Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

      Lullington minced forwards. ‘Perhaps he handed his ill-gotten gains off to an accomplice.’ He moved to check Robert’s pockets despite the pistol.

      The man had courage. But Robert already knew that.

      ‘Not you,’ Robert growled and shoved the pistol in Lullington’s face.

      The viscount halted with a nasty smile on his lips and recognition in his eyes.

      He knew.

      Robert’s heart picked up speed. He glanced around, caught Radthorn’s intense stare and nodded at him. ‘You do it. I’ve nothing to hide.’

      Men in the crowd surged closer. Robert waved his pistol. ‘Who wants a ball in their head? I’ll drop the first of ye like a stone.’

      ‘My God,’ Wynchwood said. ‘That man works for me.’

      Inwardly, Robert groaned, even as he smiled and bowed. ‘My lord. Thank you for a very pleasant evening. I would recommend a little less water in the punch.’

      A half-smile kicked up John’s mouth as he moved in. Robert held his hands away from his body, watching the men crowding closer. Off to his right, still on the dais, a small figure in green-and-brown earth tones stared down at him. Her eyes were huge in her pale face.

      Radthorn would find nothing and Robert would leave her to her betrothal ball. His lip curled. Once he was gone, she could announce her ruin with his blessing.

      John patted the pockets in his coat, ran a hand across his waistcoat and his hips. ‘No jewels,’ he said.

      ‘Then why is he holding us at bay with a gun?’ Lullington lisped, waving a languid hand. ‘I suggest we call the magistrate and have him searched properly by the local constable.’

      A man dressed as King Charles the First, but looking more like a spaniel, popped through the throng. ‘I am the magistrate. You,’ he said to Robert, ‘will put down your pistol and submit to a proper search of your person.’

      ‘That was a proper search,’ John said, his voice strained.

      Robert glanced at him, saw concern in his friend’s eyes and his stomach hit the floor. John had found something.

      A hiss of steel whipped his head around. It was Lullington pulling a sword from his costume’s scabbard.

      He held the sword tip against Robert’s throat. ‘It is my guess the rogue’s pistol isn’t loaded.’ He showed his teeth. ‘Is it?’

      ‘Do ye dare to find out?’ Robert said, pressing his pistol’s muzzle against Lullington’s chest.

      Several men lunged forwards.

      ‘One more step,’ Robert said. ‘And this man is dead.’

      They stopped cold.

      Lullington gave a soft laugh and pressed the blade to Robert’s throat. He felt the sting as the blade nicked his flesh. ‘Shoot, then.’

      Curse him. Robert tossed the pistol aside. Loaded or not, he’d not shoot a man in cold blood.

      He held his arms wide. ‘Search me again, then, if you must.’

      ‘Oh, I think I must,’ Lullington said softly. He raised his voice. ‘I saw him upstairs a while ago.’

      Hades.

      The crowd around them muttered.

      Robert kept his face impassive and let Lullington pat him down. The moment the viscount announced he did not have the emeralds, he would dive through the glass. But he needed space. He needed Lullington clear of the door. He moved into the semicircle of watchers, putting John between him and the door. John would let him past.

      Lullington slowly ran his hands down Robert’s body, his legs, his arms, checking the cuffs on his coat. Robert lifted his gaze and saw how Frederica clung to the music stand. She actually had the gall to look worried. As if she actually cared.

      Or was she worried he’d give her away?

      Lullington swung him around and felt through the folds of his cloak. ‘Aha,’ he cried.

      Robert froze. It couldn’t be. He could not have found the jewels.

      Maggie put her hand over her mouth and shook her head.

      Lullington pulled forth a strand of emeralds and diamonds. Robert recognised them. Maggie had worn them often in his company.

      ‘A strange thing to keep in your pocket, sir,’ Lullington lisped.

      ‘Someone put them there,’ Robert said. ‘I did not take them.’

      ‘What were you doing upstairs, then?’ Lullington asked. ‘In the same wing where Lady Caldwell’s chamber is located.’

      Robert clenched his fists. The bastard. He must have seen Robert in the upstairs hall and then planted the necklace in his pocket in the crowded ballroom. He recalled the bump. Robert glanced around. Every face stared back with an expression of suspicion. It was White’s all over again.

      ‘It is possible that the real thief hid them on this man’s person, meaning to claim them later,’ Radthorn said. The pity in his eyes made Robert feel sick, but at least John wasn’t abandoning him.

      He glanced towards the podium, dreading Frederica’s reaction. She was gone. No doubt she thought him guilty.

      ‘Arrest him,’ Lullington said to the magistrate. ‘There is no doubt he is guilty.’ He held the necklace high to the gasps of the crowd. ‘You really should be more careful whom you employ, Lord Wynchwood.’

      His sneering gaze rested on Robert. The bugger was enjoying himself. Robert eyed the door two steps away. A fist in the viscount’s gut might make him a little less smug and give him enough time to escape.

      ‘Someone fetch a rope,’ the magistrate said. A footman scurried off. People turned to watch him go.

      Lullington handed the necklace to Maggie, whose pallor had taken on a greenish cast.

      The momentary distraction was all Robert needed. He leaped for the door handle, wrenched the door open. Lullington grabbed at his cloak and yanked. Robert tore the damned thing free. Too late. Three men leaped on his back. He hit the ground chest first. The air rushed out of his lungs as all three men sat on his back.

      ‘Bring the rope,’ one of them yelled. The other two grabbed his arms.

      Robert shook off one, kicked another in the groin and struggled to his feet with the third hanging on to his sleeve.

      ‘Hold him,’ someone yelled. Three more men latched on to his arms and dragged him to the floor. His hat went skidding across the tiles. Robert, gasping for breath beneath the pile of men, stared at a gap in the tangle of arms and legs where John’s face appeared. ‘What the deuce is going on, Robin?’ he whispered.

      Robert shook his head. ‘I did not steal that necklace.’

      John winced. ‘Hold still, then, man. Don’t make it worse. I’ll see what I can do.’

      Submit to the final indignity. Rage welled up inside him. Blast it, John was right. The odds were against him. There was no sense in getting beaten as well as arrested. Robert took a deep breath and lay still.

      ‘Stand him up,’ the magistrate said, his flowing wig all askew, the footman at his side, rope in hand. ‘Let me have a look at him.’

      The men hauled Robert to his feet. He came face to face with Frederica. Robert pretended not to see her. He kept his chin low in hopes of hiding his face from those that might know him.

      The footman fastened a rope around his wrists and pulled it tight.

      ‘An emerald necklace isn’t the only thing you are hiding is it, my lord?’ Lullington murmured in Robert’s ear so no one else could hear.

      ‘Shut