Page 14 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

Beauregard’s hand had been as expert as Mickey’s, and his clever tongue’s mastery of words more expert still, even when his light fingers had been caught in Mickey’s pocket.

“Yes, I think we should. If only to monitor him more closely. I don’t think he takes a moment off. He’s sharp, witty, engaging, and wholly undesirable. I wager he’d steal a man’s upper lip from right under his nose, Tommy, if he thought he could get away with it, then sell it on for sixpence. He’s an opportunist; he sees every man, every woman, every ballroom, and any other society gathering as an occasion to… Oh! I…well, I’ll be damned.”

As Mickey stopped abruptly, Tommy glanced sideways at him. “What?” he said. “Has he already stolen yours? Your tongue too?”

“No,” Mickey answered slowly. An idea occurred to him, something so cunning, so steeped in possibility, it could only be true. “Forget all that for a second, Tommy. I…I think I know why Beauregard is here. In town.”

“To spread his distracting Gallic charm whilst gathering himself a few trinkets?”

“No. More than that. He…I do believe he means to steal the Ashington parure!”

Tommy’s bark of incredulous laughter cut through the quiet of the morning. “That’s quite a leap, Mickey. Even I only learned of its existence last night.”

Mickey’s mind whirred back. “No, it’s not, not really. Hear me out. The Chestertons toured Europe. They visited everywhere, all the major cities. They stayed at all the grand houses. Where did I say they’d come from, prior to settling in London? Florence.”

Beauregard’s voice, so bloody beguiling, crooned in Mickey’s ear. I’ve spent too long amongst soft Italian dandies. “Beauregard mentioned Italy. That he’d lived there. My impression was that he hadn’t long left, and…and only a week ago, Talybridge escorted the Chestertons back from Europe. From Florence.”

Mickey drummed his fingers on the desktop as it all slotted together in his mind. “Beauregard could have met the Chestertons in Florence. Or been aware of them, at least. That parure is bloody hard to miss.” Mickey pushed aside his forgotten columns of figures; Beauregard was a far more interesting topic. “And…do you recall Kit commenting that pilfering purses was quite the comedown from stealing royal diamonds—the Devil’s Diamonds? What if Kit was right?”

“But pinching the Ashington parure isn’t.” Tommy nodded slowly; Mickey could almost see his nimble mind reaching the same conclusions. “I’d say it’s on a par, if not a bigger theft. You think…you think half inching baubles from the patrons of White’s is Beauregard simply amusing himself?”

“Yes. I do.” The more Mickey tossed the idea around, the more it seemed likely. “He’s killing time. Paying his rent. Studying the ton, waiting for an opportunity. I spoke to him; he didn’t strike me as a man who does anything or goes anywhere without good reason. Why’s he suddenly in London?”

Tommy’s expression tautened, his upper lip trapped by his bottom one, as if already protecting it from a thieving Beauregard. “I wish to God you aren’t right, Mickey, but I have a dreadful feeling you might be. Benedict will be even more distraught.”

“Which is why he needs to have it out with Talybridge,” Mickey insisted. “Demand the damned thing back and put it somewhere safe before Beauregard spirits it away from either of them.”

“No. Benedict won’t do that.” Tommy toyed with Mickey’s quill pen. “I know him. He’d rather lose the parure than have all that history dragged up and his family name besmirched.”

“Fitzsimmons could do it, then. He’s not afraid to confront anybody.”

“Fitzsimmons will go along with Benedict’s wishes.”

Mickey made a frustrated sound. “Then, short of spiriting Beauregard away, I fear we have a serious problem on our hands. Unless we have him arrested and detained for his time-killing petty larcenies.”

“Yes.” Tommy blew out a long breath. “Though a successful arrest is unlikely. The chances of Beauregard still having those baubles he snaffled from White’s and from the ladies at Mrs Bowman’s dinner are slim at best. He’s been at it for years; he’ll have fences all over town. We’ll never be able to prove he stole them.”

The two men eyed each other contemplatively.

“You must invite him to Squire’s,” Tommy ordered. “You must befriend him some more. You know, keep your enemies close. Very close.” He paused a beat, a glimmer of a smile playing on his lips. “Unless, dear favourite fussy cousin, aristocratic French cock was not to your liking?”

Mickey threw his blotting pad at him. “You are an ass. I have no idea how Ashington tolerates you.”

“And?”

Mickey felt a thrill of excitement. The musky scent of the Frenchman had lingered on his skin long after Beauregard vanished back into the shadowy garden. “Aristocratic French cock was…ah…pleasing enough.”

Chapter Six

THAT EVENING, EVERYONE gathered in Ashington’s second study. If Mickey detected a tad more deference from Hawkins as he handed him his coat and hat, it disappeared in a flash.

Watched over by the handsome twelfth duchess, Tommy delivered the bad news regarding Talybridge’s probable involvement in her demise, compounding it with Mickey’s notions regarding Beauregard’s nefarious intent.

As Tommy predicted, the duke refused to contemplate confronting Talybridge. Despite being a man who never backed down from a fight, Fitzsimmons was in reluctant support of his brother. Which meant they’d have to find another way of securing the jewels.

“That’s assuming they definitely are your jewels,” Tommy added at the end of the story. Once again, all eyes drifted towards the majestic portrait.

“They are,” Willoughby confirmed with a heavy sigh.