as sharp as I recall, Hunt. Your cleverness must serve you well in Parliament.”

  “My wit serves me well wherever I am,” Hunt replied. “Shall we go, gentlemen?” He led the way from the drawing room as if he were the host of the party rather than Alden.

  Jody fell in beside Belmont at the rear of the group and murmured dryly, “Such a charming fellow.”

  “I’ve had no reason to speak with any of these chaps since our schooldays and precious little conversation with them back then,” Belmont replied. “Alden invited me, and since I had nothing better going, I thought why not see how they all fared. Now I rather wish I’d kept to my not-so-fond memories of them.”

  Jody struggled to understand why Alden had orchestrated this particular group as an opportunity for him to meet Belmont. “But you must know Alden well.”

  “I should not admit this to you since you are his friend, but I must say he was never one of mine. His invitation was rather out of the blue. I’d almost forgotten who he was.”

  Bloody hell! Alden had presented it as if Belmont was someone he knew well who possessed a vast fortune with no one to comment on how he disposed of it. He’d also declared Belmont had a penchant for men that might make it easy for a handsome lad to earn his good graces. If the look of interest Belmont gave Jody was any indication, at least the latter was true.

  Despite this new information, Jody’s mission remained unchanged. He climbed into one of the two carriages waiting at the curb and sat close beside Belmont, the man about to become his new best mate.

  Chapter Four

  As the carriage jolted over gaps in the cobblestones on its way toward a seamier side of the city, Cyril grew too aware of the man beside him. Was it his imagination that Mr. Wentworth sat a tad too near? With only four of them in the cab, Alden and Flagstaff occupying the facing seat, there was no need for Wentworth’s leg to keep rubbing against Cyril’s. The warm pressure of that contact was highly distracting.

  “I just knew you fellows would get on.” Alden beamed at them both. “Before the night is over, I’m quite certain you’ll be thick as thieves.” He tipped a knowing wink, his words freighted with innuendo.

>   Cyril suddenly suspected Wentworth was the main reason for Cyril’s inclusion tonight. Perhaps Alden guessed his new friend from India and his old mates might not be compatible and Cyril was to act as a buffer between the two parties. Or maybe Alden knew Wentworth liked men so had invited someone he believed was similarly inclined. That would be strange, first that narrow-minded Alden would befriend such a man, and second that he’d call on a long-ago acquaintance he only guessed shared those proclivities. Alden’s full motivation was a murky mystery.

  Cyril glanced at his seat companion to find Wentworth glaring daggers at their host. His dark look displayed annoyance at the setup and at Alden’s obvious relish of it. When Wentworth noticed Cyril watching him, he gave the slightest shrug as if to say, What can you do with such a fool? A wealth of silent information passed through the air, offering more excitement and drama than Cyril had experienced in a very long time. He felt quite alive and daring.

  Wentworth addressed him, “What are your interests, Belmont? Do you enjoy gaming like our friend Alden?” His eyes gleamed even in the dim light of the carriage. An answering sparkle danced through Cyril like an electric shock. Damn, but the fellow was good-looking! The idea that he might be amenable to…something awoke every dormant cell in Cyril’s body.

  “I must admit, I don’t know much about card games other than cribbage. I play with a small group of friends once a week.” Cyril would not mention his friends were dowagers in their sixties and that he’d met the ladies through the Orchid Society they all belonged to. How pathetic that a still fairly young man like himself had no friends of a comparable age. “What about you? Do you gamble often?”

  “I suppose one might call mining speculation a gamble, but I do not play faro or the like, nor do I wager on races.”

  “You shall both learn cards tonight, and maybe bet on a cock fight later in the evening.” Alden proclaimed. “If neither option appeals, you might share a drink in some quiet nook, perhaps sharing stories about cock fights in your past.” If he’d added a snigger, his intent couldn’t have been more obvious.