I assure you, Viscount, we will not.
Only when her carriage surged forward and the big mansion was no longer in view, did she let out the quivering breath she’d been holding deep within her.
***
Mason Flowerdy, Viscount Lonsdale, watched the little thief’s back disappear through the crowd as he followed in her wake, a smile curling his lips. He had to give the woman credit. Her skill outrivaled his expectation. She’d suddenly announced her retreat, which meant she’d already swiped the watch from his pocket. That surprised the hell out of him. He hadn’t felt a thing.
Such nimble fingers.
No wonder his uncle had chosen her for the job. A wretched fool could easily have drowned in the depth of those expressive pools. She certainly possessed the kind of natural beauty and charm that appealed to him.
If he hadn’t been informed by his source in his uncle’s household that his uncle planned to make a move tonight, and if the little thief hadn’t been so open in her observation of him, Mason would have declared himself a wretched fool on the spot. As it was, he had half a mind just to hand over the cursed pocket watch to his uncle for all the effort the man had gone through to attempt to get his hands on the trinket.
So damn troublesome.
There was nothing spectacular about the damn thing anyway, except the rumors for it to have been the very same watch Robert Dudley commissioned alongside the wrist watch he’d gifted to Queen Elizabeth. Which was the only reason his uncle—a grand collector of historical items—coveted the piece. While the origin of this rumor remained a question, the patterns and engravings of the watch appeared similar to that of the queen’s gift.
He cared not one whit about any of that.
However, the heirloom had been passed down the male generations since the time of his great grandfather. Mason stood firm with the family tradition and would one day pass it along to his first born son—the next Viscount Lonsdale—whether there be truth to the rumors or not.
At first, he’d found his uncle’s antics amusing. A sense of triumph with each victory. But recently, his uncle’s tricks had become bold. Even dangerous.
A teasing smile hovered in the edges of his mind.
Where had his uncle found such an alluring creature? How couldshebe a thief? With her charms, the woman could reel in a husband of standing with little effort, yet she chose the path of criminal undertaking?
Unfathomable.
He slowed when he spotted the beauty entering a waiting carriage, and motioned for his driver. His men, along with his contacts at Bow Street, had been patiently waiting outside for this moment.
He entered the carriage and sat back as the driver gave chase. The little thief had been doomed from the start.
A ripple of reluctance rose at the thought of her being tossed into a cell. Mason pushed the unwelcome emotion down ruthlessly. He would not be swayed by a pretty face. A thief remained a thief. The little criminal had committed a crime and ought to be punished for it.
Simple as that.
The carriage rocked to a stop in a pool of lamplight in front of the magistrate’s offices. Mason didn’t wait for the driver to open the door and quickly exited the vehicle; strides confident as he headed towards the woman’s carriage. Bow Street Runner, Marcus Hunt, already stood guard at the door.
He arrived just as the little thief directed a fierce glare at Hunt. Her eyes widened as they landed on him.
“My lady, we meet again.”
“What areyoudoing here?” She glanced at Hunt. “What is the meaning of this?”
Mason answered, “You truly cannot guess?”
She lifted her chin loftily. “I cannot.”
“My uncle hired you to steal a family heirloom.”
“How absurd,” she retorted. “Why would I do such a thing?” She paused. “Who exactly is your family?”
The little thief would pretend even now?
Very good.
“Allow me to introduce myself. Mason Flowerdy, Viscount Lonsdale, and this here is Marcus Hunt, a distinguished runner for Bow Street. And you, madam, stole my pocket watch.”
