Thoroughly enamored-softened by his mood and this unexpected consequence-Vane subsided into his chair, angling it so he could gaze unimpeded at Patience as she helped herself from the sideboard, then came to the table. She took her usual seat, separated from his by Gerrard's vacant place. With a brief smile and a warning look, she applied herself to her breakfast. To the large mound she'd heaped on her plate.

Vane eyed it, straightfaced, then lifted his gaze to her face. "Something must have agreed with you-your appetite's certainly improved."

Patience's fork froze in midair; she glanced down at her plate. Then she shrugged, ate the portion on her fork, then calmly looked at him. "I vaguely remember being excessively hot." She raised her brows, then looked back at her plate. "Quite feverish, in fact. I do hope it isn't catching." She forked up another mouthful, then slanted him a glance. "Did you pass a quiet night?"

Masters and his minions were hovering-well within earshot-waiting to clear the table.

"Actually, no." Vane met Patience's gaze. Memory had him shifting in his chair. "Whatever had you in its grip must have disturbed me, too-I suspect the malady might last for some time."

"How… distracting," Patience managed.

"Indeed," Vane returned, warming to his theme. "There were moments when I felt enclosed in damp hotness."

A blush spread over Patience's cheeks; Vane knew it extended to the tips of her breasts.

"How odd," she countered. She picked up her teacup and sipped. "To me, it felt like heat exploding inside."

Vane stiffened-further; he fought to avoid a telltale shuffle in his seat.

Setting down her cup, Patience pushed aside her plate. "Luckily, the affliction had vanished by morning."

They stood. Patience strolled to the door; Vane sauntered beside her. "Perhaps," he murmured as they passed into the front hall, his voice low, for her ears alone. "But I suspect you'll find your affliction will return tonight." She cast a half-wary, half-scandalized glance at his face; he smiled, all teeth. "Who knows? You might find yourself even more heated."

For one instant, she looked… intrigued. Then haughty dignity came to her aid. Coolly, she inclined her head. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go and practice my scales."

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Vane watched as she glided across the hall-watched her hips sway with their usual unrestrained license; he couldn't quite stifle his wolfish grin. He was contemplating following-and trying his hand at disrupting her scales-when a footman came hurrying down the stairs.

"Mr. Cynster, sir. Her Ladyship's asking after you. Urgent, she says-quite in a tizz. She's in her parlor."

Vane shed his wolf's fur in the blink of an eye. With a curt nod for the footman, he started up the stairs. He took the second flight two at a time. Frowning, he strode rapidly for Minnie's rooms.

The instant he opened the door, he saw the footman hadn't lied; Minnie was huddled in her chair, shawls fluffed, looking like nothing so much as an ill owl-except for the tears streaming down her lined cheeks. Closing the door, Vane swiftly crossed the room and went down on one knee beside the chair. He clasped one of her frail hands in his. "What's happened?"

Minnie's eyes were swimming in tears. "My pearls," she whispered, her voice quavering. "They're gone."

Vane glanced at Timms, hovering protectively. Grim-faced, she nodded. "She wore them last night, as usual. I put them on the dresser myself, after we-Ada and I-helped Min to bed." She reached back, lifting a small brocade box from the side table behind her. ' They were always kept in this, not locked away. Min wore them every night, so there never seemed much point. And with the thief delighting in tawdry glitter, there didn't seem much threat to the pearls."

Two long, matched strands, with matching drop earrings. Vane had seen them on Minnie for as long as he could remember.

"They were my bride gift from Humphrey." Minnie sniffed tearfully. "They were the one thing-the one piece of all he gave me-that was the most personal."

Vane swallowed the oath that sprang to this lips, swallowed the wave of anger that one of Minnie's charity cases should repay her in this way. He squeezed her hand, imparting sympathy and strength. "If they were here last night, when did they disappear?"

"It had to be this morning, when we went for our constitutional. Otherwise, there wasn't any time someone wasn't in the room." Timms looked angry enough to swear. "We're in the habit of going for a short amble around the walled garden whenever the weather permits. These mornings, we usually go as soon as the fog lifts. Ada tidies in here while we're away, but she's always gone before we return."

"Today"-Minnie had to gulp before continuing-"as soon as we got through the door, I saw the box wasn't in its usual place. Ada always leaves everything just so, but the box was askew."

"It was empty." Timms's jaw locked. "This time, the thief has gone well and truly too far."

"Indeed." Grim-faced, Vane stood. He squeezed Minnie's hand, then released it. "We'll get back your pearls-I swear on my honor. Until then, try not to worry." He glanced at Timms. "Why not go down to the music room? You can tell Patience while I set a few matters in train."

Timms nodded. "An excellent idea."

Minnie frowned. "But it's Patience's practice time-I wouldn't want to intrude."

"I think you'll find," Vane said, helping Minnie to her feet, "that Patience won't forgive you if you don't intrude on her practice." Over Minnie's head, he exchanged a glance with Timms. "She won't want to be left out."

After seeing Minnie and Timms to the music room, and leaving his godmother in Patience's capable hands, Vane met with Masters, Mrs. Henderson, Ada, and Grisham, Minnie's senior servants.

Their shock, and their instant anger against whoever had dared hurt their generous mistress, was palpable. After assuring them that none of them was suspected, and receiving assurances that all the current staff was utterly reliable, Vane did what he could to bolt the stable door.

"The theft has only just occurred." He looked at Grisham. "Has anyone requested a horse or the gig?"

"No, sir." Grisham shook his head. "They're not much for getting out an' about, this lot."

"That should make our task easier. If anyone asks for transportation-or even for a groom to deliver something-put them off and get word to me immediately."

"Aye, sir." Grisham's face was grim. "I'll do that, right enough."

"As for indoors…" Vane swung to face Masters, Mrs. Henderson, and Ada. "I can't see any reason the staff can't be informed-the outdoor staff, too. We need everyone to keep their eyes peeled. I want to hear of anything that strikes anyone as odd, no matter how inconsequential."

Mrs. Henderson fleetingly grimaced. Vane raised his brows. "Has anything odd been reported recently?"

"Odd enough." Mrs. Henderson shrugged. "But I can't see as it could mean anything-not to do with the thief or the pearls."

"Nevertheless…" Vane gestured for her to speak.

"The maids have reported it again and again-it's making terrible scratches on the floor."

Vane frowned. "What's making terrible scratches?"

"Sand!" Mrs. Henderson heaved a put-upon sigh. "We can't make out where she gets it from, but we're constantly sweeping it up-just a trickle, every day-in Miss Colby's room. Scattered on and around the hearth rug, mostly." She wrinkled her nose. "She has this garish tin elephant-heathenish thing-she told one of the maids it was a memento left her by her father. He was a missionary in India, seemingly. The sand's usually not far from the elephant, but that doesn't seem to be the source. The maids have had a good go dusting it, but it seems perfectly clean. Yet still the sand is there-every day."

Vane's brows rose high, visions of Alice Colby sneaking out in the dead of night to bury pilfered items floating through his mind. "Perhaps she tracks the sand in from outside?"

Mrs. Henderson shook her head; her double chins wobbled vehemently. "Sea sand. I should have said-it's that that makes the whole so strange. Nice and silver-white, the grains are. And where, near here, could you find sand like that?"

Vane frowned, and let his fanciful images fade. He met Mrs. Henderson's eye. "I agree the matter's odd, but, like you, I can't see that it could mean anything. But that's precisely the sort of odd occurrence I want reported, whether it's obviously connected with the thief or not."

"Indeed, sir." Masters drew himself up. "We'll speak to the staff immediately. You may rely on us."

Who else could he rely on?

That question revolved in Vane's brain as, leaving Mrs. Henderson's parlor, he wandered into the front hall. In his estimation, Patience, Minnie, and Timms-'-and Gerrard-had always been beyond suspicion. There was an element of openness, of candor, in both Patience and Gerrard that reminded Vane of Minnie herself; he knew, soul-deep, that neither they, nor Timms, were involved.

That left a host of others-others he felt far less sure of.

His first stop was the library. The door opened noiselessly, revealing a long room, paneled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves down its entire length. Long windows punctuated the bookcases along one side, giving access to the terrace; one window was presently ajar, letting a light breeze, warmed by autumn sunshine, waft in.

Two desks faced each other down the length of the room. The larger, more imposing example, closer to the door, was weighed down with tomes, the remaining surface blanketed by papers covered in a cramped fist. The well-padded chair behind the desk was empty. In contrast, the desk at the far end of the room was almost bare. It played host to one book only, a heavy leather-covered volume with gilt-edged pages, presently open and supported by Edgar, who sat behind the desk. His head bent, his brow furrowed, he gave no indication he had heard Vane enter.

Vane advanced down the carpeted floor. He was abreast of the wing chair flanking the hearth, its back to the door, before he realized it was occupied. He halted.

Happily ensconced in the deep chair, Edith Swithins busily tatted. Her gaze fixed on the threads she was twining, she, too, gave no sign of noticing him. Vane suspected she was partially deaf, but hid it by reading people's lips.

Stepping more heavily, he approached her. She sensed his presence only when he was close. Starting, she glanced up.

Vane summoned a reassuring smile. "I apologize for interrupting. Do you often spend your mornings here?"

Recognizing him, Edith smiled easily. "I'm here most mornings-I come down immediately after my breakfast and take my seat before the gentlemen get in. It's quiet and"-with her head she indicated the fire-"warm."

Edgar lifted his head at the sound of voices; after one myopic glance, he retreated to his reading. Vane smiled at Edith. "Do you know where Colby is?"

Edith blinked. "Whitticombe?" She peered around the edge of the wing chair. "Good heavens-fancy that! I thought he was there all the time." She smiled confidingly at Vane. "I sit here so I don't have to look at him. He's a very…"-she pursed her lips-"cold sort of man, don't you think?" She shook her head, then shook out her tatting. "Not at all the sort of gentleman one needs dwell on."

Vane's fleering smile was genuine. Edith returned to her tatting. He resumed his progress down the room.

Edgar looked up as he neared and smiled ingenuously. "I don't know where Whitticombe is either."

There was nothing wrong with Edgar's hearing. Vane halted by the desk.

Removing his pince-nez, Edgar polished them, staring up the long room at his archrival's desk. "I must confess I don't pay all that much attention to Whitticombe at the best of times. Like Edith, I thought he was there-behind his desk." Replacing the pince-nez, Edgar looked up at Vane through the thick lenses. "But then, I can't see that far, not with these on."

Vane raised his brows. "You and Edith have worked out how to keep Whitticombe neatly at a distance."

Edgar grinned. "Were you after something from the library? I'm sure I could help."

"No, no." Vane deployed his rakish smile-the one designed to allay all suspicions. "I was just aimlessly wandering. I'll let you get back to your work."

So saying, he retraced his steps. From the door of the library, he looked back. Edgar had retreated to his tome. Edith Swithins was not visible at all. Peace reigned in the library. Letting himself out, Vane frowned.