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  “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?”

  Two

  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 following her path of logic with commendable ease, Lord Chance gave a slow nod. “Yes.”
<
br />   “So who knew your brother possessed the diamonds?”

  Lord Chance did not hesitate. “Maxwell.”

  Sarah could not prevent a small smile. Obviously the gentleman wished to believe the notorious Lord Maxwell was responsible, but she was not about to be readily swayed. She had heard the rumors surrounding Maxwell. Certainly he might bleed a young buck or blackmail an indiscreet lady, but he was not known through the back streets as a thief. Of course, a few well-placed questions would assure her one way or another. For now she wished to discover who else might have known of the diamonds.

  “And your brother’s staff,” she murmured aloud.

  “I hardly believe Ben would have confided his less than honorable intentions to his staff,” he drawled in that soft tone which set her teeth on edge.

  “Never underestimate servants,” she could not resist informing him. “They know everything that occurs within their household.”

  As if sensing her irritation, he gave a mocking nod of his head. “I bow to your superior knowledge.”

  Sarah’s ready humor banished her ill temper. She supposed she had sounded unbearably top-lofty. Still, this gentleman could provoke the most patient of women.

  “Did he confide in his friends?”

  He gave a faint shrug. “I am forced to admit I do not know.”

  “We shall need to discover.” Shifting toward the table in front of her, Sarah dropped the expensive stickpin and pulled forward the paper and quill she had prepared earlier. In a firm script, she began listing those with the knowledge to steal the diamonds. “We should also consider that one of the servants from your mother’s establishment spied your brother taking the jewels. It would be a perfect opportunity to steal the diamonds without suspicion falling upon them.”

  He lifted his quizzing glass to regard her efforts. “That is quite a list.”

  “It is only a beginning.”

  “Where do you suggest I start first?”

  Setting aside the quill, Sarah prepared herself for battle. It took little intelligence to realize Lord Chance was one of those gentlemen who preferred to be in command. He was bound to buck when she made her demands. “First we must come to an understanding.”