Roger smiled in commiseration. “Well, at least you had the pleasure.”
A memory of Juliet coming apart in his arms flared as bright as the morning sun. “Yes,” he murmured, lost in the image. He shook his head to see Hil watching him with those all-seeing eyes, his head tipped to the side. Alasdair cleared his throat. “But pleasure is fleeting. The humiliation of losing the pearl will last forever.”
Roger winced. “There is that.”
Hil’s leg started to twitch, a habit Alasdair remembered from school. It meant he was thinking. Hard. Then he nodded at Alasdair and summed up the pertinent facts. “So the situation is thus: We must find the woman before she has a chance to sell the pearl. And you must make restitution for what you’ve taken from her.”
Yes, well, Alasdair had been studiously avoiding thinking about that last part.
“Well, that seems simple enough.” Roger clapped his hands on his knees in preparation for standing. “We shall simply pay a call on her and demand the pearl back. And in return Alasdair will refrain from turning her over to the authorities.”
“I believe Sharp said he needed help finding the woman. The ‘finding’ presents a problem, I presume?” As usual Hil had a firm grasp of the facts.
“Yes, well, that does seem to be the problem,” Alasdair hedged.
“Has she flown the coop, then?” Roger asked. “Have you already tried to see her?”
Alasdair cleared his throat nervously.
A slow smile spread across Hil’s face. “By chance, do you know where to begin looking?”
“Um, no.” Alasdair offered no explanation, but he could tell that even Roger was beginning to catch on.
“Good God, do you even know her name?” Roger asked incredulously.
“She said it was Juliet.”
“And she called you Romeo?”
Alasdair blushed. “Not exactly… But she did quote the play at length.” Roger hooted with laughter, and Alasdair could feel his face burn with humiliation.
“Hmm,” Hil said as he leaned back and laid his arm along the back of the sofa. He was the picture of composure. “It’s too bad we don’t have a dead body. She didn’t kill anyone while stealing the pearl, did she?”
“What?” Alasdair asked in horror. “Of course not! Why?”
“Too bad. I know a man at the Home Office who is quite adept at gleaning clues from corpses.”
Roger shivered. “That is gruesome, and highly disturbing.” He turned to Alasdair. “So she quoted Shakespeare? Odd for a common thief.”
“That is as good a place to start as any,” Hil said with renewed interest. “What else did she tell you?” He waved impatiently at Roger. “Go over to the desk and write down whatever clues Sharp can remember.”
Roger’s face took on a martyred expression, but he rose to do Hil’s bidding. “Why do I have to play secretary?”
“Because your handwriting is meticulous. And it gives you something to do besides torment poor Sharp.”
Alasdair groaned. “Oh Lord, that’s it, isn’t it? I shall be ‘poor Sharp’ forevermore. The idiot who was duped by a lying little cat.”
“Virgin cat,” Roger called out over his shoulder as he walked to the desk. “I’m writing that down as well. That actually tells us a great deal about her.”
“Very good, Roger,” Hil said. “It does indeed. But in the sum of all the clues we can enumerate will be the answer we seek.”
Alasdair looked at him in confusion. “What?”
“Once we piece together all the clues, we shall be able to find her,” Hil explained patiently. “Now, tell us more about your little thief, Sharp.”
Alasdair described Juliet to the best of his ability—her height, weight, figure, and coloring.
“How could you not know the color of her eyes?” Roger asked in consternation. “Did you not take her from the front?”
Alasdair was struck with unexpected anger at Roger’s question, finding it far more intrusive and personal than he ought to. They had discussed their conquests in such terms in the past.
He forced the anger down. “That wasn’t it. It was quite dark last night, and we never lit a candle. I think they were dark, probably brown. But I can’t be sure.”
“Can you give us a better description of her face?” Hil urged him.
Alasdair shook his head in frustrated defeat. “Again, no. I have a vague impression of wide eyes and a pert nose.” He closed his eyes and imagined the feel of her face against his fingertips. “I think she had rather a square jaw, but not masculine. It was delicate, and led to sharp cheekbones. And she had a stubborn chin.”
He opened his eyes to see Hil smiling at him in encouragement. “Very good. What else? Close your eyes again and think about her.”
Alasdair did as his friend asked, and a series of impressions of Juliet ran through his head. “She seemed delicate everywhere—small shoulders, wrists that I could hold in one hand—but her arms and legs were long.” He leaned back with a sigh and rubbed his hand along his thigh, remembering her touch. “Her hands were soft, with long, elegant fingers.” He laid his head along the back of the sofa, his eyes still closed. He opened and closed his fist, as he had done in her hair last night. “Her hair was long, thick and soft and waving.” He took a deep breath. “And it smelled of lavender.”
“Good,” Hil said so quietly it barely intruded on Alasdair’s thoughts. “Tell us more.”
Alasdair licked his lips and could almost feel hers against them. He touched his lower lip with his index finger. “Her mouth was full, with a larger lower lip. It was…” He hesitated a moment, but continued with his description because he knew Hil and Roger would understand what he meant. “It was bitable. And so soft.” He could feel his stubble just under his lip. He’d have to speak to his valet about that. “Her skin was just as soft and sweet smelling, like flowers. I’m sure my beard left a mark when I kissed her.” He thought of those kisses. “Her breath was fresh, and she had sharp little teeth that gleamed in the moonlight when she smiled, like a cat.” He could hear the almost dreamy quality of his voice, but he was not being self-indulgent—or at least not just self- indulgent. It was necessary for him to remember as much as he could so that they could find her. They had to find her.
Wait, that didn’t sound right. No, the pearl. They had to find the pearl.
He opened his eyes only to find Roger and Hil staring at him with identical expressions. “What?”
Roger jerked as if he had been disturbed from a reverie. “What? Nothing.” He shook his head and wrote something down. “That’s very good. I’m sure we shall be able to narrow our search.” He and Hil shared a look, after which Hil nodded. “Yes, indeed.”
Roger’s tone was bland, too bland.
“What?” Alasdair asked suspiciously.
Hil tapped his finger on his chin. “We have a young, attractive woman, clean, well groomed, with soft hands that have never known work, a virgin who can quote Shakespeare at length. Do you know anyone like that?”
Alasdair rose from the sofa and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “I know a hundred women who fit that description! The drawing rooms of Mayfair are full of them.”