Page 25 of The Swan Detective (The Swan Syndicate #2)
Beckworth leaned against the door to the dressing room and folded his arms across his chest. Stella stared at two dresses, apparently still undecided on which one to wear. Libby had left several minutes earlier after finishing Stella’s hair so she could change for the party.
He still questioned his decision for Libby to be Stella’s lady’s maid.
They were alike in many ways—bold, too curious for their own good, loyal to a fault, and always seemed to find their way out of trouble.
Which was why, when they’d become more than lady and lady’s maid and developed a strong friendship, he knew he had trouble on his hands.
When they’d traveled back for the holiday hunting party, Stella was always around.
It wasn’t that she was clingy—they spent most of their time in Baywood together.
From his perspective, once in this time period, her reason for staying close was twofold.
They’d spent a good portion of their time on a ship that provided little privacy.
He believed the rest of her time was spent gaining her footing in this time period.
Without AJ and Maire available for counsel, she had to carve her own path.
Stella had been a very different woman on this trip.
They were spending more of their days apart and only finding time together in the evenings, with little time to share the details of their day.
Of course, being in London meant she would need to attend parties both during the day and some evenings, and neither of them cared much for gossip.
After they’d roused themselves from an afternoon lounging in bed, Stella called for a bath, and he went downstairs to write a message to Hensley. He’d given further instructions to Barrington, who would personally deliver the message and be back in time to take them to the East End.
When he arrived back in the bedroom, he thought it odd to find Libby and Stella huddled at a table whispering. He’d cleared his throat when he entered, and though they’d jumped, they wore sincere expressions.
“Well, there he is.” Libby stood and pointed to the half bath near the hearth. “There’s fresh water for your bath. I’ll be back to finish Lady Stella’s hair.”
Doubt still itched at him, until Libby winked.
“I’ll trust the two of you to mind the fact we have to leave in an hour.”
Then she was out the door before he could think to reprimand her. Instead, he growled. “That woman is becoming a bit too familiar.”
Stella laughed. “Well, aren’t we the stuffy one this evening, Lord Beckworth. You know you’ll be drinking ale and telling bawdy jokes in a couple of hours.” She pulled him to her, and all thoughts of Libby slipped away as she kissed him before undressing him for his bath.
He was tempted to pull her in with him. The hell with Libby’s orders. But Stella must have suspected his intentions because she remained stubbornly out of reach.
She sat on a chair and ran her fingers over the edge of her robe. That small gesture was a tell. There was something she wanted to talk about but wasn’t sure what his reaction would be. He’d learned it was best not to ask and wait for her to bring up the topic.
“I forgot to mention something I learned at the garden party.” She glanced at him, then dropped her gaze.
Then, without warning, she straightened and lifted her chin.
There she was. Demure wasn’t a natural state for Stella.
The only time he’d seen it was after she faced a traumatic experience or if she felt guilty about something.
He soaped his hair and leaned over to pour water over it. “There’s bound to be gossip with all those women.”
Stella snorted. “It only takes two to gossip.” She stood and handed him a towel, waiting for him to dry off before taking it from him once he was done. “I know the inspector is handling the jewelry theft but…” she sighed. “Did you know everyone is talking about me chasing the thief?”
He grinned. “Did you expect them not to?”
“I suppose not.”
She dropped the towel in a basket and watched him dress in what she called his good East End clothes. Not to be confused with what she considered his crew clothes—simple pants, shirt, and jacket. The only difference between the two was that his good clothes were newer and cleaner.
She disappeared into the dressing room and came out with an older pair of boots and placed them by the chair where his polished boots sat. “My escapades weren’t the only topic. The first theft was at the ball hosted by Eloise Stanton.”
The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place the woman or her husband. “That’s right. I remember the inspector mentioning it.”
“She’s also the one who hosted the garden party.”
He pulled on his pants and then his shirt. “Is that why you went with Flora?”
Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink that highlighted her auburn hair. “I was curious.”
Of course, she was. He would probably have figured it out on his own if he weren’t so busy with the smugglers. Another example of them drifting farther apart.
“Anyway, it appears the two thefts have something in common.”
“You mean besides the fact that both items were jewelry?”
“Jewelry made by the same designer.”
He shrugged as he sat in the chair and pulled on the first boot.
“That’s not uncommon among the aristocrats.
Word spreads quickly whenever someone finds a good tailor, cobbler, or dressmaker.
The same holds true for jewelers.” He pulled the second boot on and gave her a side glance.
She picked up his jacket and waited for him to stand so she could help him with it. There was something more.
“The interesting thing was that this particular jeweler only commissioned a small handful of pieces each year. Don’t you find that odd?”
He tugged the jacket into place, then poured two fingers of whiskey. “I would have to agree, it seems more than coincidental.”
“Would a crew be that particular?”
“No. Not unless they were being paid by someone.” He considered the thefts.
The inspector hadn’t appeared happy to be involved, and Beckworth hadn’t given it another thought.
He was sorry that Elizabeth had lost something so precious to her, but he didn’t see how they could find the thief with such random thefts.
“It doesn’t appear to be the crews. Chester believes the thief is working on his own, possibly with a partner. ”
There was a brief knock on the door before Libby entered, holding a tray with an urn of coffee and two cups.
“Let’s get your hair done.” She waved Stella over and began brushing her hair.
“Barrington had to run an errand, but he’ll be back soon.
Bart is in the library, complaining about something, and Lincoln is trying to calm him. Eleanor is avoiding the library.”
Stella laughed. “Sounds like we’re off to a fun evening.”
Beckworth finished the whiskey and poured two cups of coffee, carrying one over to Stella. He sat where he could watch Libby prepare Stella’s hair. They wouldn’t do anything fancy, but Libby had a way of making the simplest style appear elegant.
His gaze roamed to the base of Stella’s neck, her hair pulled back with clips.
He followed the elegant line of her neck to the delicate structure of her jaw and chin.
Then he locked on her lips and had an incredible urge to push Libby out of the room.
He grinned. Would he ever tire of the heat and passion she lit in him just by her mere presence? He couldn’t imagine such a day.
When Libby finished, she scurried from the room, and Beckworth rose, setting his cup on the service tray. He followed Stella when she disappeared into the dressing room, where he now stood watching her.
“I like the dove gray.” He slipped off her robe. “It might not be colorful, but it’s stately, and no one will think you purposely dressed down for the night.”
When she didn’t argue, he helped her into it, then followed her back into the bedroom. She picked up her wrap from the back of a chair and slipped on her shoes. “Shall we wait downstairs?”
He met her at the door, and she put her arm through his as they strode down the hall. Then their earlier conversation came back to him. “What was the name of the jeweler?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Louis Pierre Deschanel. Interesting that he’s French.”
“It’s not odd for French fashion to be seen all over London. That includes the jewelers.”
“I suppose.” Her voice was light, and he might have noted her quick appeasement if he hadn’t been lost in his own thoughts.
The jeweler’s name didn’t mean anything to him, but the fact that he was French and the stolen jewelry had been his designs made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Could the thieves be French? Before he could give it more thought, Bart’s angry voice drifted through the foyer.
Stella gave him a mischievous smile. “I’ll look for Eleanor. You can deal with Bart.”
B arrington pulled the coach into an alley behind Chester’s house, and Lincoln jumped off the bench to open the door. He could have squeezed in with the five of them, but after listening to Bart’s loud arguments before they’d left, Stella figured Lincoln needed time away from the old doc.
Beckworth climbed out first and helped Eleanor, Libby, and Stella down before Bart, who had cooled his temper during the ride. He seemed genuinely happy to be included.
Stella glanced around to get her bearings, never having seen the back of Chester’s house. Several wood piles had been created that she assumed would be lit once the sun had set. It would be the only light besides oil lanterns and what little came from the nearby buildings.
Beckworth, still beside her, dragged her away to a quiet corner and slipped an arm around her.
“I think tonight is going to be one of my best nights in London.” His kiss was light and lingering.
“Only one of the best?” she teased.