An Honourable Thief

“To my knowledge the only unmarried female among the Singletons is Rose,” said Hugo, with some asperity,

“You have forgotten the long-lost Singletons,” said Amelia matter-of-factly, applying a wisp of lace to her eyes.

Hugo frowned. “I didn’t know there were any long lost Singletons.”

“No, nor did I. But then this girl arrived, and Rose is bringing her out, and oh, Hugo, with a diamond mine, she is exactly what Thomas was looking for!” She tucked the handkerchief back in her reticule.

Hugo ignored that. “A long-lost Singleton, and a nabob’s daughter…You did say she was a lady?”

“Well, naturally there is the trade connection, but of course she is a lady, Hugo, else Thomas would not wed the girl!” Amelia said indignantly. “The girl herself is an orphan and the father is safely dead, so he cannot return to embarrass anyone. And there is a diamond mine!”

“Yes…the diamond mine,” Hugo murmured. “You’ve had her investigated, of course.”

Amelia shrugged. “She is bound to have vulgar connections, so what is the point?”

Hugo sighed. “Her financial background, I meant.”

“Do you never believe a thing anyone tells you?” Amelia snapped crossly.

He bowed over her hand and strode towards the door. “Not usually. I find I prefer to ascertain the truth for myself, wherever possible. If she is as wealthy as you say, it would be an obvious solution for Thomas’s difficulties. I have numerous connections with the East India Company, so—”

“Not India. New South Wales.”

Hugo came to a sudden halt. He swung around, staring at his sister-in-law in blank disbelief. “New South Wales? What do you mean, New South Wales?”

“The mine is in New South Wales.”

“A diamond mine in a convict settlement?”

Amelia looked puzzled. “And what is wrong with that, pray? I have heard tell New South Wales is very large.”

He snorted. “A diamond mine in a penal colony! Lord, imagine the problems—every rag-tag thief and criminal would be committing crimes in the hope of transportation to Botany Bay and a fortune in diamonds. The courts would be even more flooded than they already are. No, no, you are mistaken there, Amelia.”

“No, I am not. She quite definitely came from New South Wales—I am not stupid, you know Hugo!”

“A diamond mine in New South Wales!” he repeated scornfully. “Such a thing could not exist.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance. “Obviously you wish it did not!” she said waspishly. “But apparently they have only quite recently crossed some impossible mountain range into the unknown interior, so who is to say there are no diamonds there? Certainly not a man who buries himself in rural fastness for most of the year and is odiously selfish the rest of the time!”

“The whole tale sounds too smoky by half to me.”

Amelia shrugged pettishly.

“I would be very interested to meet the owner of a New South Wales diamond mine,” Hugo said slowly.

Amelia glared at him. “This is nothing to do with you, Hugo! If you want Thomas to be settled comfortably, then take yourself back to Yorkshire! I won’t have you meddling and putting the girl off our family.”

“I gather she is here tonight.”

Amelia hesitated, then shook her head in dramatic emphasis. “No, no, she didn’t come.”

“That little dark creature Thomas was attempting to hide from me on the dance floor?”

“No, no, no! It is not her at all—that is some other girl! A completely different girl.”

Hugo smiled. Her feverish denial confirmed his suspicions. “I think it is incumbent on me, as Thomas’s only male relative, to meet the girl, at least.” He strode towards the door.

“Hugo, you will not approach this girl, do you hear me?” Amelia shrieked. “I forbid it! You will ruin everything!”

Chapter Two

“Miss Singleton.”

Kit jumped and hurriedly turned. There was still the odd occasion where, if distracted, it slipped her mind that she was now Miss Singleton.

A tall dark-haired gentleman stood at her elbow, frowning thoughtfully down at her. The impressive-looking man she had noticed earlier. Heavens! Up close he was even more impressive. Bigger. Darker. Colder. Examining her with a curious mixture of frigid intensity and detachment.

Kit’s heart started beating rapidly. She swallowed.

The grey eyes met her gaze coldly. A frisson of déjà-vu passed through her.

Who was he? Why was he staring at her in that way? Did he know her from somewhere?

“Will you honour me with a dance, Miss Singleton?”

It was not a request, but a demand, snapped out in an arrogant, care-for-nobody tone. Kit did not care for it. She lifted her chin and rewarded the gentleman with a frosty look and a disdainfully raised eyebrow. She was not supposed to talk to anyone she had not been introduced to.

“Yes, of course she will,” Aunt Rose responded for her. Rose must have introduced them, Kit realised belatedly, but she hadn’t caught it. Rose smiled, nodded approvingly at Kit and drifted off towards the card room.

Kit silently held out her card. His dark head bent as he scrawled his name on it, and she peered surreptitiously to try to catch the name, without success. His hands were large, square, long-fingered and well-shaped. Oddly, they were scarred and nicked in a number of places. London gentlemen took great care of their hands; some had skin almost as soft as Kit’s—softer, in fact, for she’d had occasion to work hard at times.

Interesting. This man seemed to flaunt his imperfections…no, not quite flaunt, he seemed indifferent to them. Or was it people’s opinion of him he was indifferent to?

She leaned back a little and allowed her gaze to run over him.

Up close he still retained that aura of aloneness. He made no small talk. He simply claimed her for a dance. He was either a little shy in the company of women, or very arrogant.

His eyes flicked up suddenly, as if aware of her scrutiny. He held her gaze a long, hard moment, then he dropped his gaze back to the card. Kit fought a blush. Whatever else he was, he was not shy of women.

His eyes were grey, though of such a grey as to be almost blue, although that could have been caused by the dark blue coat superbly cut to mould across his equally superb shoulders.

Kit had not seen such shoulders on a London gentleman before. Like the mandarin class of China, the pashas of Turkey, and the highest castes of India and Java, the members of the ton strove to appear as if they had never had to lift anything heavier than a spoon—and a gold or silver spoon, at that.

Fashionable London might believe a gentleman should not have the build of a stevedore, but Kit could find no fault with it. London gentlemen padded their shoulders to achieve the correct shape, but if she was given the choice between muscles or padding…Unfashionable it might be, but such shoulders could rather tempt a girl to…to think thoughts she had no business thinking, she told herself severely.

He had not the look of a man who’d had an easy life, not like many she’d met in the salons of the ton. He was not old—perhaps thirty or so—but lines of experience were graven into his face, and his mouth was set in an implacable unsmiling line. It was rather a nice mouth, set under a long aquiline nose and a square, stubborn-looking chin.

Kit wondered again what he would look like if he smiled.