Much Ado About Rogues by Kasey Michaels

and breastplates, dancing along gem-encrusted bowls, illuminating ancient busts, helmets, bracelets, necklaces…and reflected in the tears in her eyes.
    Selling only a few small pieces would have provided more than enough to pay the village shopkeepers, repair the manor house, educate his son at the best schools in England, purchase a mansion in Mayfair, launch his daughter into Society.
    If Sinjon could part with any of his treasures. If selling them on the open market wouldn’t mean the end of him.
    “I don’t… I can’t… How, Jack? Why? ”
    “Let’s go back upstairs,” Jack said, taking the brace of candles from her and leading the way, holding on to her hand as they went. Her suddenly very cold hand.
    He poured her a glass of wine and took it to her as she sat with exaggerated erectness on the leather couch, staring at nothing. She shook her head slightly in refusal so he downed it himself, and then positioned himself at the front of the desk, resting against its edge.
    Jack would have spared her this if he could, but she’d made it impossible. Sinjon had made it impossible. The man she so admired, so longed to please, her so wonderful, perfect and heroic father. He wondered how long it would take her to understand the implications of what she’d just seen.
    It didn’t take half as long as he’d thought. She’d always been very bright.
    “He’s a thief, isn’t he?” she said finally. “My father is a thief.”
    “I made that mistake myself, and was quickly corrected. He sees himself more as a private collector. A thief, you see, steals for profit. Sinjon was always most discerning, taking only the best and keeping it for his own private enjoyment. Your competition, Tess, the true loves of his life.”
    Tess bent her head and began rubbing hard at her temples. “God. Oh, sweet Jesus…”
    Jack pushed himself away from the desk and sat down beside her, taking her hands in his and lowering them to her lap, not letting them go. “It was easy in France,” he told her. “He had his title to protect him. Nobody suspected that the treasures he brought home with him from his travels were anything but the purchases of a wealthy man. He could display many of them openly, keeping only the most easily recognizable safely hidden away, where he could appreciate them. He was admired, sought after to speak about antiquities. An acknowledged expert, the so-fascinating Marquis de Fontaine. Nobody knew, Tess, not even your mother. That’s what he was trying to protect when he sided with the other Royalists. His way of life. His treasures. In the end, the new French government got most of them, so he came here, and started over.”
    “Started over…” she repeated softly. “But…but he was working with the Crown.”
    “What better excuse to travel where he wanted, make use of secret channels of transportation, have access to ships, to the plans of the mansions of the wealthy, museums…palaces. There was a war going on, treasures were disappearing everywhere, for many reasons. Some say Bonaparte brought half of Egypt back to France with him. I think Sinjon hated him most for that, and that the Emperor had the treasures and he didn’t. But your father also did his job, Tess, and very well, to give the man the credit due him. And then, when the mission was complete, he’d reward himself by adding to his collection. But Sinjon isn’t a young man anymore. He could still choose the prize, formulate the plans, but it soon became apparent to him that he needed someone else to execute them.”
    Tess had been breathing rapidly, but now she took a deep, openmouthed breath that was nearly a gasp. She was attempting to get herself under control. “René?” she asked at last. “Did he…?”
    “I don’t think he knew, no. In any case, he hadn’t proved as talented as Sinjon had hoped. You, however, exceeded his expectations, and he’d every intention of introducing you to that room down there. Until I came