When You Wish

by Alexandra Ivy

Genres: Romance Anthologies & Collections; Regency Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

Dear Reader, Long before I wrote my sexy paranormal romances, I wrote traditional Regency romances as Debbie Raleigh. Now I’m thrilled that three of my favorites are available once more. As fresh and filled with adventure as ever, this trilogy features the indomitable Creswell sisters, known throughout London as the Devil’s Daughters—and rejected by the ton because of it. But like their charming rascal of a father, the Devilish Dandy, nothing can crush their spirits—or stand in the way of their hearts’ desires… THE CHRISTMAS WISH Sarah Cresswell leads a peaceful life—until she’s asked to help a handsome nobleman unearth a thief. Soon the unlikely duo is navigating London’s seamy side—and an undeniable attraction. But it’s a love that can never be, unless intervention comes from a most unexpected source… THE VALENTINE WISH Emma Cresswell has escaped gossip-plagued London to start anew as a lady’s companion. She does not expect to contend with her employer’s reckless nephew. But Cedric, Lord of Hartshore, senses that beneath Emma’s conservative veneer is a heart as passionate as his own—and he’s determined to win it… THE WEDDING WISH On a lark, flirtatious Rachel Cresswell plots to seduce the man intended for her sheltered young cousin, Julia. Her success is no surprise, but she’s shocked to fall in love with her unwitting conquest—and strike up a friendship with Julia. Now Rachel is determined to keep her scheming secret from them both. But has she lost her taste for mischief in time to gain what means most to her? I’ve fallen for these timeless tales all over again, and believe that you will too. Alexandra Ivy

Release date: November 8, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 488

Sample

As was his habit, Oliver Spense, Earl of Chance, was happily ensconced in his library with a large crate recently arrived from Greece. Perhaps few of his cronies would have contemplated the latest delivery of broken pottery and priceless statues with such reverence, but it was well known that while the Flawless Earl was unparalleled upon the sporting field, a master on the dance floor, and a demon at the card table, he did possess the oddest fancy for dusty relics. His peculiar tendency was happily overlooked, not only because it did one’s social position great credit to be numbered among his friends, but also because he possessed the good sense not to burden his acquaintances with tedious details of his studies.

Chance, a tall, well-muscled gentleman with dark hair and piercing black eyes, was supremely indifferent to others’ opinions of his fascination with the ancient world. Indeed, he was rarely bothered with others’ opinions of himself in general. It was not so much arrogance as a deep contentment with his well-ordered life.

This morning, he was particularly content. A rare smile lightened his strong features and lessened his rather imposing air. With exquisite care, he lifted the fragile shard of pottery to better view it in the pale November sunlight that tumbled into the room. Soon he would set it aside so he could sketch its likeness onto a pad, but for the moment he was lost in the thoughts of citizens traversing the streets of ancient Athens.

The pleasant imaginings occupied his attention for several minutes. Then the quite unexpected sound of the library door being thrust open cast his thoughts to the wind. Slowly raising his head, he silently watched the small, nearly bald servant cross the vast room.

Chance allowed his smile to fade, although no hint of annoyance at the intrusion could be detected on his sternly handsome features. He had discovered long ago that a soft-spoken, impassive demeanor was far more daunting than any number of rages. Indeed, he had become so skilled that only the bravest or the most foolish dared to cross his considerable will.

Leaning back in his wing chair, Chance templed his slender fingers beneath his blunt chin.

The butler halted and offered a stiff bow. “Pardon me, my lord.”

“I fear you mistook the time, Pate,” Chance offered in gracious tones.

The butler, who had been with Chance since his arrival in London ten years before, was one of the rare few who did not panic beneath that unwavering black gaze. “No, my lord. It is precisely half past ten.”

“And at half past ten do I care to be interrupted?”

“No, my lord,” Pate conceded with a faint hint of regret. “You have been very specific that you are not to be disturbed between the hours of eight and eleven.”

Certainly not an unreasonable gentleman, Chance did possess a handful of eccentricities he expected his staff to honor. He forbade any sort of puddings to be placed upon his table, insisted his hounds be accorded the utmost care, and demanded his mornings be dedicated solely to his studies. Hardly arduous requests, he told himself, considering the outrageous habits of many noblemen.

Now he regarded his servant with the mildest hint of reproof.

“And yet here you are at precisely half past ten.”

The butler’s wooden countenance betrayed no emotion at the chastisement. “Yes, my lord.”

“Perhaps the house is on fire?”

“No.”

“Have the French invaded?”

The faintest hint of a twinkle entered Pate’s faded blue eyes. “Not to my knowledge, my lord.”

“Then I can only presume the Prince Regent has chosen this ungodly hour to call.”

“Not the prince, but Mr. Coltran.”

A hint of surprise flickered over Chance’s handsome features. Although his younger brother often called at the elegant town house, more often than not when he was on the dun, he had never before dared to impose himself during Chance’s studies.

“Good lord, is he foxed?” Chance drawled.

“I do not believe so.”

“Odd. I never thought Ben to be particularly stupid. Impetuous, ill advised, and reckless, certainly, but not stupid.”

“He did say it was of the utmost urgency, my lord.”

Chance allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. He was not bothered by his servant’s pleas for leniency for Ben. His younger brother was an engaging scamp with more charm than sense. Few could fail to find a place in their heart for the spirited youth, himself included, but over the past several months his affections had been strained to the very limit.

“Yes, I daresay,” Chance agreed, with a heroic effort at patience. “Everything is of the utmost urgency with my younger brother. His temperament is unfortunately rash, which no doubt accounts for his shocking lack of skill at the card table and his presence in my foyer.”

“Yes, sir.”

Allowing his hands to drop, Chance absently drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. A small silence descended within the decidedly masculine room with its towering bookcases and solid mahogany furnishings.

“I suppose you believe I should see him despite my firm insistence at not being pestered by servants, visitors, and relatives on the dun?”

Pate gave a small cough. “He does appear quite undone.”

Chance heaved a well-earned sigh. “And I would be a villain to force the charming rascal to extricate himself from troubles of his own mak ing?”

“As you say.”

“Oh, very well.” Chance waved a pale hand. “If I do not see him, he will no doubt flee to Mother, who will then arrive to complain of my gruesome lack of sensibilities for my poor sibling.”

“Very good.” Bowing deftly, the servant backed out of the room, leaving Chance to his thoughts.

At moments such as this, he missed his father the most. Although he had been one and twenty and out of the house when the previous earl had succumbed to an infection of the lungs, his brother had been only eleven. The loss had struck the young boy deeply, and Lady Chance had quite naturally spoiled him shamelessly. As a result, Ben’s high spirits and reckless lack of responsibility had gone unchecked. Such a combination was destined to create disaster when he arrived in London. Within a month, he had lost his allowance at the card tables. He had also spent a great deal more on lavish extravagances and openhanded generosity toward any scoundrel with a sad tale.

In the beginning, Chance was forgiving when Ben turned to him for assistance. Most young bucks kicked up their heels upon their arrival in town. While he had personally never found enjoyment in drunken larks or gaming hells, he had been hopeful that such pastimes would soon pale on Ben.

Unfortunately, his hopes had been sorely dashed. Far from growing weary of his fast play, Ben had acquired a group of fribbles who had urged him into outlandish behavior that Chance would not tolerate. On the last occasion he had paid his brother’s debts, he had sternly warned he would endure no more. He had demanded Ben mend his scandalous behavior or risk being removed to the country.

Clearly the threat had fallen upon deaf ears, Chance acknowledged with a flare of annoyance. Perhaps he should have the unruly scamp sent back to Kent. A few months of rusticating might return his sadly lacking wits.

With that firm thought in mind, Chance watched his younger sibling enter the room. His resolve was momentarily undermined at the sight of Ben. As Pate had claimed, he did look quite undone. His clothes appeared to have been slept in, his dark locks were tangled, and there was a visible paleness to his boyish features. Most disturbing of all was the absence of his ready smile, which had made him a favorite among all who met him.

Chance felt a faint qualm before his determination returned. One day his brother’s impetuous nature would land him in trouble not even Chance’s considerable power would be able to save him from. He intended to halt his foolishness without further delay.

Striding directly to the desk, Ben shoved an unsteady hand through his curls. “Chance, thank God you are at home.”

“Since I am always at home at this particular time there was no need for any heavenly intervention.”

Ben grimaced at the pointed words. “Oh, yes ... I suppose you are angry I intruded upon your studies.”

“Not as angry as I shall no doubt become once you have confessed your latest scrape,” Chance retorted. “You might as well have a seat.”

Ben gave a cursory glance toward the leather chair, but rather than sitting, he tugged at his cravat, a sure sign he was deeply in the bumble broth.

“You make this devilish difficult, you know,” he complained.

“Me?” Chance lifted his dark brows. “As I recall, I have done nothing more sinister than allow you to intrude upon a perfectly lovely day.”

“If you weren’t so damned perfect upon all occasions, I shouldn’t feel such a heel coming to you,” Ben charged.

“How wretchedly inconvenient of me,” Chance drawled. “Shall I lose the family fortune upon the turn of a card? Or do you prefer I have myself hauled before the magistrate for tipping over the watch?”

Ben favored him with a sour frown. “You could at least have the decency to have caused one scandal. It is deuced difficult to speak with a gentleman who has never so much as raised a brow among Society.”

“Egad, how dreary I sound.”

“Well, one would think so, considering the time you spend with those musty relics.” Ben wrinkled his nose as he glanced toward the statue on the table. “But somehow you still manage to be the toast of London. You cannot conceive how tedious it is to be forever informed of your superior position or to have every maiden in town approaching me in hopes of acquiring an introduction to the Flawless Earl. Why, even my own friends flounder for hours attempting to ape your style with a cravat.”

Although many gentlemen might have preened secretly beneath such fulsome flattery, Chance merely narrowed his gaze. “Good lord, it must be even worse than I feared,” he pronounced. “You can save such nonsense for your twitty friends. What has occurred?”

The tug on the cravat became more pronounced, causing Chance to worry the young man might actually strangle himself.

“I ... I fear I have outspent my allowance.”

Chance’s expression did not waver. “There is nothing astonishing in that although I do not precisely comprehend what has led you to fall upon my charity,” he said softly. “On the last occasion you applied to me for a loan, I quite clearly warned you I would not be held responsible for any more of your debts. Did you misunderstand me?”

A dull flush stained Ben’s youthful features before draining away to leave him even more pale than before.

“No, which is precisely why I am in such a bloody mess.”

Chance experienced a flare of exasperation at his bother’s petulant tone. He sounded more a child of five than a grown man. “I can hardly be blamed for your thorough lack of sense,” he mocked. “What have you done? Gone to see the vultures?”

“I wish to God I had,” Ben retorted fiercely.

The quaver in his brother’s voice made Chance pause. What the deuce could the boy have been up to? “You had best tell me what is wrong.”

Forgoing his maltreated cravat, Ben lifted his hands to scrub them over his face. “It is not easy to explain.”

“Ben, I am swiftly losing what little patience I possess.”

The very softness of his tone forced Ben to reluctantly lift his head and meet Chance’s black gaze. “Very well.” He swallowed heavily. “I said I had outrun my allowance, and since you had been so devilish disobliging as to refuse me another groat, I was forced to go elsewhere.”

“Where did you go?”

There was a highly dramatic pause. “Lord Maxwell.”

Chance drew in a sharp breath. Gads, this was a complication he had not expected. And why should I, a dark voice responded. Lord Maxwell’s reputation for ruthlessly fleecing the gullible and desperate was renowned throughout London. It had never occurred to him Ben would be so bird-witted as to seek out the devil.

Chance leaned slowly forward. “Have you taken leave of you senses? Only the worst sort of greenhorn would place himself in the power of that blackguard.”

A stubborn defiance descended upon Ben’s countenance. “Well, I hadn’t much choice unless I wished to be hauled to Newgate. Unfortunately, Maxwell refused to loan me money unless I provided him with a symbol of good faith.”

A distinct sense of dread was beginning to lodge itself in Chance’s stomach. “And what symbol did he request?”

“The Chance diamonds.”

With a slow, lethal motion, Chance rose to his feet, his expression causing Ben to take a hasty step backward. “You did not hand over the family jewels to that scoundrel.” It was more a statement than a question.

“N-no,” Ben stuttered, clearly wishing he were anywhere but standing before his brother. “I did not have the opportunity.”

“Explain.”

“I ... I went to Mother’s and borrowed her jewels . . .”

“Borrowed?” Chance leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the desk. “You mean you stole them.”

“It was only until my allowance arrived and I could repay the loan.”

Chance ground his teeth. Good gads, the boy was beyond foolish. To think he would steal from his own mother . . .

“You do not believe for a moment Maxwell would have returned the jewels,” he charged in low tones. “You fool, he would have claimed you sold them to him, and not a soul could have proved otherwise.”

It was obvious the thought had never entered his thick skull. Ben gave a startled blink.

“As I said, I did not give them to him,” Ben stammered. “I put them in the safe intending to give them to him, but when I awoke this morning I discovered they were gone.”

Chance abruptly straightened. “Gone?”

“Someone has stolen them.”

The town house in the modest neighborhood of London looked much like any other. Narrow, with a bow window and tidy garden, it hardly fit the image of the setting for the daughter of the most notorious thief in London.

But then, what had he expected? Chance asked himself.

Certainly something more in keeping with the flamboyance of the Devilish Dandy, a tiny voice answered. After all, few throughout London were not acquainted with the rumors surrounding the near legendary gentleman. A charming, intelligent master of disguise, he had freely moved through the continent and England, stealing only the rarest jewelry and works of art before disappearing into obscurity. Indeed, it became almost fashionable to have lost one’s most precious heirlooms to the famous criminal, and more than one hostess had been known to complain bitterly at the end of her party that her gathering clearly had not been of high enough standards to garner the attention of the Devilish Dandy.

His sparkling career had come to a sharp end several months before, when he had been ratted out by one of his cohorts. He had been hauled to Newgate and awaited his fate with the noose, only to slyly slip away from beneath the very noses of the guards. It was commonly believed he had fled to India to escape the Crown’s determination to have him dangling by the neck.

He had left behind three daughters, one of whom Lord Scott had promised Chance was the perfect solution to his current difficulties. Chance was far less certain. Although he placed the utmost confidence in his good friend, he had far less confidence in the daughter of a common thief. Good gads, would he be any less of a nitwit than Ben to trust such a woman?

Despite his hesitation, however, Chance had found himself standing before the narrow house just three days after the theft of the jewels. Not because he had suddenly discovered a desire to mix company with scoundrels, but because quite simply he hadn’t the least notion of how to begin his search.

With a faint sigh at his own foolishness, Chance forced his well-shod feet to carry him to the front door. He could hardly stand in the street all day, he told himself. Still, with reluctance he lifted the knocker and gave it a sharp rap.

He was left standing for only a moment before the door was pulled open to reveal a short, square man with a face that had seen its share of battles. Chance felt a flare of surprise as he recognized the man as a boxer who had retired several years before. He had seen him in action on only two occasions, but there was no mistaking the wide, flattened nose, the cold blue eyes, and the missing front tooth.

“Yes?” the distinctly odd butler demanded with a suspicious glare.

“I am here to see Miss Cresswell.” Chance held out a gold-edged salver. “My card.”

The butler carefully studied the card before nodding his head and stepping backward.

“Aye, she be expecting you.” As Chance entered the cramped foyer, the one-time boxer accepted the earl’s caped driving coat and hat, then stalked up the stairs. Chance was forced to scurry to keep pace and nearly stumbled over the servant when the boxer stopped to push open a door and stick his head inside. “The gent’s here.”

“Thank you, Watts,” a soft, wholly female voice answered from within.

Stepping aside, Watts carefully watched as Chance stepped past his solid form. As for Chance, he was no less suspicious. Although he could give himself a reasonable accounting at Jackson’s, he was certainly no match for a genuine bruiser, even one closer to fifty than forty. And of course, being alone in such a household was hardly conducive to setting him at ease.

Not that there was anything particularly menacing in the surroundings, he was forced to concede. The room was rather plain, with a handful of delicate furnishings and satinwood paneling. He spotted one respectable landscape and a vase that might have been from the Ming Dynasty, but there was certainly nothing opulent or excessively vulgar. In fact, it was tastefully modest.

Assured he was not about to be besieged by a gang of ruffians, Chance slowly turned to regard the eldest daughter of the Devilish Dandy standing in the center of the room.

And promptly froze in astonishment.

Good gads, there had to be some mistake.

Standing before him, a tall woman with strong features and thick chestnut curls regarded him with steady blue eyes. Though she was attired in a trim rose gown, he might have suspected she was just another servant if not for the brilliant sapphire which hung from a delicate gold chain about her slender neck.

This was Sarah Cresswell?

This was the daughter of the Devilish Dandy?

As he gawked like the veriest moonling, the growling voice of the butler abruptly intruded into his disjointed thoughts.

“You have only to call if you need me, miss,” he warned, with a pointed glare toward the silent Chance.

“Of course.”

There was a short silence as Watts backed from the room, careful to leave the door open as if expecting to need to rush to the aid of his employer at any moment.

Chance gave a slow shake of his head. No one was less likely to need aid than this annoyingly calm maiden. She looked for all the world as if she received visits from titled gentlemen every day of the week. And perhaps she did, he wryly reassured himself, although she hardly looked the part. Unlike him, there were always gentlemen who preferred mistresses who pretended to be modest and virtuous females.

At last she offered a faint smile. “Welcome, my lord. Can I offer you anything? I have brandy which I am told is particularly fine.”

Attempting to gather his usual composure, Chance narrowed his gaze. “You are Miss Cresswell?”

“Yes. You seem surprised,” she retorted.

“Frankly, I am.”

A distinct twinkle entered her eyes, forcing Chance to acknowledge she was a remarkably handsome woman despite her ill-reputed connections, a thought that in no way pleased him.

“You were expecting me to possess horns and a tail?”

His handsome features were sternly smoothed into unreadable lines. It was time to gain command of the situation. “I was not expecting a governess,” he retorted with a soft thrust.

Her calm never wavered. “I assure you I have never been a governess. Please, will you have a seat?”

Chance hesitated, debating whether to simply walk out. Then, shrugging, he moved to settle himself in a brocade chair. For Lord Scott’s sake, he would at least be polite.

He waited with commendable patience as his hostess moved to the sideboard to pour him a measure of brandy and did not even flinch when she unexpectedly stumbled and brushed against him, nearly dumping the drink down the front of his elegant moss green jacket. She was swift to right herself and place the glass safely in his hand.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Taking a seat across from him, Miss Cresswell regarded him with that peculiar stillness. “Lord Scott tells me that you have lost a diamond necklace and tiara.”

Chance allowed the faintest hint of a mocking smile to curve his lips. “I am thankfully not in the habit of losing irreplaceable heirlooms. My brother, however, has foolishly allowed them to be stolen.”

“Yes, that was foolish,” she mocked in return. “I believe the jewelry belonged to Lady Chance.”

A reluctant prick of interest stirred deep within Chance. It was not often a woman managed to surprise him. “Yes.”

“Your wife?”

“My mother.” He set aside the brandy as he recalled himself to the unpleasant matter at hand. “She has not yet learned they are missing.”

“She must possess a great number of jewels not to have noticed a missing diamond necklace and tiara.”

“This particular set is priceless and rarely removed from the safe. Of course, the one occasion when it is removed is during my mother’s annual Yuletide Ball.”

She studied him for a silent moment. “Why have you not told her the truth?”

“Because she labors beneath the mistaken belief that her youngest son is without fault. I do not wish to have her discover he is an irresponsible cad.”

“She is bound to realize what has occurred. Christmas is only a month away.”

“Not if I discover the jewels before Christmas.”

“Which is what you desire from me.”

Chance gave a small shrug. “Lord Scott convinced me you possessed certain skills that would be useful in my search. Unfortunately, I do not believe you would be at all suitable.”

His soft words did nothing more than to cause her arched brows to slowly lift. “You have made that decision after such a brief meeting?”

“Yes.”

“May I inquire why?”

“Because I presumed that you would be ...” He forced himself to be as delicate as possible. “Older and far more experienced.”

“I fail to comprehend what my age has to do with the situation.” She deliberately misinterpreted his words.

Chance pressed his lips together. It would serve her right if he informed her he had been expecting a brazen doxy who consorted with the dregs of Society. Instead, he lifted an elegant shoulder. “Because this might very well prove to be dangerous.”

“Then you shall certainly be in need of my help,” she informed him in firm tones.

Chance gave a blink at her audacity. He had to admit he had never before encountered a female quite like Miss Cresswell. “You believe you are more capable of overcoming danger than myself?”

“Of course.”

“Absurd.”

Her astonishingly blue eyes narrowed. “Do you realize, Lord Chance, that you possess an alarming tendency to believe what people wish you to believe?”

Why, the saucy wench. Chance was uncertain whether to laugh or slay her with a few blighting words.

“If you wish to imply I am easily fooled, Miss Cresswell, then I fear you are wide of the mark,” he replied in dangerous tones. “I have yet to be culled by even the most cunning scoundrel.”

“Indeed.” The sparkle in her blue eyes deepened as she slowly lifted a slender hand to reveal a stickpin with a particularly fine diamond. “I believe this is yours, sir.”

Thoroughly disarmed, Chance regarded his property in disbelief. The chit must have stolen it when she had so awkwardly handed him his brandy, although with such skill he had not even suspected her devious intent—and after he had promised himself he would be firmly on his guard.

For one of the few times in his life, Chance found himself thoroughly unnerved. “Good God, Miss Cresswell, do you make a habit of stealing other people’s property?” he demanded in tight tones.

She remained supremely unrepentant. “I merely wished to prove a point.”

“And what point is that?”

“That being an arrogant, condescending earl might ensure your success among Society, but it will serve you little in tracking down a thief,” she said smoothly. “If you truly desire the return of the diamonds, then you will swallow your pride and admit you are in need of my help.”

For a moment a flare of outrage raced through his body at her blunt insult. No one spoke to the Earl of Chance in such a fashion.

Then, astonishingly, a grudging respect overrode his simmering annoyance at being so easily made the fool.

She was right on one point. He did need her help.

“Very well, Miss Cresswell, you have my attention. How should I proceed?”

Sarah had not desired to meet with Lord Chance. Despite her lack of social connections, even she had managed to hear of the Flawless Earl. Who had not? His every movement was a source of avid interest among the ton, his clothing discussed in the most exacting detail, and his discreet mistresses regarded with a sense of envy. She had expected him to be unbearably arrogant, and she had not been disappointed.

From the moment he had entered her home, he had regarded her with a cold disapproval he had taken no pains to hide. Not even his surprise that she was not quite the vulgar tart he had obviously been expecting had dulled the sneer in his voice or his patronizing air. Little wonder she had been unable to resist her devious trick.

And now it appeared he was suddenly willing to lower his aristocratic standards and allow her to offer her aid.

Sarah clenched her teeth. Drat it all. Why had she allowed Lord Scott to convince her to help this annoying gentleman?

Because you could never deny Lord Scott any request, a small voice promptly reminded her. She owed him too much and cared too deeply.

And now ... now she was obligated to help this gentleman who was gazing down his noble nose as if she were a nasty bit of goods he had discovered stuck to the bottom of his boots.

Well, she might be obligated to help him, but she did not intend to apologize for being the daughter of the Devilish Dandy. Nor did she intend to be bullied.

Folding her hands in her lap, she forced herself to meet his near-black gaze. An odd flutter raced through her stomach, the same flutter that had assaulted her when he first entered the room.

Sarah sternly squashed her foolish flight of fancy. She would concentrate only on the return of the Chance diamonds. The sooner she discovered them, the sooner this gentleman would be out of her life. “I shall need to know more of what occurred,” she said in crisp tones.

He paused. Then, in a concise manner, he revealed his younger brother’s troubles, leading to his rash theft of the jewels and the mysterious disappearance of them from the safe. Sarah listened in silence, her shrewd mind able to surmise a few facts Lord Chance conveniently neglected to mention. Facts such as the realization Ben had chosen a risky plot rather than turn to his brother for a loan, meaning Lord Chance was either clutch fisted or merely weary of pulling his brother out of trouble. She presumed the latter, since he had lowered himself to seek her help. Surely only a measure of guilt, even an unconscious measure of guilt, could have led him to her door. She also detected something else missing from his story, a fact that Lord Chance had obviously overlooked.

“Odd,” she murmured as he came to a halt.

“What?”

Her chestnut brows drew together. “Was anything else stolen?”

“I do not believe so. Why?”

“If someone wished to steal your mother’s jewels, why did they not do so when they were within her safe?” she demanded with unshakable logic. “After all, she no doubt has any number of other jewels of great value, and, of course, they could not have suspected your brother would take them on that precise evening.”

There was a long pause as he considered her sensible words.

“Perhaps it was mere chance,” he at last retorted. “They may have broken in simply because it was a convenient home and took what they could put their hands upon.”

Sarah was swift to dismiss such a notion. Her years of living among the most talented and clever criminals made her regard the theft from the mind of the thief rather than the victim.

“If that were true, they would have grabbed the silver or your brother’s purse. They certainly would not have taken the time to open the safe. The fact that they managed to elude the servants and open the safe without being captured implies planning and a certain skill.” She pondered the problem for a long moment. “Such a risk without certainty of being rewarded. Would they have reason to believe your brother possessed anything of value?”

“No.” He stroked a slender finger down the length of his jaw. “Indeed, my brother is renowned for never possessing a feather to fly with.”

It was rather what she had suspected.

“Then only a fool would choose his home to enter,” she pointed out, “unless they knew the diamonds would be there.”

Clearly follo