Love and Larceny by Regina Scott Page A

sagged as he bore the limbless weight of
Daphne’s mother. Daphne ran back to him and helped him ease Lady
Rollings onto the carpet just inside the door.
    “She fainted,” Daphne said, voice awed. “My
mother never faints. She says it’s the last gambit of the weak and
witless.”
    “And your mother is neither,” Wynn
acknowledged, straightening. A glance out the door proved what he
had feared. Their so-called thief had vanished.
    Daphne gazed down at her mother. “What should
we do with her?”
    “Attempt to wake her, I suppose.” Wynn caught
Daphne’s arm as she started to bend. “But first, I want you to know
there is no truth in her allegations. I never set out to compromise
you, Daphne.”
    “Of course you didn’t.” Her confidence went a
long way to unwinding the knot her mother’s words had tied in his
chest. She sighed. “I just wish she hadn’t cost us our chance to
catch the thief.”
    “As for that, I’ll go poke around while you
wake her,” Wynn offered.
    “Very well,” Daphne agreed. “But even though
our thief is armed, I think you have the better part of the
bargain.”
    As she bent over her mother, Wynn let himself
out onto the terrace. Plucking a torch from its bracket, he
descended the stairs and craned his neck to see past the turn of
the house, ready to duck back under cover if he saw the musket
trained his way. As he had expected, however, the way lay empty. He
scanned the ground, but the grass told little after being trod all
day by the feet of the guests. Yet something flashed in the
light.
    Bending, he picked up a rough pebble. The
silver gray rock looked like weathered limestone to him. With
Brentfield Manor made of rosy brick, it certainly hadn’t fallen
from the house. And any gravel he’d seen had been a powdery
white.
    Had their thief dropped the rock from his
shoe as he ran? The Mendip Hills were made of limestone, if he
recalled his geology lessons in school. Did that mean the villain
was hiding in the caverns nearby?
    Voices above told him Daphne had company.
Pocketing the rock, he climbed the stairs, returned the torch to
its holder, and limped into the house.
    “There you are,” Lord Brentfield heralded.
He, Lady Emily, and Sir James were standing beside Daphne, who was
supporting her mother. “Hannah sent us to see what had become of
you. What happened?”
    “We saw the thief!” Daphne declared. “He
passed by the terrace, and then below it. We would have caught him
if we hadn’t been interrupted.”
    “I’m not sure what you saw,” Lord Brentfield
said, obviously choosing his words with care. “But I doubt a thief
would dare come so close to the house with so many people
about.”
    Lady Rollings raised her head, spirits
reanimating. “And I can assure you, my lord, that my daughter is
telling the truth. I saw the creature myself.”
    As Lord Brentfield frowned, Sir James pushed
himself forward, Lady Emily right beside him. The Runner’s color
was high, his gray eyes looking as sharp as the rock Wynn had
found.
    “What did he look like?” he demanded. “What
was he wearing? How did he move?”
    Lady Rollings withdrew herself from Daphne’s
grip to straighten to her full height. “See here, sirrah! I am not
accustomed to being questioned like one of the thieves you
catch.”
    Sir James had the good sense to look
abashed.
    “You may not be accustomed to being
questioned,” Lady Emily said, “but when you have witnessed
something momentous, you have a duty to share your
impressions.”
    Lady Rollings inclined her head. “Very well.
I was standing here, conversing with my daughter and Mr.
Fairfax—”
    “Scolding more like,” Daphne muttered.
    Wynn hid a smile as her mother continued
undaunted. “When I noticed some rough-looking fellow creeping past
the stairs to the terrace, gun bundled close and face dripping with
malice.”
    Wynn hadn’t thought the fellow looked
particularly malicious. Terrified, more like, even with that musket
in his