she turned you down.’
‘She seemed willing to accept many other gentlemen, with little previous acquaintance, as long as they had money or position. And before I offered, I gave her a fair description of our childhood together. There were enough clues that, had she cared to, she could have seen the truth.
‘But it does not matter, whether she knows me or not. It is the reason she gave, not the denial itself that creates the problem. She said she could not marry a thief.’
Patrick shrugged and sipped his brandy. ‘Then the answer is simple. If you want the girl, stop stealing.’
‘There is the little detail of ten years of crime.’
Patrick waved his hand. ‘Immaterial to the discussion. How much have you personally profited from it?’
Tony considered. ‘Very little. When I began I had a small inheritance, and I invested it well. But it was in no way enough to support the family. So I stole. And since I enjoyed stealing, I continued. But my own money is still there, should I choose to retire.’
‘So you did not steal for yourself. You stole for others. And when you steal now?’
‘There is really no cause for it, other than to cover the activities I perform for Stanton.’
‘So you are, in effect, stealing for the Crown,’ Patrick reasoned.
‘I cannot very well tell her that, though, can I? It defeats the purpose of covert activities, if one goes trumpeting them about the neighbourhood.’
‘But you are not exactly trumpeting about the neighbourhood, if you reveal the truth to one person. Or do you not trust her to keep a confidence?’
He glared at Patrick. ‘I would trust her with my life. I already have. For she knows the truth about me, and has had the power to ruin me for several weeks. If she wished me ill, she had but to say something before now, to see me carted off to Newgate.’
‘Then reveal the better part of your occupation, since you have revealed the worst and not come to ill. Along with your true name and history, of course,’ Patrick added.
There was an annoying emphasis on the last bit of advice, and Tony chose to ignore it. ‘Perhaps when I have run Barton to ground…There are risks involved. He is a dangerous man, if Stanton is to be believed.’
‘All the more reason to tell her the whole truth, since she was involved with him before you entered the picture. It is the curate in you speaking again, sir. Humility does you no credit when you are using it to mask cowardice. And that is what it is. While you think nothing of staring death in the face while attempting a burglary, you stick at speaking the truth to Constance Townley since you are convinced that, once she knows who you are, she will reject you. But since she has already done that, sir, the worst is over.’
Tony readied a response, and then checked himself. What did he have to lose, after all, in telling her everything? ‘Much as it pains me to have a valet who continually points out my stupidity, you are right again, Patrick. It can be no more dangerous to her than it was at the beginning, when Stanton believed her an accomplice in treason. And whatever she thinks of me, I cannot let her go blundering about, where she might thwart my schemes, or put her own freedom at risk by inadvertently aiding Barton in his plans.’
And if revealing his reason for robbing Barton raised her estimation of him? He could not help smiling at the thought.
Tony knocked firmly on the front door of Constance’s house, hoping for better results in the evening than he had achieved in the afternoon. He had spent an embarrassingly long time on his toilet. His boots were polished to mirror brightness, his coat was fresh from Weston. His cravat was sublime. He had forced Patrick to shave him so close that he suspected he was missing a layer of skin, but his cheek was soft.
He hoped to be able to demonstrate the fact to Constance later in the evening.
She would be home, of course. He knew for a fact that there were no balls, soirées, or musicales of any value that evening—if there had been, he’d have been invited to them. His original plan had been for a quiet evening at home with a glass of port and his new safe, until he realised that Constance would be having a quiet evening at home as well. He had rehearsed his speech in his head, willing himself to stick to the plan and not be dazzled by the fineness of her eyes or the nearness of her lips. He would find her, and beg an audience. She would entertain him in the sitting room and they would chat casually of things that had nothing to do with Barton or her financial state.
He would make it clear over the course of the evening that his interest had nothing to do with the business of the deed, and everything to do with the high esteem in which he held her. In which any sane and decent man could not help but hold her.
He would explain his current interest in Barton, his present occupation and the relative safety of it, compared with his life of a year ago, when he had been stealing full time. Should he ever be caught now, Stanton would manage to free his neck from the noose and explain all. While it was not without scandal, and not so honourable as a title and land, it was not such a horrible thing as she imagined and she would not be embarrassed, should the whole truth of it come to light.
And then he would explain to her that they were not the strangers she might think them, and that it would make him the happiest man on earth if only she would consent to marry him.
But he remembered the kisses and the way she’d responded to them and changed his plan.
He would tell her that it would make him the happiest man on the planet if she might consent to marry him tomorrow, and consent tonight to everything else. Because he was quite mad with desire for her, and had been so for as long as he could remember. And there was little hope of him progressing with the Barton matter or anything else until he’d had her.
He grinned at the thought. Doubts presented themselves, of course. He had lacked the nerve to strike when the iron was hottest, the woman in his arms, and the bed scant paces away.
But he remembered the previous night, the way she had clung to him, when he had turned to go, and asked if she would see him again with such sweet hope in her eyes. That must have been more than gratitude. She might deny him in daylight, but the sun was down and his luck was about to change.
The maid, Susan, opened the door, and he was surprised to see fear in her eyes before she recognised him. And then, as she always did, she told him her mistress was not at home.
‘Susan, let us have no more of that tonight. Be honest with me. Is she not at home, truly, or is she not at home to me?’
Susan was looking at him as though she expected him to eat her. ‘Not at home, sir.’
‘Because I will hear no more nonsense on the subject, from you, or from her. If she is hiding in her bedroom, or the garden, or any other room in the house, you are to go to her immediately and tell her I wish to speak to her, just for once, in the parlour over a cup of tea, like a civilised gentleman. Tell her, if you would, that I have fallen off the ivy and twisted my ankle, and will not leave her sitting room until it is healed.’
Susan now looked both baffled and terrified.
‘It is a lie, of course,’ he assured her. ‘My ankle is fine, as is the ivy. But say anything you need to, to get her down out of her room.’
‘I cannot, sir.’
‘Can you say it for a crown, then?’
‘Sir!’
‘A guinea?’
‘I cannot…’
‘A five-pound note, Susan. Name your price, and I will pay, but you will not put me off.’
She ignored the money in his hand, closed her eyes and said, ‘Mr Smythe. I will not take your money, for it will mean disobeying my mistress. And she said I am, under no circumstances, to tell you that she has gone out this evening, to Vauxhall, with Lord Barton. If you arrive, I am to do whatever is necessary to get