Picture Perfect (12 page)

‘My cousin Madeline often says that fabric speaks to her,’ Annabel said doubtfully, ‘but even she would not claim that it could reveal anything so useful as the identity of a thief.’ For a moment he did not realise she was teasing him, but then he caught the glint in her eye and found himself laughing with her despite the fact that he was trying to impress her with his cleverness.

‘I have been positioned behind that window since the first dance,’ he said. ‘Dermot Leahey lurks there now. No, don’t look!’ She was turning her head, tilting her face upwards and instinctively he moved to block her in the most natural way possible, with a kiss.

And he was lost, her lips were warm, slightly parted and their merest brush sent a shiver throughout his entire body. She responded deliciously to his slightest movement as if she were completely in tune with him, although this must, surely must, be her first kiss. With that thought he wrenched himself away.

‘Miss Black, I do apologise,’ Annabel heard Jack saying. Speechless, she stared at him, unable to fathom why on earth he felt the need to apologise for what he had just given her, the most heavenly experience of her life. His kiss had been warm and firm, and held the promise of so much more, stirring within her feelings she hadn’t even dreamed of, she had wanted it to last forever, and here he was telling her he regretted it. Surely he must have felt the same way, it was impossible for her to have felt so much and for it to mean so little to him. Then suddenly she understood, for a moment he had forgotten that she was not Justine, that kiss, the kiss which had enveloped her very soul, that kiss had been meant for her sister, everything she had felt had been intended for Justine and if Jack had felt anything at all it must have been horror at finding himself kissing his future sister-in-law. ‘I think it would be best if we returned to the ball room,’ Jack said, not looking at her and Annabel felt herself blush with shame, how could she ever have thought Jack could forget Justine and think only of her?

‘I… I need to…’ she mumbled indistinctly, pulling away from him, with no idea what excuse she would make if pressed.

‘Miss Black…’ not looking back Annabel flew up the steps into the ballroom with as much haste as possible, hoping only to salvage her pride by not letting Jack see her face. The very last thing she wanted was for him to see what his kiss had meant to her and if she had to sacrifice elegance in favour of a scrap of dignity she would do so.

He was following her, and would follow her until he caught up with her. Annabel didn’t know how she knew that, but she was quite sure of Jack’s intentions. He wanted to apologise again, or worse, make sure she knew that it was Justine and not herself who was the object of his affections, and she didn’t want to hear him telling her either thing. It was bad enough knowing it without hearing it from Jack himself. She had to think quickly. The ladies’ retiring rooms were on the far side of the dance floor, if she made for one of those he would catch her easily as she wove a course between the dancers and the thickening crowd which ringed them. The door to the gaming rooms was nearer but even in her distress Annabel had more sense than to go in there unaccompanied, but immediately on her left was a small servants’ door, probably leading to the cloak room, Jack would never think of looking for her in there, it was simply not a place a young lady would go, yet there was no risk entailed, at worst a servant would ask if she needed anything, to which she would reply that she felt a little breathless and then after a moment she would say she felt better and leave. Jack would be long gone and then she could slip unobtrusively back to the Beresfords.

She opened the door just enough to allow herself to slip through and then pulled it closed behind her and waited. A treacherous part of her heart hoped that she had not eluded him, but he door stayed still, her ruse had worked.

Behind her there was a polite cough. Startled, Annabel turned around then frowned in puzzlement, beyond the racks of cloaks and coats, the room seemed deserted, then the cough came again, and looking up Annabel found herself staring into the pale blue eyes of Dermot Leahey, perched on a ladder leading to a small window or ventilation shaft near the ceiling of the room.

‘Miss Black,’ Mr Leahey said. ‘Have you lost your way?’

Dissembling to a servant was one thing, but lying to an acquaintance was quite another, however Annabel had no intention of telling Mr Leahey the truth, it was far too painful and humiliating, and worse, he might try to comfort her. She cast around quickly for something to say, but nothing sprang to mind, and then she thought of Henry, one question from her about the navy reliably made him hold forth on the subject for far longer than she was usually interested. She would throw a question up at Mr Leahey and even if he weren’t very forthcoming it wouldn’t matter, she only needed a few seconds.

‘Mr Leahey,’ she said, ‘what ever are you doing up that ladder?’

She had expected him to fob her off with some answer about spiders or a dare and was quite surprised when he replied ‘It’s a scheme of Jack’s, he is quite set on catching the art thief and he’s put me on watch here. It’s very tedious and it’s thirsty work. I say, you couldn’t do me a tremendous favour, could you?’

Annabel almost gaped at him, surely he wasn’t going to ask her to fetch him a drink, or, even more unthinkable, climb up the ladder and keep watch while he fetched one for himself? Last summer she hadn’t been at all averse to climbing a ladder in the orchard to pick the apples and pears, but she wouldn’t consider doing such a thing here, not at a ball and certainly not in this dress. Mr Leahey continued, seemingly oblivious to her consternation. ‘Jack’ll never forgive me if he catches me leaving my post so I’d be much obliged if you could just stand in front of the doorway while I slip out and keep him talking if he comes back, there’s passage into the cloak room and I can nip through there if he comes back while I’m gone, what do you say?’

‘Well, I…’ on balance, Annabel thought she’d rather have been asked to climb the ladder than engage Jack in conversation, but she couldn’t possibly say that to Mr Leahey. He seemed to take her hesitation for consent because he clambered hastily down the ladder and forced his way between the cloak racks to a little door at the far end of the room. It occurred to her that with the sentry away from his post the thief now had the perfect opportunity to steal the triptych, but surely Mr Leahy would have thought of that. Probably he planned to hover in the foyer until a friend appeared whom he could send on his errand.

‘Much indebted to you,’ Mr Leahy said over his shoulder as he reached the outer door of the cloakroom. ‘Jack’s taking this whole thing far too seriously, I’ll be back in a minute.’ Then he was gone. Slowly Annabel let herself out of the door back into the ballroom and tried to stand there as inconspicuously as possible as the crowd milled past her, hoping vehemently that Jack would not return and that Mr Leahey would. She received some odd looks as she stood there wondering how Mr Leahey expected her to know when he had returned. She could knock on the door of course, but what if Jack chose that moment in which to turn up? She narrowed her eyes and looked at the keyhole, wondering if it would be possible to see through it and to do so in such a way that no one would notice what she was doing.

‘There you are!’ Jack’s voice made her jump and she spun to face him. It was nearly impossible not to melt into his arms, he was looking at her with such concern and compassion, but she managed to resist. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, we need to talk.’

‘We have nothing to discuss, Mr Denham,’ she said coolly and then remembered that Mr Leahey wanted her to keep him talking. Fortunately Jack was not so easily put off, he looked at her intently and touched her wrist in a way that was both respectful and intimate all at once. Annabel felt as if they were the only people in the ballroom.

‘But we, do, Annabel, I want to explain-’

‘Jack, old fellow, where the devil have you been? I’ve just been looking for you, and Miss Black kindly said she’d keep watch.’ Dermot Leahey intruded on their conversation as if it had not been happening, apparently forgetting he had wished to keep his absence concealed. Annabel didn’t know whether to be annoyed with him at him for his unnecessary imposition or relieved at having Jack’s unwelcome explanation forestalled.

‘Leahey! Keeping watch means keeping watch over the paintings all the time. The thief won’t put off doing the deed just because you want a tea break. Quite the opposite in fact!’ Jack glowered at him.

‘Dash it all, Denham,’ I’ve only been gone for a instant, nothing will have happened,’ Mr Leahey said, rather unconvincingly Annabel thought. ‘Besides, standing here as she is Miss Black would have seen any suspicious characters leave the ballroom for the lobby.’ Rather guiltily Annabel realised that she had paid no attention whatsoever to the other guests as she stood at her post by the door. Was that what Mr Leahey had asked her to do? She wasn’t quite sure; she had been so wrapped up in thoughts of Jack.

‘Art thieves don’t look like suspicious characters,’ Jack said incredulously. ‘This isn’t a game!’ His patience at an end he stepped past Annabel and went through the cloakroom door. Behind Jack’s departing back Mr Leahey looked at Annabel and shrugged.

‘I told you he was taking this little game rather seriously,’ he said.

‘It’s not a game,’ Annabel began, she didn’t know why she was defending Jack, it seemed instinctive, but Jack burst back through the door, interrupting her.

‘They’re gone!’ he glared accusingly at Mr Leahey. ‘The pictures, the triptych, it’s gone!’

Annabel felt a horrific start of guilt, she should have reminded Mr Leahey that he was not supposed to leave his post, she should have kept her eyes unwaveringly on the doorway to the lobby and perhaps even have followed anyone who went in, or perhaps she should have offered to find Jack herself; it certainly wouldn’t have been difficult. But she hadn’t done any of these things and now Jack’s carefully laid trap had been sprung unseen allowing the thief to waltz off with three more valuable paintings. She found she didn’t want to meet Jack’s eyes in case his accusing stare fell on her.

‘When did you leave the window?’ Jack demanded.

Mr Leahey consulted his pocket watch, he still didn’t seem to be taking this seriously, Annabel thought, and wondered how he could be so oblivious to the annoyance radiating from Jack. ‘I was gone a mere five or six minutes,’ Mr Leahey announced.

‘Then the trail is still fresh,’ Jack said grimly. ‘I shall go and examine the scene of the crime. No, no,’ he held up his hand to forestall Mr Leahey who had stepped forward as if intending to join him. ‘Please escort Miss Black back to the Beresfords,’ he bowed to her, ‘I regret I must forgo the pleasure of your company, I do hope you understand.’

Hesitantly Annabel raised her eyes and was startled by what she saw; Jack was looking entreatingly at her, and looked a little worried as if he were genuinely afraid that he might have offended her. She didn’t know what to think. Unsure what how to reply she nodded at him and reluctantly allowed Mr Leahey to take her arm, but even as Mr Leahey led her through the crowded room she glanced back at the doorway to the foyer and saw that Jack had paused there to look back at her too. Their eyes met, and try as she might to quash it, Annabel felt her heart lift and was rewarded with an answering smile from Jack, then he disappeared from sight and she resigned herself to passing the rest of the evening without his company.

Chapter 7

When Jack woke up the next morning he was still frustrated. Despite his being able to examine the space where the triptych had hung only minutes after it had been taken, he had found no clues and his meticulous search of Almack’s, covering retiring rooms, gaming rooms, and the warren of passages and rooms used by the employees to keep Almack’s running at its customary high standard, had revealed nothing, not even discarded frames this time. He was becoming more and more sure that his initial assumption that the thief was a member of his own social class, not an opportunistic servant, was correct. Almack’s, of course, required a lot of staff, but the thief would have to be very well connected to be able to engineer his placement with both Lord Lockton and at Almack’s in so short a space of time, or her placement. Now why had he thought that? Jack had thought of art theft as being an exclusively male domain until now, but suddenly the perfectly real possibility that the thief was a woman had intruded on his mind.

Uncomfortably, and aware he was being irrational, Jack tried to dismiss the thought. He knew why, he could not think about women, even one as merely theoretical as a female art thief, without his thoughts being irrevocably drawn back to Annabel. He couldn’t believe he had kissed her, she was a young girl, innocent, she had done nothing to encourage him, she saw him only as a friend of her newly found sister and he had treated her as if she were a woman of the world, in control of the situation, with passions equal to his own. He had taken an unpardonable liberty and it was no wonder she could barely bring herself to speak to him. With a groan he rolled out of bed and shrugged on his red and gold silk dressing gown. Mills, his valet appeared unobtrusively as if from nowhere, armed with the morning newspaper and a look of concern on his face.